Page 61 of Goal Line
“What he has is a pregnant best friend who needed some help covering up how she got pregnant, and better health insurance.”
“What’s wrong with our health insurance?” he asks.
I’d initially been afraid I’d lose it if I wasn’t competing, but when I looked into it, that wasn’t the case because my leave would be considered a covered maternity leave. “Nothing’s wrong with it. But it only covers 80% of healthcarecosts for the athlete and doesn’t allow the addition of dependents. So any costs specific to the baby, whether incurred during the birth or afterwards, would have to be paid out of pocket. Luke’s health insurance will cover one hundred percent of our family’s healthcare costs.”
“Hmmm...” Christopher says, as if trying to decide whether healthcare is a good enough reason to marry your best friend.
I decide to steer the conversation toward the photoshoot and away from my marriage. “Do you think there’s any chance that they’ll give us time to break in the skates before they expect us to hit the ice with them?”
Christopher snorts a laugh. “Have you already forgotten about last time?”
“Yeah, no,” I say as he pulls into the parking lot of the rink we’ve practiced at forever. The last time we worked with this company, they were filming a commercial to air during figure skating competitions, and they wanted us in full costume performing our routine in brand-new skates.
You’d think a company that manufactured skates would know that it takes many hours over several different sessions to get the boots to mold to your feet enough that you can confidently jump and spin in them. I’ve never fallen as many times as I did in the three hours we were filming, and I’m not looking for a repeat experience while pregnant. “Hopefully, since this time it’s just photos, we can do more posing and less actual skating.”
“Speaking of skating,” he says slowly while he unbuckles. “Have you been on the ice much in the past few weeks?”
“No,” I admit. “I tweaked my back a week after I got backto Boston and didn’t want to skate until I was sure it was fully better.”
“How’d you manage that?” he asks.
“Just bent over, then stood up the wrong way. I’m getting old,” I say with a laugh. “Good thing I’m retiring soon.”
He turns in his seat so he’s facing me and rolls his eyes. “You’re not old.”
“I feel like I am.”
“Are you sure you don’t just feel pregnant?”
“I don’t think my body is going to feelyoungerafter I’ve given birth.”
He presses his lips together, then closes his eyes for a moment before he opens them again and says, “Are you sure you’re committed to doing this?”
“The photoshoot?” I ask. But I know what he really means.
He gives me the kind of sigh you’d give an impertinent kid. “For real, Eva. This is our last shot at the Olympics together. I want to make sure you’re in this with me?”
There’s no way he’d find a new partner and be ready for the qualifiers by December, even if he started now. The synergy that keeps two skaters in sync and the chemistry between the couple that delights audiences takes a long time to develop—four months isn’t nearly enough time.
Plus, I want this experience too. Even though training throughout this pregnancy, not to mention coming back after the birth strong enough to competeandtake care of a newborn, will probably be the hardest thing I’ve ever done...I still want to do it.
I reach over and take the hand he has resting on the gearshift, squeezing his fingers in mine. “I’m in.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
EVA
Morgan
Oh girl, the goddamn tension in that plane was so thick I almost choked on it.
Would you two just GIVE IN to each other already? Why are you fighting it?
The three of us spent most of the flight rehashing the commercial Christopher and I shot yesterday, reviewing the story we’ve crafted about how Luke and I ended up married, and mentally and emotionally preparing to see our parents at dinner tonight.
My parents’ voicemail after we’d dropped the “oh by the way, we got married” text made it clear that our presence at dinner tonight wasnotoptional. My dad doesn’t put his foot down about much, so when he was the one to insist we come to dinner and explain what happened, there was no choice but to agree.
We went our separate ways after the plane landed at the private airport north of the city—Luke and I headed farther north to my parents’ house, and Morgan back to Boston in the car the Rebels sent for her. Since she and I couldn’t talk candidly about my relationship with Luke on the plane, I’m not at all surprised she’s already texting me. She’s also probably trying to take my mind off the impending dinner.
