Page 119 of Goal Line
LUKE
I’ve never been so glad to get home after a trip as I am tonight. I watch the elevator numbers counting up, each one bringing me closer to holding Eva.
I used this short trip as a test for how I’ll do once the season starts up and I have to travel significantly more. It could have been worse, but it could have been a whole hell of a lot better, too. Will I ever get used to being away from her? Will that aching need I have for her ever subside? I hope so...and I hope not...at the same time.
When the doors open to the vestibule leading to my condo, I breathe easier. I remember what it was like to walk into my condo before she lived here. I loved the space, but there was an emptiness that I never quite got used to. It looked like it had been plucked from a magazine spread, and it felt fucking lonely. Eva’s brought a warmth, a sense of home and family, that I hadn’t realized was missing until she was here.
“Honey...I’m home,” I call out, laughing to myself at the silly imitation of a stereotypical, family-friendly TV show.
Silence.
That’s weird. I’d texted her when we were close to landing. Although she’d said it might take some time to extricate herself from the event, that was over an hour ago. She should be back by now.
I pull my phone from my pocket, wishing it hadn’t died before we landed. The driver who brought me back from the airport didn’t have the kind of charger I needed, and mine was buried somewhere in my bag, which I’d stupidly placed in the trunk. But it couldn’t have been dead for more than forty-five minutes.
Plugging it into the charging station in the kitchen, I head back toward the bedrooms, thinking Eva’s probably back there, showering or changing after the event. I pass the guest bedroom that Morgan slept in while I was gone, but it’s empty. That makes sense, since Eva had said Morgan was packing up while she was getting ready a few hours ago. But our bedroom is disturbingly silent too, and I feel a chill running down my spine. Why isn’t she home?
I turn and rush back to the kitchen, hoping there’s enough of a charge that I can power up my phone to see any missed calls or texts from her.
Impatiently drumming my fingers on the counter, I wait for the screen to light up, and as soon as I enter my passcode, the screen is inundated with multiple notifications of missed calls.
I tap on the first voicemail from Eva, but only hear the sound of a hangup. There are four messages from Morgan, and as my stomach clenches, I click on the first one.
Luke, it’s Morgan. I’m in an ambulance with Eva. I think her blood pressure spiked when she was leaving the restaurant, and she got sick. Call me when you get this.
I don’t even listen to the others; I just hit the icon to call her back.
“Luke, oh my god,” Morgan says the minute the call connects, undeniable fear in her voice.
“Is she okay?” I ask shakily as my heart pounds faster.
“I think so? They brought us through the ER, but moved us up to labor and delivery almost immediately. Dr. Lowery is on her way in.”
“Can I talk to Eva?”
“Hold on,” she says, and I hear some murmuring in the background. “She’s still kind of out of it. It might be better to wait until you get here.”
She’s too out of it to talk to me? Fear grips my belly, making me almost sick with worry. “Tell her I love her, and I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
“Drive safely, Luke,” Morgan says. “We don’t need you getting in an accident.”
I try to follow her instructions, but I still make it to the hospital in about half the time it should have taken me. I toss my keys to the valet and rush inside, where the attendant at the desk directs me to the sixth floor while pointing to the elevators. Feeling like I can’t stay still, I clench and unclench my fists as the elevator stops on multiple floors to let people get on and off. I swear it’s taking longer to ascend five floors than it did to drive halfway across the city.
“I’m sorry,” the nurse at the desk says as I approach the nurse’s station, “what did you say your wife’s name is?”
I try not to roll my eyes because I literally just told her through the intercom before she buzzed me in. “Eva Hartmann.”
“We don’t”—she glances over my shoulder like she’s looking for backup—“have an Eva Hartmann in this unit.”
“Is there another labor and delivery unit?”
“No, just the one.”
“Then my wife is here.” I can tell I sound agitated, and I’m sure she’s thinking I’m unhinged, but holy fuck,how do people stay calm in situations like this?
“She’s not, sir.” The woman’s jaw tenses as she reaches for the phone.
“I need to find my wife!”
