Page 68 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)
Chapter Fifty
LUKE
M cCabe grunts, one long arm grasping each side of the crib as he lifts and turns to place it in front of the freshly painted accent wall in what used to be my guest bedroom.
“You could just ask for help,” Colt says.
“So you can re-injure your fucking knee? Not going to happen,” our captain grumbles.
“If lifting that little thing is going to do me any damage, I should go ahead and hang up my skates now.” Colt rolls his eyes, but McCabe misses it as he looks up at the ceiling and slides the crib over, centering it beneath the hook for the mobile.
“And besides, you could’ve asked anyone for help. ”
On the other side of the soon-to-be nursery, Drew and Zach are attaching a changing table to the top of a dresser. Next to them, Walsh is testing out the swanky glider that I hope Eva and I will both enjoy when feeding our daughter before naps and bedtime .
Colt glances at McCabe and says, “You know what’s missing here?”
McCabe lifts an eyebrow in response.
“Renaud and his snarky comments.”
“You used to be the snarky teammate, too,” McCabe reminds him.
“And now I’m a ray of fucking sunshine,” Colt says with a goofy grin, and we all laugh.
“It’ll be an adjustment having him back...for him most of all,” McCabe says, and I can’t tell how he’s feeling about his best friend’s return to the team.
“Is he as much of a dick in person as he seems on the ice?” Drew asks.
“No, Renaud’s not a dick,” McCabe says. “But he’s also not in the NHL to make friends.”
“Well, training camp ought to be fun then,” Zach says, his tone sarcastic.
Again, I wonder what Renaud’s return to the team will bring. He’s an all-star player, but I’m curious—and honestly a little worried about—how his presence might change the tenor of our team.
“We’re not the same team we were when he left,” McCabe says. While our team didn’t undergo the kind of major shake-up that sometimes happens around the trade deadline, the fact that three of the six of us standing here didn’t play for this team before last season says a lot. “He’ll need to adjust.”
Walsh huffs out an ironic laugh. “Riiiight, because Renaud is so flexible.”
“Coming back from injury is humbling, especially when you missed a whole season,” McCabe says. “Let’s just give him some grace as he re-acclimates.”
“Listen to you,” I say with a laugh. “You’re such a wise old man now.”
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Walsh says to McCabe. “Seems like AJ and fatherhood have softened you up.”
McCabe lets out a chuckle. “Don’t I know it. Now, can you stop relaxing on the fucking glider so we can finish setting this nursery up?”
There’s the grumpy captain we all know and love.
“Do you have a chair or a step stool somewhere?” Colt asks, as Zach hands him a mobile with padded white clouds and stars hanging from wooden arches. “I want to hang this above the crib.”
I grab a dining chair from the other room, and when I return, Walsh is telling Colt that he should let someone else hang it. “I’m not going to fuck up my knee standing on a chair, and none of you assholes are tall enough,” Colt grumbles, taking the chair from me and stepping up on it.
He’s leaning over the crib, one hand on the wall and the other reaching up to loop the mobile chain over the ceiling hook, when we hear AJ behind us. “Get your ass off that chair before I have to put you back on the IR, Colt.”
I turn to see Jules laughing next to our GM. Colt ignores her and hangs the mobile, before using his injured leg—with the knee sleeve visible below the hem of his shorts—to step down.
“I’m already cleared to skate, AJ,” he says, once he’s firmly on the ground.
“Yeah, well, you don’t need to take any unnecessary risks.”
“You realize they have me doing basically this exact thing at PT, right? We’re moving to box jumps next week. I’m not broken.”
“Sure you’re not, old man,” Jules says as she crosses the room to give him a kiss.
It’s funny to think that at the beginning of the season, Colt was the wild one—the NHL fuckboy who no one thought would ever settle down. Now, headed into his final season in the NHL, he’s engaged to his agent’s little sister and is as whipped as the rest of us.
“You guys made great progress while we were at the hospital,” Audrey says as she surveys the room.
She and Jules were invaluable in helping me get this room ready for our baby. I’d shared the Pinterest board of nursery ideas that Eva had made, and they’d ordered everything and put us guys to work building it.
Between Audrey’s design skills and Jules’s carpentry knowledge, which she graciously shared all the way from her vacation in Bali, the two of them have created what I hope will be the nursery of Eva’s dreams—a soothing palette of cream, sage, and peach, wooden furniture, and a fun chandelier hanging from the high ceiling.
I can’t wait to surprise her when she and our baby come home from the hospital.
My phone rings, and the whole room grows silent as all eyes turn to me. Since our phones are almost always on silent mode, hearing a ringtone is always a little jarring, especially since mine has been on the loudest setting since Eva’s been in the hospital.
I slide it out, and sure enough, it’s Eva. I make sure our friends keep quiet so Eva has no reason to question why everyone’s at our condo, and then answer. “Hey, baby, what’s up?”
“My water broke.”
My stomach drops. “Wait, what? What does that mean? Are you going to have this baby now ?”
“I mean, I assume she’s not just going to fall out of me at this very moment...” she replies, but I can tell from her high-pitched laughter that she’s nervous, despite her attempt at sarcasm.
“But they won’t need to do a C-section?” That’s been a huge concern for Eva since she was hospitalized. Because the recovery time from a C-section is so long, there’s a good chance she wouldn’t have enough time afterwards to get back into the shape required to compete at the level she needs to.
“They’re going to try not to. It all depends on how my labor goes.”
“Okay, I’m on my way. Is there anything you want me to bring with me?”
She laughs. “I’ve lived at the hospital for a week. If I don’t already have it, I don’t need it. Oh, but my water broke on those cashmere PJs you got me, and now they need to be cleaned. I love them, I hope they’re not ruined.”
“Baby, I’ll buy you ten more sets. And I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.
” Fortunately, the city is pretty quiet in August because so many people are away on end-of-summer vacations, and the college students haven’t returned for the fall semester.
I don’t anticipate it will take me long to get to the hospital.
“Oh!” she says before we hang up. “And...my mom is here. ”
“Uhhh . . . everything okay?”
“Yeah,” she says genuinely, with no hint of manufactured happiness I might have expected in her voice. “I’ll see you soon.”
Once we end our call, I turn to my friends. “We’re having a baby!” Despite the excitement in my voice, and the nerves running through my body, I’m frozen in place.
Everyone is congratulating me, and while all I want to do is run out the door to Eva, the room is still in such disarray, and full of people.
“Go,” Morgan insists, “we’ll finish up here.”
“ Y ou’ve got this, Evie. One more push,” I say as she squeezes my hand so hard I wonder how many new fathers come out of the delivery room with broken fingers.
Her face is contorted in pain and covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and she sounds like a warrior running into battle as she bears down. She collapses against the inclined back of the bed and gasps for breath as the contraction passes.
“Luke,” she says, her voice weary as she closes her eyes for a brief rest before the next contraction starts. “I love you so much . I love that you’re trying to be supportive here. But if you tell me one more push, even one more time, I’m going to punch you.”
My chest shakes with laughter, and I’m grateful for a break in the tension.
I hate seeing my wife in pain. I hate that there’s nothing that I can do to help her.
I hate that I can’t take care of this for her, as I did with Hans.
I’d switch places with her in a heartbeat if it meant that I could take her pain away.
“What can I do instead?” I ask, still holding her hand. I hazard a glance at Dr. Lowery, whose amused look suggests that she’s seen countless couples in this exact situation.
“Why don’t we help Eva get into a modified squatting position, so gravity can help a bit more here,” Dr. Lowery says as she glances at the monitor to see how long we have until the next contraction. Not long.
The nurse attaches a bar to the middle of the bed, then drops the foot and we help to get her situated. Eva pushes through another contraction before her head falls back against the inclined bed and tears of frustration leak from the corner of her eyes. “Why isn’t she out yet?”
“I know it feels like this is never going to end,” Dr. Lowery says, “but your labor is actually progressing really quickly. You’re almost there.”
“I don’t know if I can—” Eva starts, but then her face contorts in pain, and she folds forward as another, longer contraction emerges. Three more pushes, and our baby is out. Dr. Lowery sets her on Eva’s chest.
“I’m not sure how to process what I just witnessed,” I say, wiping away a tear before wrapping my hand protectively over our daughter’s back while she burrows her face into the base of Eva’s neck.
She’s still coated in the white, waxy substance that protected her skin in the womb.
I press my forehead to my wife’s. “You are the strongest, most amazing person I’ve ever known. ”
Her chest shakes with an emotional laugh and our baby startles, her arms flying out over Eva’s chest. I gently rub her back to settle her, and she snuggles back in between her mom’s breasts.
“It’s not like I didn’t know how babies are born, but the reality...I’m so in awe of you.”