Page 33 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)
Chapter Twenty-Five
EVA
Morgan
Oh girl, the goddamn tension in that plane was so thick I almost choked on it.
Would you two just GIVE IN to each other already? Why are you fighting it?
T he three of us spent most of the flight rehashing the commercial Christopher and I shot yesterday, reviewing the story we’ve crafted about how Luke and I ended up married, and mentally and emotionally preparing to see our parents at dinner tonight.
My parents’ voicemail after we’d dropped the “oh by the way, we got married” text made it clear that our presence at dinner tonight was not optional.
My dad doesn’t put his foot down about much, so when he was the one to insist we come to dinner and explain what happened, there was no choice but to agree .
We went our separate ways after the plane landed at the private airport north of the city—Luke and I headed farther north to my parents’ house, and Morgan back to Boston in the car the Rebels sent for her.
Since she and I couldn’t talk candidly about my relationship with Luke on the plane, I’m not at all surprised she’s already texting me.
She’s also probably trying to take my mind off the impending dinner.
Morgan
Also, let’s get together this weekend so we can debrief all this. I have a feeling you’ll need someone to talk to after your first few nights at home with your new husband!
“What are you laughing about?” Luke asks, glancing over at me.
“Hey, Andretti,” I say, referring to Luke’s favorite driver of all time.
Even though Mario Andretti had retired before Luke was old enough to be interested in racing, I’m pretty sure he’s gone back and watched every race the driver competed in.
“Keep your eyes on the road if you’re going to drive this fast.”
Redirection has always worked best with Luke when I don’t want to talk about something he’s noticed.
“I’m literally driving the speed limit,” he says as he takes a turn down the windy beach road that will lead past his house as we head to mine.
I glance at the dashboard to see that, in fact, he is.
I’m so used to him driving fast, I just assumed.
He reaches over and rests his hand on the very slight curve of my belly, saying, “I’ve got precious cargo with me. ”
“Oh god.” I laugh. “You’re going to be the type of dad who gets a Baby on Board sign for the back of your car, aren’t you?”
Luke swallows, like the reality of being a dad is just sinking in. “Sounds like that might be a good idea.”
I’m lost in the mental images of Luke being my baby’s dad—the birth, all the milestones he’ll be a part of, all the ways in which this will change our relationship. And then the road curves past the huge stone entrance to Wellington Manor, and Luke hisses, “Shit,” under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, brow furrowing as I look at his expression.
“Preston’s and Tucker’s cars are both in the driveway at my parents’ house.”
“Do you think this means your brothers are joining us for dinner?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” he says, continuing along the road for a few hundred more feet before turning into my parents’ driveway.
He seems so much calmer than I feel, which is shocking given that he’s not just facing our parents—there’s a professional component to this for him, since his dad owns the team and my dad is his coach.
As my childhood home comes into view, my stomach flips, and I find myself wondering why I’m so nervous.
At my core, I’m a performer, and that’s all tonight is.
..putting on a performance that will convince our parents we’re so madly in love, we eloped.
And as a bonus, they get a grandkid out of it.
“You remember what Morgan said, right? Stick to the script,” I say.
“I’m best when I follow your lead,” he says. “We’ll make sure we sell it. ”
My stomach does another weird flip as I think about how tonight, after dinner, I need to pack up the remaining things I’d brought to my parents’ house when I headed here for the month so we can bring them with us to Luke’s place.
As he pulls the car along the side of the driveway and shifts into park, he reaches out to give my knee a squeeze. “We’ve got this, Evie.”
I gulp and my stomach flips again. Am I so nervous that I’m making myself sick? Get it together, Eva!
As Luke opens his door and comes around the hood toward the passenger side, I open my door and step out to meet him. With the car door firmly in place between us, I drop my head and sigh.
“Hey,” he says, cupping my jaw with surprising delicacy as he tilts my face up to him.
“They’re going to be happy for us. It’s going to be fine.
” He tilts his head down and presses a kiss right where my forehead meets my hairline, then slides his hands down the side of my neck and over my shoulders.
At first, his touch relaxes me, like it always has, but then, it’s like my body remembers the way he was touching me the other night and immediately starts to crave that feeling all over again.
Which is terrible fucking timing, given that I see both sets of our parents out of the corner of my eye coming down the stairs of the deck and heading toward us.
I look up at him just in time to see his face descending toward mine.
The gentle caress of his lips steals my breath and has me wanting more, then he steps back and guides me around the car door so he can shut it.
“Game time,” I mutter, and as he turns toward the house, he inhales sharply, as if he’s surprised to see our parents walking toward us. But isn’t that why he just kissed me? So they’d believe we’re blissed-out newlyweds?
“You two have a lot of explaining to do,” Dad says, looking back and forth between us.
Is that disappointment in his voice? From his neutral expression, I can’t tell if he’s only looking for an explanation, pissed as hell, or something else altogether.
And when Luke brushes his pinky across the back of my hand, I suspect he’s wondering the same.
“That’s why we’re here,” Luke says, pulling me to his side and looping his arm around my lower back. His fingers grip my hip possessively, and I’m sure he doesn’t miss the way my dad’s gaze moves from our faces to Luke’s hand.
I hazard a glance at my mom and take note of her pissed-off expression. Which, to be fair, is kind of her default. When I was a teenager, I made the mistake of teasing her about her resting bitch face and quickly learned that she did not find me funny in the least.
I follow Luke’s gaze to his parents. Elise and Frank are standing hand in hand, like they almost always are, because they’re literally the cutest older married couple. I hope Luke and I are like that someday.
I’m not sure where the thought even comes from. There’s no guarantee that we’ll stay married that long. But god, if there was anyone in this world I’d want to settle down with forever, it’s him.
Elise’s lips are turned down at the corners and she’s blinking rapidly, as though she’s trying to prevent herself from crying. It makes me wonder if she’s sad about this marriage, or only about having missed the wedding. Could she be this upset that I didn’t sign a prenup?
Frank, however, is beaming. He looks like he just won a bet—as if he knew this was going to happen eventually and has been proven right. It’s nice that at least one person here seems happy about this marriage.
“Let’s eat before the food gets cold,” my mom says, absolutely no emotion in her voice as she gestures toward the house behind her.
Luke drops another kiss on the top of my head and tucks me up against his side as we follow our parents up the stairs and onto the deck, which runs along the entire length of the house. When we get there, I note that Preston and Tucker are nowhere in sight.
“Preston and Tucker didn’t come?” Luke asks his mom as we move toward the table.
“No,” she says, giving his arm a pat. “Preston stopped by to talk to your dad about some business stuff, and Tucker was kind enough to pick up a dress I’d ordered in the city and drive it up here for me on his way to the restaurant.”
Luke nods, and I wonder if he’s relieved about their absence or was hoping they could run interference?
That is, assuming that they support our marriage and would be willing to back us up?
Based on Preston’s text about the lack of a prenup, I have no idea how the Hartmann family feels about this.
I also have no sense of what it’s like to have siblings.
We take our seats around the large glass table, where grilled steaks and skewers of shrimp sit on platters, surrounded by a large bowl of grilled veggies and smaller bowls of potato, pasta, and green salads.
My stomach rumbles loud enough that Luke hears it over the crashing waves below us, and he chuckles.
He knows that it’s been hours since I ate on the plane and that Baby Squash has probably devoured all the nutrients from that meal, leaving me starving.
After a decade of closely monitoring every last thing I put into my body, one of the highlights of the past few days in LA was actually eating what I wanted, when I wanted.
We load up our plates in silence before Frank finally says, “All right, kiddos, tell us what’s going on.
” His white hair is ruffling in the ocean breeze, his pink cheeks glowing from the golden light of the sinking sun, and his light eyes twinkle.
I’m pretty sure he’s enjoying this, but I’m not certain which aspects of this situation make him happy and which he might be concerned about.
I move my hand from my lap to Luke’s thigh, giving him a little squeeze. I know he said he’s best when following my lead, but it’s like I’ve forgotten the story we’d concocted in LA and perfected on the flight home. I’m at a total loss for words.