Page 9 of Goal Line
Luke
He likes to stay busy.
The story is probably way more complicated, given that Tucker went through a nasty breakup of his engagement earlier this year. I don’t know many details, but as curious as I am, I try not to pry. Despite being the focus of constant media attention, the Hartmanns are very private.
Eva
So what you’re saying is you’ll take care of getting a table?
Luke
Sure. Pick you up at seven.
Chapter Five
LUKE
The sun’s still high in the sky as I drive up the winding coastal road in Newbury Falls, my small hometown on the North Shore of Massachusetts. An hour outside of Boston, it’s a land of beaches, horses, and quaint New England farms—an idyllic place to have grown up.
And if your last name is Hartmann, the expectation is that you’ll return and raise a family here, as generations of our family have done.
My dad has wanted grandchildren for a decade, and with brothers who are all significantly older than me, I was pretty sure I’d be an uncle by now. Turns out, my brothers have all excelled at dodging this particular expectation in the same way that Hartmanns typically excel at whatever they put their minds to.
With my hockey career, I’ve always assumed that I’d be the last one to get married and have kids, but at this point, Icould very well be the first—and I’ve never even had a serious girlfriend.That’show allergic to commitment my brothers are, especially after seeing Tucker’s engagement blow up so spectacularly.
I speed past the huge brick pillars and the iron gates that mark the entrance to Wellington Manor, feeling no guilt about steering clear of my parents, since they both witnessed my unforgettably terrible Game 7 in St. Louis yesterday.
The text message I received this afternoon from my general manager, AJ, asking me to meet her at her office in the Rebels’ practice facility early next week, is weighing heavily on my mind. I can’t help but wonder if my dad knows I’m being called in like this, and if so, what his thoughts are. Playing for a team my family owns has been complicated.
I take the curve in the road and head toward Eva’s childhood home, thinking maybe I should have offered to bring dinner and we could have eaten on the beach while watching the sunset instead. The beach at golden hour is our favorite, and I’m having second thoughts about seeing my brother at his restaurant tonight.
I’ve been fielding calls and texts from my parents and brothers for the last twenty-four hours. They all want to make sure I’m okay, and I just want to pretend like yesterday never happened—like I’m not singularly responsible for robbing my team of the championship they’d worked toward all season.
The Rebels had been well on their way to making the playoffs evenbeforeI was traded to them. This was their chance, and I showed up as the new guy on the team and lost it for them.
Even worse? Since my family owns the team, I’ve not only let the fans and my teammates down, but my parents and brothers as well.
My stomach roils as I replay the last ten minutes of the game in my mind. The only thing that prevents me from turning around, driving back to Boston, hiding out in my luxury condo, and shutting the whole world out is Eva. She needs a friend who knows what she’s going through and can be there to support her.
I park in her driveway, amazed as always by the spectacular view beyond the small house.
The property I grew up on, just down the road, is the former summer estate of a New York steel tycoon. Despite its acres of rolling hills, fenced-in pastures, world-class riding facility, and classically inspired pool area, it doesn’t hold a candle to this view.
The ocean was my first love until I found hockey...and Eva.
I’m out of my car and heading toward the front door when I hear voices from the back of the house. So I follow the stone path along the blue hydrangeas that line the side of the house and take the stairs up to the deck, where I see Charlie and Eva. Her arms are spread on the deck railing, her back to me as she looks out at the ocean. She has her head thrown back, laughing at something her father has said, and her dark hair sways across her bare shoulders in the breeze.
She’s so serious by nature—so focused and driven—that it’s a relief to see her relaxed, even for a moment. I’m about to announce myself when she glances over her shoulder and her eyes widen in surprise before a huge grin splits her face. “Luke!” And then she’s sprinting across the deck in her flip-flops.
She wraps me in a hug, and I want to close my eyes and breathe in the peach scent of her hair as I curl my arms around her lower back and dig my fingertip into her sides until she screams with laughter because she’s so ticklish. But I don’t. I keep my eyes open as I return her hug, nodding toward Charlie where he watches us.
“How are you doing?” Charlie asks once Eva steps back. The concern is evident in his tone, and I appreciate that his caring and thoughtful nature always outweighs the shrewd wisdom he displays as a coach.
“I’ve been better, honestly.”
He nods, an acknowledgement that neither conveys disappointment nor indicates that he thinks this will be okay.
“Hopefully, dinner tonight will be what you both need after a rough day yesterday,” he says, smiling fondly at his daughter.
