Page 118 of Goal Line
Oh fuck.
He most definitely wasnotwearing a ring that night. That part I do remember because I checked when he first sat down next to me at the bar—three drinksbeforeI went up to his room with him.
Hans gives a stiff nod, and I watch Adele’s expression grow concerned. I remember her husband being extremelypersonable, not the rigid statue standing in front of me, and I suspect she’s wondering why his whole personality has changed.
“And you?” he asks, nodding his chin toward my left hand, which currently rests on my belly.
I should tell him I’ve been married for years, too, so he doesn’t wonder if this child is his. But I can’t. That fucking article is out there on every newsstand in the country, and according to Morgan, our story has been trending on various social media platforms since it released less than two weeks ago.
I’ll just have to hope that because I don’t look as pregnant as I am, he’ll assume I got pregnantafterour night in Italy.
“Almost two months, actually,” I say.
“That’s so exciting! And that ring is gorgeous, just like you,” Adele says with a huge, genuine smile. If she wasn’t married to the biological father of my baby, I’d adore this woman.
“Thank you,” I say, knowing that I need to make my escape before any more questions are asked. “It was so nice meeting you two, but my husband just got home from a trip, and I can feel my phone buzzing in my purse. He’s probably wondering why I’m not back yet, so I’m going to run. Enjoy the rest of the night.”
Then I spin on my heel and hightail it toward the door as fast as I can, not even caring about the lies I just told. I’m stepping outside when a strong hand grasps my forearm and I’m pulled to a stop.
“What the fuck are you up to, showing up and introducing yourself to my wife like this?” I recognize the anger in Hans’s voice, and it pisses me off.Hehas no right to beangry here.Heis the one who cheated on his wife. And besides, she’s the one who introduced herself to me.
My heart is pounding in my throat as I turn to confront him, and the movement has his hand falling to his side where it belongs. “Youdon’t get to be angry in this situation. I had no idea who you were or that you’d be here.” I practically spit the words at him.
His gaze travels to my belly yet again, and I slide my hand over it protectively. I don’t even want his eyes on my baby bump. “Like hell you didn’t. I don’t know what kind of games you’re playing here?—”
“I’m not playinganygames. I didn’t know who you were or that you’d be here,” I reiterate. “Trust me, I didnotcome here looking for you.”
He scoffs, and the sarcasm in his voice is unmistakable when he says, “I’m sure you didn’t.”
“You are the last person on the planet I’d want to see.”
“And yet, here you are. What do you want? Hush money to keep this a secret?”
I’d laugh at the absurdity of this whole situation—of him thinking that I somehow want him involved or want something from him—if only I could breathe. But my head aches and my heart is racing so fast I feel almost lightheaded. “I need to go...”
His hand clasps around my forearm again, squeezing harder this time. “We need to talk about this.”
I press my free hand to my forehead, hoping to quell the ache. “I can’t right now.”
He nods toward a coffee shop two doors down. “Meet me there tomorrow morning at eight.”
Before I can agree or turn him down, he’s gone—backinto the restaurant, back to his wife. I have half a mind to follow him and tell him to fuck right off. To tell his wife what he did and show her the proof. But that would ruineverything. And besides, I have a killer headache. I turn toward the street, desperate to get home as quickly as possible, but a wave of dizziness hits me and sends me staggering forward, where I grip the back of a wooden bench that sits in front of the restaurant.
Passersby on the sidewalk give me ample room, probably thinking I just stumbled out of there drunk and am about to throw up. Though come to think of it, I do feel nauseous.
I collapse onto the bench, and that’s when I start connecting the signs: the band of pressure tightening around my head, the dizziness, the nausea. What did Dr. Lowery say? Was I supposed to call 911 in this case, or just go to the hospital?
My thoughts are jumbled and confused, so I dig my phone out of my purse to call Luke and ask him. But it never even rings, it just goes straight to voicemail. His phone is probably still in airplane mode. I dial Morgan. She was packing up her stuff at my place, where she’d stayed with me the past two nights, when I headed out for this event. If she’s home now, she’s only a block away.
“What’s up, babe? I thought you’d be home getting freaky with your husband by now?” she says with a laugh when she answers her phone, but I’m having a hard time forming words in response. “Eva?”
“Are you home? I need you.” My words are panicked and barely audible. I can’t tell if they sound as jumbled as they feel, but now I’m truly freaking out. I press my free hand tomy forehead, trying to suppress the ache, but it doesn’t help at all.
“Yes, where are you?”
“Restaurant,” I tell her, hoping she remembers which one I was going to. “Please, hurry.” There are spots clouding the edges of my vision and making me dizzy, so I lie down on the bench. And that’s when my phone clatters to the ground.
Chapter Forty-Seven
