Page 57 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

Chapter Forty-Three

EVA

W ellington Manor is decked out for its annual summer soirée. Sparkling crystal and gold baubles hanging from the ceilings create a glittering aura of opulence.

“My dear,” Elise says, looking at me appreciatively as she and Frank approach us, “you look spectacular.”

“Thank you.” I glance down at the pale-yellow satin dress.

The bodice is a pleated swath of fabric twisted at the center to create two cups, and a wide satin ribbon anchored in the center travels over each shoulder and secures the dress in the back.

The body of the dress is pleated satin below the empire waist, which works perfectly with my belly.

“This dress was a lucky find. As you can imagine, it’s a bit hard to find formal maternity wear. ”

If I’d planned better, I could’ve ordered something and had it tailored, but the event kind of snuck up on us.

It’s funny to realize that when I returned home nearly two months ago, I thought I’d be back in Los Angeles by now. I glance at Luke, immensely grateful that I’m here with him instead.

Maybe the way we entered into this marriage wasn’t ideal, but it still feels like I’m getting everything I ever wanted—the family I always dreamed about, with the man I’ve always loved.

“It looks like it was made for you,” Frank says, beaming at us before smiling down at his wife of over forty years.

God, his parents are so freaking perfect.

They so obviously love each other. And they’ve parented their boys, stepping back as their boys grew into men, and accepting the men they’ve become without trying to mold them into someone else.

That’s the kind of relationship I hope Luke and I have—with each other and with our kids—forty years from now.

And for the first time, I think I understand why his brothers are so resistant to settling down.

When this is the type of love you’ve seen modeled, it must be hard to settle for anything less.

Luke and I were lucky to have found our way to each other when we did, because otherwise, I could see it taking a lifetime of searching to find something like this.

Frank reaches into his pocket and hands something to Elise with his fist clasped. When it falls into her open palm, I realize it’s a small silver baby rattle.

“Is that...” Luke’s voice trails off in wonder, and his mom beams up at him before she turns her gaze to me.

“This rattle was a favorite of all my boys,” Elise tells me, holding it up for my inspection. The small dents are an indication that it’s been well-loved, but it’s been cleaned up so it sparkles like new .

“I’m passing it on to you, for your baby, with the hope that you’ll keep the tradition going through this next generation of Hartmann babies.”

Tears spring up suddenly, briefly clouding my vision. But I spent too long getting ready tonight to ruin my makeup, so I take a deep breath and gently wipe at my lower eyelids before stepping forward, taking the rattle from my mother-in-law and wrapping her in a hug.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I cling to her.

“You are very welcome, dear,” she says. “We’re so excited to watch the Hartmann clan grow. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a baby in this family. And the fact that it’s you giving us this gift with Luke . . . it’s just too perfect. We’re so happy you’re officially a part of our family now.”

Luke clears his throat, and without even looking at him, I know he’s feeling emotional as he watches this exchange.

My big, hulking, hockey-playing husband has the softest heart of anyone I know.

He hides it well behind the flirtation and the feigned indifference, but I love that he shows me how he feels. He’s going to be the best dad.

The Hartmanns are called away by other guests, but Tucker ambles up to us with his normal charming swagger. Of all Luke’s brothers, I like Tucker the best—but maybe it’s only because I know him better than Preston and Tristan.

Luke excuses himself to grab me some food from a table covered with an elaborate display of appetizers. Once he’s gone, Tucker says, “He’s stupidly obsessed with you. You know that, right?”

I nod and can’t contain my smile. “It’s mutual.”

“Good. Please don’t ever hurt him, Eva. I don’t think he could take losing you. He’s too soft to survive that. ”

I tilt my head to the side and look up at him. “Why would you think I’d hurt him?”

“I don’t think you would on purpose. But sometimes, things happen. And Luke’s been in love with you his whole life.”

His statement steals my breath away. Not because Luke hasn’t admitted as much, but because I didn’t know he’d said anything to his brothers. “He told you that?”

“Didn’t need to. It was obvious. You’re his weakness, Eva. You always have been. And if you take advantage of that?—”

“He’s my weakness too, Tucker,” I say, reaching out to pat his arm in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. Rather than being offended at what sounds a lot like an accusation, I’m thankful that Luke’s brother is looking out for him. “And he always has been.”

“Good.” He nods as the single, crisp word hangs between us.

I’m tempted to ask what happened to him. Did that failed engagement break him, the same way he’s worried I could break Luke? But Luke’s brothers are so damn private. I don’t think Luke even knows the whole story—or if he does, he hasn’t told me . . . which I find unlikely.

Luke’s walking back to us with two small plates in his hands. I’m not sure if he knows that my parents are right on his heels, but Tucker sees them approaching and, giving his brother a brief nod, says, “I’m going to grab a drink.”

Luke hands me a plate as he reaches me, and when my parents step up next to him, I can tell by the look on his face that he hadn’t noticed them until now.

He steps closer to me, the backs of his knuckles brushing against the back of my hand.

And when he brushes them across my skin a second time, I realize it’s an intentionally supportive gesture—his way of telling me he’s right here if I need him.

“You look beautiful, honey,” Dad says as he leans in and kisses my cheek, before turning toward Luke and shaking his hand.

Next to him, Mom greets us both with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. I’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt that she still has a lingering headache from this morning’s migraine, but I’m not sure she deserves it.

“I owe you an apology,” Mom says, and my gaze snaps up from my plate, where I was deciding what I’m least likely to spill down the front of my dress. “I said things the other night?—”

“You mean almost a month ago,” I say, unable to stop myself from pointing out that this apology is long overdue.

“You’re right,” she says. “And I should have reached out sooner, but I was embarrassed about how I handled the situation.”

Well, that’s a hell of a lot more honest and vulnerable than I was expecting her to be.

“It’s fine, Mom,” I say, but I know the tone of my voice doesn’t match my words. I’m simply doing what I always do and trying to smooth things over.

“It’s not, though,” Luke says from beside me, and Mom’s gaze slides over to him. “You’re not her doctor. So from now on, you don’t need to comment on what she eats or how much she weighs?—”

“Which is why I apologized,” Mom interrupts.

Her voice is hard, with an edge that, no doubt, would leave the equestrian riders she trains quaking in their boots.

It’s certainly had that effect on me for most of my life.

But it seems to have the opposite effect on Luke.

He looks like he’s ready to lash out to protect my feelings, to protect my heart.

“An apology that should have come weeks ago,” Luke adds.

I reach over and take his hand in mine, hoping a tight squeeze of his fingers will get him to stop talking.

I don’t want him to inflame the situation, given that she was actually apologizing.

Even if what he’s saying is true, I already said it and he doesn’t need to rub it in just to make a point.

“I’m trying to have this conversation with my daughter ,” she says to Luke.

“That’s the thing, though,” I say, and my voice wobbles with sadness. Her idea of what it means for me to be her daughter does not match up with what I needed and wanted from her as a mother. “I always wanted a mom, and you just wanted a protégée.”

“That’s not fair,” Mom says. “Everything I’ve done has been to help you succeed.”

“I know it has. And I know what you lost before you had me, and what you gave up to stay and build a family with Dad. I get why that might make you even more driven to see me succeed—” I pause when Mom turns toward my dad.

“You told her?”

“She had a right to know...to understand why you are the way you are,” Dad says, his tone both tired and defensive at the same time.

My mom’s head rears back like Dad slapped her. “You had no right to share that story.”

His words are low but angry when he says, “I think sometimes you forget that I lost a baby right along with you.”

“But you didn’t lose your career!”

“Something you remind me of all too often.” Dad doesn’t raise his voice, but he’s not backing down or placating her like he usually does when Mom’s upset.

For the first time in my life, I wonder if my parents’ relationship is okay.

Dad’s always been the steady presence that balances out my mom’s fiery personality—and it’s always seemed to work for them.

But now that I’m an adult, or maybe now that I know more of their story, I’m seeing cracks I hadn’t noticed before.

“I can’t talk about this here,” Mom says, turning on her heel to walk swiftly across the large room and toward the entryway.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” I whisper as my heart pounds so hard I can feel it beating in my throat. My head hurts now, too. Luckily, I didn’t develop my mom’s proclivity for migraines, but I do get headaches periodically.