Page 56 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Chapter Forty-Two

LUKE

“ W hy are you ordering drinks like you’re twelve?” Tucker asks as I take a Shirley Temple and a Coke from the bartender.

“I’m not drinking while Eva’s pregnant.”

“Why the hell not?” Preston asks.

“Because she can’t drink. It’s not exactly a huge sacrifice.” I glance over to where she’s standing under the shade of one of the tents lining the polo field, her hand resting under her belly as she talks to Zach and Ashleigh. “Unlike what her body is going through right now.”

My brothers’ heads all turn slightly to follow my gaze. “I still can’t believe you bagged that ,” Tristan says, shaking his head.

“First of all, my wife is not a fucking prize, so watch your mouth and stop salivating over her. And second of all, of course we’re together, we were inevitable. ”

Tucker chuckles into his rocks glass before tipping it up to his lips.

“You still haven’t signed the prenup I gave you when we had dinner,” Preston says.

I grind my teeth together at the reminder. “I told you I’m not having her sign a fucking prenup. What’s mine is hers.”

“That’s a dangerous game to play with a small fortune,” Tucker says.

“Not when you’re this sure.” There’s no part of me—not even a tiny doubt in the back of my mind—that worries about whether Eva and I will make it.

And in the event that anything should ever happen to me, I want everything to go to her and the baby.

Or babies, if we have even half as many kids as I want us to make together.

My brothers and the Hartmann Family Trust will do just fine without my portion of the estate.

“I think we’re all just a bit shocked that Baby Hartmann is the first of us to get married or have a kid,” Tristan says.

“Why would that surprise you? You three have avoided settling down like it’s a death sentence.”

As if on cue, my brothers all raise their glasses, clinking them together and looking at me expectantly.

“What are we toasting?” I ask. “If it’s avoiding marriage, I’m not sure why you’re looking at me.”

“We’re toasting you ,” Tristan says, his voice tinged with amusement, “for taking one for the team.”

I lift my soda to meet their raised glasses, knowing exactly where they’re coming from. Mom and Dad have been vocal about wanting grandkids for a while, and now that they’ll be able to focus all their grandparent energy on Eva’s and my baby, the pressure is off my brothers. For a while, at least.

“I couldn’t get a ring on her finger fast enough,” I tell them. “Just wait, you’ll see.”

Their bellows of laughter ring out, as if I just said the most absurd thing in the world. Some heads turn toward the bar to see what’s so funny, but “the Hartmann boys” causing a ruckus at a society event is hardly news, and everyone quickly turns away.

“Not a chance,” Preston says confidently.

“Probably true. Who’d want to marry your surly ass?

” Tucker says and we all laugh because, as much as women seem to love trying to get Preston’s attention, it’s impossible to picture him in a relationship.

He doesn’t have a tender bone in his body.

I think some combination of rugby and business—the two loves of his life—hardened him a long time ago.

“Hey, at least I didn’t propose to someone who was cheating on me,” Preston says, and I watch Tucker’s jaw clench.

“Don’t make me fucking punch you on the sidelines of a polo match,” he grumbles.

Preston just smirks back at him.

“Why aren’t you riding today?” I ask Tristan, drawing the conversation away from Tucker’s failed engagement. It’s still a sore subject for him, even though he didn’t want to marry her in the first place.

Tristan glances at the field and says, “My wrist has been bothering me.”

“Too much jerking off,” Tucker says matter-of-factly. “ Tris needs a woman in his life so he can stop tweaking his hand like this.”

“Pfft.” The puff of air escapes Tristan’s lips as he rolls his eyes and glances at Tucker like he’s a bug not worth responding to.

That’s pretty much Tristan’s modus operandi when anyone says something he doesn’t like.

If looks could kill, Tristan would be an assassin.

Unfortunately for him, my brothers and I are all immune.

“All right, I’m going to get this drink to my wife before she passes out from heat exhaustion,” I say, glancing over at her again.

It’s hot as hell today, even under the shade of all the tents.

There’s an oppressive mugginess hanging around after last night’s rain showers, and despite the clear blue sky and bright sunshine that dried the field up for the match, the humidity hasn’t broken.

Eva’s running hot already because of the pregnancy, and as I turn to walk back to her, I see that she’s taken her wide-brimmed hat off and is fanning her face with it.

The stretchy navy and white striped dress she’s wearing clings to her body, and I’m genuinely worried that she might get overheated.

“Here,” I say, handing her the Shirley Temple as I approach. “A cold drink will help you cool down. Or we can go sit in the car with the air conditioning blasting for a bit if you want.”

“I’m fine,” she says with a sigh, but I worry that she’s minimizing her discomfort.

She takes a sip of her drink before sliding her hat back on her head.

Her hair’s in a sleek, low bun, so at least she doesn’t have all that heavy, dark hair hanging down her back, but her bright pink cheeks make it look like she just ran a 5K, not like she’s been standing in the shade.

Zach nods his chin toward the horses and players returning to the field for the start of the second half of the game.

I’d shown him and Ashleigh how to stomp divots during halftime, but Eva had stayed under the shade of the tent.

Now, with the start of the fourth chukker, or period, I’m wondering if she’s going to make it for the whole match.

“Rich-people sports are funny,” he says with a slight shake of his head.

“Where I grew up, getting a new pair of hockey skates was a luxury. Meanwhile, these players are switching out their ponies” —he says the word almost distastefully, like it’s ridiculous that we call these majestic horses “ponies” when they’re playing polo—“at the end of every chukker.”

“It took me a while to come around to it,” Eva tells him.

“But normally, when it’s not a bazillion degrees, matches are really fun.

And Luke’s brother, Tristan, is really entertaining to watch—he plays polo like it’s hockey, but on a horse.

Lots of hooking and bumping. The last match I came to, he actually got ejected. ”

“That happens in polo?” Ashleigh asks curiously.

“Rarely,” I say, thinking about how he got ejected from about half of his soccer games when he was in high school. In games, like in life, Tristan thinks he’s above the rules. “But leave it to Tristan to make it happen.”

“Your brothers seem...” Zach says, furrowing his brow as he glances over to the three of them at the bar, their boisterous conversation still turning heads.

“Impervious to people’s opinions of them?” I ask when he doesn’t finish his sentence.

He chuckles. “Yeah. Not so different from you, I guess. ”

His comment gives me a moment of pause, because I know I come off that way—confident and fun-loving—but there’s a lot more below the surface.

And not for the first time, I wonder if the same is true of my brothers.

Do their hardened and aloof exteriors hide something softer underneath? If so, how self-aware are they?

Zach pulls Ashleigh to his side and presses a kiss on the top of her head in a tender way that reminds me of my relationship with Eva.

“Did I hear you’re from Seattle?” Eva asks Ashleigh.

“Yeah, I grew up there. My uncle raised me, and I just moved to Boston in January to start a PhD program at MIT.”

“You’re getting a doctorate at MIT?” Eva sounds genuinely impressed. “What field?”

“It’s their AeroAstro program, so basically aerospace engineering.”

“Okay, so you’re, like, seriously smart,” Eva says with a smile. “Got it.”

“Just fascinated by space. I grew up as a huge Star Trek fan, and everything about space and space travel just captivated me.”

We chat for a bit about Star Trek and how Zach and Ashleigh originally bonded over their shared love of the franchise, before Ashleigh starts asking Eva about skating.

As my wife tells Ashleigh about her partner, and their practices now that she’s pregnant, I find that it no longer raises my hackles to listen to her talk about Christopher.

Amazing how so much has changed now that we’re finally being honest about our feelings.

“Wait, you’ve never skated?” Eva asks after Ashleigh says she can’t skate .

“No, I have.” Ashleigh glances at Zach. “I’m just not very good at it. Zach tried to teach me at the last friends-and-family day, and...it didn’t go well.”

Zach huffs a laugh and tightens his arm around Ashleigh’s shoulder. “I’m not the most patient teacher.”

“Were you on hockey skates?” Eva asks, and Ashleigh nods. “It might be easier to learn on figure skates. The longer, straighter blade provides more stability, and the toe pick can prevent you from falling forward. I’m happy to skate with you if you want to try again.”

“Eva taught skating at our local rink when we were teenagers,” I tell Ashleigh.

“I’d like that,” Ashleigh says, looking genuinely excited.

“Kiddos!” Dad’s voice booms as he approaches us wearing khakis, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and a paisley bowtie that’s slightly askew.

He steps away from my mom, who was walking beside him, and loops one arm over my shoulder and the other over Eva’s.

Looking down at her, he asks, “How are you doing in this heat?”

She pushes out a breath. “Surviving. Barely.”

“I remember when I was pregnant with Luke,” Mom says, stepping up to Eva’s other side, “we had the hottest fall on record. I think I spent all of September in the pool. I felt like a whale at that point.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t born in that pool,” Dad says to me. “She rarely got out.”

“Finally, the rain came, and the heat broke, and that’s when Luke was born,” Mom tells our friends, “on a stormy late-September night.”

We stand there making idle conversation for a few minutes, and I can’t stop thinking that it’s nice having my friends, parents, and wife here together with me.

When Ashleigh and Zach excuse themselves to go grab some water, Mom takes Eva’s hand and says, “Your mom and I would really like to host a baby shower for you.”

I watch Eva’s shoulders stiffen at the mention of her mother, whom she still hasn’t talked to since that dinner.

“I really appreciate the offer,” Eva says, and I note how she gives my mom’s hand a small squeeze. “Luke and I haven’t really talked about a shower yet. Can I get back to you on that?”

“Of course, dear. We’ll do whatever you two are comfortable with.”

Eva thanks my mom and looks up at me with a smile. But I wonder if she’s asking herself the same questions I am: Where are her parents? And why hasn’t her mom reached out to her since the infamous cupcake incident a month ago?

I reach out and loop my arm around Eva’s shoulders, pulling her in front of me and anchoring her there with my forearm across her chest. She relaxes back into me, despite the heat and our sweating bodies. I’d like to think that she feels safest pressed up against me like this.

“Thanks, Mom. By the way, where are Helene and Charlie?”

Eva had spent half the drive up here fretting about what it would be like to see her mom again.

I know how hurt she is that Helene still hasn’t contacted her, but I’m also proud that she hasn’t caved and reached out first—her mom needs to step up and be the bigger person for once.

I suspect Helene doesn’t know what to do without Eva constantly capitulating to her.

“Helene had a migraine this morning,” my mom says, “so they’re home right now, but hoping to join us for the party tonight.” Mom looks at Eva, a softness in her gaze. “Your dad will be here tonight either way, but you know how your mom’s migraines can be.”

Eva nods, her head bobbing against my chest as she does, and I squeeze her a little tighter to let her know I’m here to support her. Because even though it’s true that her mother has suffered from frequent migraines for as long as I’ve known her, this one feels a lot like a copout.