Page 34 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Luke takes my hand in his, gliding his thumb across the monstrous ring on my finger, before he looks at my parents and says, “I’ve been in love with your daughter for as long as I can remember.”

It takes everything in me—every bit of training I’ve ever had, every ounce of practice smiling for the cameras no matter how I feel inside—to keep myself from gasping. This is so wildly different from the “slowly figuring out we had feelings for each other” storyline we developed with Morgan.

Why is he going off script about this? Did he momentarily forget what we were supposed to say, like I did? Because now it’s all come back to me with total clarity, and this is not it.

Though honestly, he sounds entirely believable, so maybe this is the right direction ?

I’m busy thinking about how we’ll probably need to let Morgan know about this, when he glances over, giving me a small and affectionate smile before leaning back in his chair, raising his arm, and resting it over my shoulders.

The pads of his fingers toy with the bare skin at the top of my arm, sending goose bumps down to my hand and a wave of longing through my core.

“And recently, I finally started hoping she returned those feelings.”

How recently? What is he talking about? Is he trying to tell me something right now, or is this part of the “let’s sell this story” plan and I need to step up my faking it game?

“We’ve been secretly dating for about..

.” He pauses, glancing at me, like he’s trying to do the math in his head.

“...nine months? It started when I was still living in Calgary and went to visit Eva in LA this past fall. Because of her competition schedule and my hockey schedule, we were only able to meet up in person a few times over the winter and spring. We quickly realized we didn’t want to keep doing the long-distance thing.

So we decided to get married, as quickly as possible. ”

Okay, at least that part of the story follows the narrative Morgan concocted for us.

“And you couldn’t have told us this before you got married?” his mom asks, and from her tone, it’s obvious she’s hurt.

“We knew what we wanted and didn’t want anyone to try to talk us out of it,” I say, softening my voice so it doesn’t come out sounding defiant.

We’re grown-ass adults and we don’t technically need our parents’ permission, or even their blessing.

But somehow, I know we’d both be happier if they bestowed their best wishes on us.

Our families have been super close since before we were both born, and the relationship has remained strong all the way up to this very moment.

There are personal and professional ties between them, and we don’t want to strain that for our parents.

“Why would you think we’d try to talk you out of it?” my dad asks, and by the way Frank tilts his chin as he waits for our answer, he clearly has the same question.

“We weren’t sure. We also didn’t want a big wedding,” I say. “This relationship has grown and changed over time, and because only the two of us knew about it, we wanted it to be just the two of us at the ceremony as well.”

“That fact that you got married in Vegas, when we were all there, and didn’t even invite us...” Elise’s voice trails off as she looks out at the ocean and clears her throat.

“We weren’t trying to hurt you,” Luke says in a rush. “But we talked about it a lot, and this was the wedding we wanted. We’re about to be parents ourselves?—”

Luke stops speaking when the collective gasp sounds around the table. “Shit,” he mumbles under his breath. “Forgot we hadn’t gotten to that part.”

“Surprise,” I say, lifting my hands above the table and giving them a little shake—the awkward jazz hands match my equally stilted laugh.

“How far along are you?” my mom asks, and I jump to the shitty, but probably correct, conclusion that she’s asking only so she can figure out how much this might fuck up my skating career.

I try to give her the benefit of the doubt, because maybe that’s not what she means—but the fact that’s my first guess speaks volumes about her caring more about my career than about me .

“Almost twenty-eight weeks.”

My mom’s nostrils flare as she takes a deep breath in an apparent attempt to calm herself, but it makes her look like a horse that’s about to rear up.

“How can you be that far along?” Elise asks, looking at me. “You’re not even showing.”

I run my hand over the barely-there baby bump.

“I was still training pretty hard up until a few weeks ago. I actually didn’t know I was pregnant until I was about five months along, and I had a competition season to finish out.”

“So this is why you changed up the routine, ensuring you didn’t place first in your final competition?” my mom asks. “And why you ended up in the hospital after that flight? Because you’re pregnant ?”

I nod.

“And can you explain how you’re planning to continue with your skating now that you’ve gotten yourself in this situation?” Mom asks, and I instantly stiffen in my seat.

“This isn’t something that happened to Eva—” Luke’s voice is hard, but I squeeze his thigh, signaling for him to stop, and he takes the hint. Fighting with my mom over the specifics of my pregnancy won’t make anything better.

“Christopher is relocating to Boston this week,” I say, “and we’ll continue training here with the new coach we hired last week.

” When my mom opens her mouth to respond, I continue without letting her interrupt.

“That point isn’t up for negotiation. I’ll train on the ice until my obstetrician says it’s no longer safe, and then we’ll train off-ice.

Our plan is to be ready for the last Olympic qualifier at the end of this year,” I say, my hand moving over the slight bump of my growing abdomen, “but obviously, things may change.”

“I can’t believe you’d ruin your Olympic dreams like that,” my mom mutters, quietly enough that it could be an internal thought she didn’t mean to say out loud.

“Eva’s skating career hardly feels like the thing to focus on right now,” Luke says, before turning and pressing a kiss to my temple, and I don’t miss the way my dad’s eyes track his movement.

“Don’t you dare tell me where I should be focusing my attention, Luke,” my mom says, as Dad sets his fork on his plate and moves his hand to my mom’s leg.

I wonder if he’s giving her a supportive pat, or the kind I just gave Luke, encouraging him to back down?

“You have no idea the extent of the sacrifices we’ve made to help Eva achieve this dream of hers. ”

Well, shit.

“Mom.” I keep my voice placating, like I often do when speaking to her. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate those sacrifices, but...” I trail off, unsure of how to justify this when my parents have truly given me everything they could over the years.

“But Eva’s an adult,” Luke grinds out through his clenched jaw, “and married, and about to become a mother herself. We’re not planning to run our decisions about things that affect us, our baby, or our careers, past anyone else—not even our parents.”

Mom pushes her chair back, and the sound of metal scraping against the deck is shrill. Before she can stand, Dad grabs her hand and very quietly says, “You’re not walking out on this conversation. ”

“I’m not worried about either of your careers,” Frank says loudly, like he’s trying to draw attention away from the menacing stare-down between my parents. “But this marriage and accompanying pregnancy do present some logistical issues.”

Oh fuck. If he tells Luke he’s about to be traded, after everything we just did to move Christopher out here so we could train as much as possible before the baby is born, what will we do?

Didn’t AJ pretty much guarantee that Luke had at least one more season with the Rebels?

Our whole arrangement is predicated on us being together in Boston.

Luke clears his throat. “What kind of logistical issues?”

“Depending on when this baby’s born...?” my dad says.

“Early October,” I say.

“Okay, so the baby will be born right around training camp and pre-season games,” Frank says, looking at Luke. “You really can’t miss those, even though you have a new baby at home.”

Luke stabs some of the roasted vegetables on his plate. “I know.”

“So how is Eva going to get the support and help she needs? You can’t just leave your wife and newborn baby like that.”

“Obviously, the timing isn’t ideal,” I say. “But hockey players have babies during the season all the time, and their families manage. We will too.”

“We’re still working out a plan, but it will depend a lot on when the baby arrives,” Luke adds.

The fact that none of our parents has jumped in with an offer of support isn’t lost on me.

I’d like to think it’s just because they’re stunned and still processing this news.

But I’d be lying if I denied that it has me a bit worried.

But then Frank jumps in, saying, “Make sure you let us know what we can do to help.”

Next to me, Luke lets out a small sigh of relief as the conversation shifts more toward the baby. And as we field our parents’ questions while we eat, I glance over toward my mother where she’s cutting her food and taking bites, without saying a single word.

Eventually, we finish our dinner, and Luke sits back in his chair, slinging an arm over my shoulders.

His thumb runs up and down the side of my neck while his fingertips rest along my collarbone.

I lean into his touch, resting my head on his shoulder and wishing that this wasn’t just for show, to convince our parents that there are real feelings between us.

And the fact that I so desperately want the feelings between us to be real, nearly ten years after I gave up any hope of being anything but a best friend to Luke Hartmann, has sent my anxiety through the roof.

Morgan is right that the adult thing to do is to have an honest conversation with him about this, but I’m terrified of ruining the tenuous agreement we have in place.

My mom excuses herself and returns a minute later. “I made some cupcakes,” she announces, setting a platter in the center of the table. They’re golden with crystalized sugar sparkling upon yellow frosting and a candied lemon slice on each.

I look at that platter and the relief I feel is enormous. I love any and all lemon baked goods, and the fact that my mom made my favorite cupcakes must be a good omen, right? Luke gives my shoulder a quick squeeze, and I know he’s thinking the same thing .

“These look delicious,” I say as my mom hands out dessert plates.

“You should probably skip dessert,” she says in response as she keeps the plate meant for me stacked on top of her own before setting my dad’s in front of him and sitting. “You’re going to gain enough weight being pregnant, and sugar isn’t good for the baby.”

There’s a moment of silence, and my insides simmer with shame and embarrassment.

She’s not wrong, but being called out like that in front of my husband and his family feels like she’s taking things to the next level.

Normally, she keeps those kinds of barbs private, rarely even saying them in front of Dad.

“You know what,” Luke says, pushing his chair back suddenly, “we actually already have dessert plans.” He stands and effortlessly pulls my chair out from the table, as if I don’t weigh a thing. “We’re going to head out now. Thanks so much for dinner.”

I stare at the deck as we turn to leave and don’t even attempt to say goodbye for fear that my voice will crack and betray the fact that I’m about to bawl.

Luke wraps his arm around my shoulders and holds me to his side. As we round the side of the house and follow the path leading to the driveway, we can hear our parents’ voices rising behind us, and I’m glad we’re not there to witness—or partake in—the argument that seems to be breaking out.

“We have dessert plans, huh?” My voice is quiet, and my laugh is tight.

“If my wife wants cupcakes, she’s having fucking cupcakes, and no one is going to make her feel bad about that. ”

My stomach drops at his possessive tone. I like that a little too much. So instead of focusing on that, I say, “My mom’s not totally wrong, though...”

“Fuck that, Eva. You’re growing a baby. Yes, you’re also a competitive athlete and need to stay in decent shape. But more importantly, you need to do what’s good for you and the baby, and denying your body food—and an occasional treat—is definitely not what you need right now.”

He kisses the top of my head, and my shoulders shake with laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“The way you just practically growled, If my wife wants cupcakes ...”

As we approach the car, he turns me toward him, and putting his hands on either side of my shoulders, he boxes me in between him and the car.

Dipping his head down next to mine, he says, “If my wife wants anything ...it’s hers.”

Then he kisses my forehead and reaches down to open the door. As I get settled in my seat and pull on my seatbelt, I feel more than a little dazed and confused from seeing Luke transform from easy-going golden retriever to dominant and possessive in the blink of an eye.

Until a few days ago, I’d never seen that side of him. I wish it wasn’t just one more thing to love about him.