Page 74 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)
My teammates, who got back from a road trip, are flooding the group chat that I named Assholes a while back as a joke. It’s not even eight in the morning in Boston, but apparently they all watched the performance after arriving back in town.
Walsh
Holy shit, man. Eva was amazing!
Colt
Right? Jules is all choked up, and she doesn’t cry.
Drew
Audrey’s already asking about going to watch her in the Olympics.
Zach
Ashleigh too. Group trip?
McCabe
Colt and I will be playing, so we’ll see you there. You can watch me score on him.
Colt
Right, because that’s ever happened.
Zach
US/Canada rivalry is alive and well. Do we start taking bets on this now, or wait until we’re at the game?
Walsh
You know Marissa would be ALL about planning a team trip like this. Should I have her get started on that?
Drew
We have the break in our schedule for the Games anyway, so it feels like an easy decision.
Luke
You guys are the best. I’ll pass all the love on to Eva as soon as she’s done with the medal ceremony, and I’ll see you in a few days.
Luke Hartmann renamed the group Rebels Fam.
EVA
One Week Later
Boston, MA
I stroke Gigi’s cheek as her eyes drift shut, trying to keep her awake long enough to finish her bottle.
I’d really love for her to sleep through the night tonight.
My girl has always been a great sleeper—something I’ve learned is pretty typical for babies who’ve spent time in the NICU—but she’s waking up more frequently at night now, and we’re trying to figure out whether it’s because she’s hungry or teething or if it’s the cold she caught while traveling with us to Japan.
“Come on, beautiful,” I coo. “Let’s finish the bottle.” Her big blue eyes flit open, and she looks up at me before taking a few more swallows from the bottle. Then, apparently sated, she pulls her head away and tucks it into the crook of my arm.
I bring her up to my shoulder to burp her as I glide gently in the chair in her nursery. I hate rushing moments like these, but I really need to get going or I’m going to miss the entire game.
In the open doorway, Allison pops her head in to see whether I want her to take over, but I’m afraid the transfer might wake Gigi. So I shake my head and stand, lightly bouncing as I walk over to her crib.
Placing her on her back, I rest my hand on her abdomen for a few minutes, just to make sure she’s really asleep. Then I turn, tiptoe out of the room, and check in with Allison for a moment before heading downstairs to the car I know is waiting for me .
I make it to the game right as the third period is starting.
I know a lot of hockey players’ wives bring their babies to the games, but we weren’t able to do that at the beginning of the season because, as a preemie, Gigi is more susceptible to viruses.
Her first real foray into crowded public spaces was our trip to Japan, and she came back with a fever and a stuffy nose.
She’s recovered quickly, but for now, keeping her away from big crowds so she can stay healthy is our top priority.
In some ways, I feel like everything is in a holding pattern right now: daily practices with Christopher, then time with Gigi and Luke, when he’s in town, in the afternoons and evenings. I catch the Rebels games when I can.
This balancing act isn’t ideal, but it won’t be forever. I’m learning to let go of any expectations of how things should be—the notion that there’s some ideal “perfect” out there—and instead, I’ve accepted that, for now, this is the compromise that works for our family.
Tonight though, as I sink down in the seat Morgan saved me in the row behind Jameson, Lauren, Jules, Audrey, and Audrey’s son, Graham, I’m immensely thankful this is a home game.
Because if the Rebels come out on top tonight, this will be Luke’s 100th win.
It’s a big milestone for a goalie, and if it doesn’t happen tonight, the next opportunity will be at an away game that I can’t attend.
“How’s he doing?” I ask Morgan over the groan of the crowd as one of our wingers takes a shot that’s blocked by Chicago’s goalie.
“He’s having a great game,” she says. “Just like the rest of this season. This life and family you two have built really seems to bring out the best in him.”
There could be so many reasons that Luke’s on fire this season.
It could be his continued meetings with Chloe to process and remove the mental blocks that interfered with his game last season, or all the skills work with Coach Knight over the summer.
It could be that, after Game 7 last year, he’s got something to prove, or that he’s getting more playing time than ever now that Colt’s retirement at the end of the season has been officially announced.
There’s no doubt that marriage and fatherhood really suit him, but I’m certain that’s not the only reason his game has improved.
The puck quickly returns to our side of the ice, and after we fail to block several passes between Chicago’s players, I lean forward in anticipation as a shot is taken.
Luke easily catches it in his glove, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief.
The score is 2-0 for the Rebels, and if we can maintain this score until the end of the game, it’ll be Luke’s fifth shutout of the year—one more than the league-wide average per season, and we’re only in the third month of play.
There’s a lot of people saying that this is the best season of his career, but seasons are long and things can change quickly. I know he’s trying not to think too much about it, so I never bring it up.
But goddamn, am I proud of him for the way he’s come back this year.
With one minute left in the period, Chicago uses their timeout, and as our team approaches the bench, seven rows in front of us, Luke pulls off his helmet and glances up at me. His calm, confident expression relaxes me.
As our first line comes in for the face-off, Luke takes his position in the crease.
There’s no doubt Chicago is going to go hard for the last sixty seconds in a final attempt to tie it up and force us into overtime.
While it’s unlikely they can make that happen in the remaining time, it’s not unheard of.
And not only do I want to be here for Luke’s 100th win, but I also want it to be a shutout.
Lauren reaches her hand back over her shoulder to take mine. Next to me, Morgan takes my other hand, and it’s all I can do to stay seated. The nervous energy flowing through me right now is similar to how I feel before taking the ice.
I wonder if loving someone means you feel the same anticipation, and all the highs and lows, right along with them? Probably. Which makes it a tad more understandable why my mom was always so invested in my skating career—she felt every win and every defeat almost as much as I did.
Chicago wins the face-off and Luke crouches into a defensive position, but instead of taking a shot, the player takes the puck behind the goal in an attempt to come in from the other side.
Luke anticipates the change and has already moved, and after Chicago makes a few passes, Zach manages to intercept the puck and skate across the center line.
He passes to McCabe, who sends the puck across the ice to Walsh as they move closer to Chicago’s goal.
With the way they’re passing the puck back and forth, it’s unclear whether they’re hoping to score once more or just want to run down the clock.
But with seconds left, Drew sees a shot and scores, cementing our win.
With seven seconds remaining, the two teams return to center ice after a line change.
Even though Chicago wins the face-off, we quickly steal the puck, and when the buzzer sounds, the entire team spills onto the ice and heads toward Luke.
The crowd is ecstatic, chanting “Shut Out” in sync with the words flashing on the screens running along the perimeter of the balcony.
My eyes fill with tears as I jump up and down with my friends, celebrating the team’s victory, and Luke’s 100th win. And once he manages to emerge from the dogpile on the ice, he skates over near the bench, motioning for me to meet him at the glass.
It takes me a minute to fight my way down the stairs through the fans who are headed up toward the exit, but when I finally do, he holds his hand up to the glass and I press mine against it.
“Love the way you look in my jersey, Peaches,” he yells, trying to be heard over the noise.
I just wink and say, “I know you do, Hartmann.” Then I blow him a kiss, tell him I’ll meet him at home, and saunter back up the stairs. I’m certain he’s watching the sway of my hips as I walk away, and is already picturing me at home, waiting for him in nothing but the jersey.
Maybe we’ll get lucky and Gigi will stay asleep for long enough for us to celebrate this win however we want, or maybe she won’t. Either way, we’ll be okay because we have forever together.
THE END