26. Liv
26
LIV
I lean my head against the wall in my bathroom and squeeze my eyes shut. I hate puking, but I hate the dizzy spells more. Being dizzy is a horrible feeling, and it seems to be the biggest part of my morning sickness experience for the past week.
I called in sick for a couple of days, just to get a break and try to catch up on some rest, but I can’t keep hiding out in my house forever. The boys have been worried about me, reaching out to ask if they could bring me food or just keep me company, but I told them that they didn’t need to risk getting sick with the big match on the horizon.
They reluctantly stayed away, settling for sending me lots of silly videos on social media and fun texting banter. I enjoyed their support from afar, which further cemented the realization that had slowly been dawning on me. I didn’t want to let them go again. I didn’t want to have to choose just one of them to be with. I wanted to be with all of them, and I wanted to spend every day of my life missing them because I loved them. All of them.
The word love whirled through my mind like a tornado. Everything I felt over the past few days was like that due to the spinning, loopy way that the baby was making me feel. However, I had to admit that the realization that I loved them would have probably impacted me the same way, no matter how I was feeling physically.
Love. That was a big step. But I had almost admitted it to Max in the car, and the thought had haunted me ever since, even though I had been trying to push it away.
I realized that I’ve loved all of them since we were kids. They all brought something special to the table. Honestly, I didn’t care which of them was the biological father of the baby, I wanted all of them to help me raise this child.
All I needed to do was figure out how to tell them. I hoped they would take it better than Max had. I didn’t think my pregnancy emotions could cope with another round of bickering and finger-pointing.
When I think about the kinds of things that they bicker over I roll my eyes. Heck, they even fight about who gets a specific mug for their coffee. I can’t imagine them handling who is the father of this baby with any more dignity beyond that.
I giggle at the thought of them arm wrestling or creating some goofy contest over who gets to call themselves the father of our child.
Their zany, competitive nonsense keeps me laughing, and it’s one of the things I love about them. Even when it drives me crazy.
My alarm chimes loudly and I fumble for it to turn it off. Today is the big game, and I need to be at my best. My career depends on what I can do today as I cover the game. I don’t have time to be getting sick and fainting.
The run-up to the Stanley Cup Finals , I think, my heart racing a little at the thought. Max and I had been dreaming of a Stanley Cup bid for different reasons but with equal passion ever since we were kids.
He had always planned to tackle the challenge on the ice, and I had always known that I wanted to get to cover the action on national TV. I remembered practicing covering games with the TV sound turned off, my Barbie microphone held to my lips as I made play calls and shared stats for my favorite players with my imaginary audience.
Max had been away at the rink, spending most days on the ice by that time, so I would have the downstairs TV all to myself.
I think about how much I actually honed my skills during that bit of make-believe in the family basement. I had learned to emulate the best of the best, and I often got complimented on my style, which I could only be indebted to the greats for.
“The greats didn’t have to deal with being pregnant though,” I groan as a new wave of nausea sweeps over me, making my skin break out into a cold sweat. I sigh and place my hands over my eyes, trying to breathe deeply through my nose.
Still want me to pick you up ?
I squint one eye at my phone to read my brother’s text message. The press has been relentless, and as much as I wish I could just drive myself, I don’t think that it’s safe for me to do that right now.
Yes, please. I’m way too dizzy today to drive myself.
I get to my feet and lean against the counter in the bathroom for a moment before starting to sluggishly move through my morning routine.
Liv, you can call in sick, you know.
I blow out a breath and close one eye again as I start applying my makeup. He’s right, and on any other day, I would probably do so. But this is my moment, the thing I’ve waited to do for years. I’ve even survived Travis to get to this point. I want to be able to do this for myself before I have to take maternity leave. I still have to go to HR about that asshat.
I can do this. Just watch me .
I put on my favorite music to amp myself up and pop a Dramamine, hoping to control my motion sickness. My first pregnancy checkup is in a couple of days, and I plan to talk to the doctor about my lightheadedness and dizziness. Until then, I need to make this work on my own.
By the time that Max arrives to take me to the rink, I’m feeling fairly normal. I look down at my sensible flats and sigh. I wouldn’t be caught dead in these on the air, but for now, they make way more sense due to my impaired balance.
“You look nice,” Max says as he drives toward the rink.
I smile at him. “Thanks. I actually feel pretty good right now. I hope it lasts.”
Max eyes me, a worried expression on his face. “I don’t have to tell you that covering a game isn’t a matter of working for a few moments here or there,” he says.
“I know,” I say a little too harshly. “Sorry, hormones.”
He laughs then navigates a turn before saying anything. “That’s not the hormones talking. You’ve always been convinced you could do anything if you just clenched your teeth tightly enough. It’s how you’ve gotten this far.”
I smile at him. “I had a good example in my big brother.”
He grins at me as he pulls into the rink’s back parking lot. “See that you remember that the next time you want to argue with my advice.”
I giggle and hop out of the car, having to steady myself against the door for a moment. As I do, I realize that someone is walking toward me, and I frown when I see that it’s Travis. I quickly straighten up and pull my jacket down a bit.
“Morning, Travis,” I say to him, my voice tight.
“You look… nice,” he says to me in a strange tone of voice. He glances at my brother, and I realize that he’s trying to figure out how to act normal around him. Max is shooting daggers at him.
“I’ll be watching to make sure you’re okay,” Max tells me, giving Travis a warning look.
Travis just laughs. “You’ll be busy playing and hopefully winning. Don’t worry. I’ve got her.” He winks at me and my skin crawls.
“Liv, be careful,” Max says. I’m not sure if he means to be careful because of the baby, or because of Travis so I just nod. I watch Max walk away, and for a brief second, I want to run after him, begging him not to leave me. However, I’m a grown woman and I need to face this on my own. A small wave of dizziness washes over me, and I close my eyes, breathing in through my nose for a moment to try and fight it off.
“Ready to go do this?” Travis asks.
I look at him silently for a moment, taking in the smug smile, the arrogance oozing from every pore. I can’t decide if he makes me want to revisit my morning sickness from earlier or hit him over the head with the high heels I’m carrying. I decide either choice would do very nicely to communicate how much I don’t want to be doing this, or anything for that matter, with him.
However, I do very much want to do this for myself, and for my career, and for my men. So, I draw myself up straight, blink a few times to clear my vision, and march past Travis, heading straight to the rink to start getting ready to cover what might be the biggest game of my career.
As I march as quickly as I can through the building, I think about what it will mean for all of us if my men and their team win this game. If they do, that means travel, and all kinds of other stress and worry. I frown a little as I realize that I might not be up for the travel part of the adventure, which makes me feel sad and disappointed.
However, I still want nothing more than for Max and my boys to win this game. They’ve worked so hard. They’ve earned the right to play with the best teams in the NHL.
“Excited?” the intern helping me with my mic asks as she putters about getting everything adjusted.
I swallow down the normal pre-game butterflies and smile at her. I put my heels on about ten minutes ago, and already, my back is protesting. I shove down the nagging worry that I won’t be able to make it through the game and manage to say, “Ready as I’ll ever be!”
“Glad to hear it,” Travis says, leaning in close to talk in a low voice. “I’d hate to have to replace you for all the upcoming games if they make it to the finals. But then again, once all that stuff about you guys fooling around gets out in the open, it might be all over for you here at True Sports.”
I shoot him a nasty look then turn my back on him. The intern goes back to setting up my mic, and I draw in a few deep breaths to try and steady myself.
What a dick , I think furiously. I had hoped that my time off might help him get over the idea of turning me in to our bosses and the press, but apparently not. He had to be the nastiest person I had ever worked with, and I wasn’t even sure why he was being so incredibly horrible to me.
Fueled by rage and frustration at just about everything going on in my life at the moment, I swing around again to face him. “Just what is your issue with me?” I demand, my hands on my hips.
He blinks at me for a moment as if he hadn’t expected me to be so direct, then his slimy used car salesman smile begins to form again.
“I actually think you’re really good at what you do, Liv,” he says, and I can hear the genuine honesty in his tone. “That’s not what bugs me about you though.”
I frown at him. “Then what is it?”
His expression grows darker, more threatening, as he says, “I don’t like that your connection to a player on the team got you this job. Lots of people with more experience applied for this spot, and yet you got the job, all because you have connections with the team. Do you think that’s fair? Besides that, I work better with male cohosts, as your predecessor could attest.”
I glare at him for a moment, feeling confused at such an old-fashioned, chauvinistic reason to dislike me.
Finally, I say, “You won’t have to put up with me for long. I have big plans. I don’t intend to stay in this position forever.”
He nods. “Oh sure, that’s what they all say. We’ll see if you get so lucky. You can’t sleep your way to the top if you don’t have family and old friends on the team next time.”
My mouth falls open. I hate that I have such a strong reaction, and that he can tell that I’m annoyed, but I am truly stunned. How dare he assume that my brother or the boys had anything to do with me being hired to cohost with him.
The intern had gone suspiciously quiet moments ago. She finishes up then slips out the door. Travis and I are alone, and I clench my teeth as rage floods through me. I want to pick up something and throw it at him or scream in his face exactly what I really think about him.
Instead, I turn away, pick up the note cards that I made with some notes about stats and figures, and walk to the door. I open it, gesturing for him to go first. “After you,” I say flatly.
He walks over to me, then stops very close, too close.
“This is all just a little fairy tale for you, Liv. It won’t have a happy ending, either. Just remember that I warned you when you suffer your inevitable fall from grace.”
I watch him walk toward the press box, my hands clenched into fists. I feel woozy again and close my eyes.
“Not now, baby,” I say to the tiny little life inside my body. “Mommy needs to cement her career for both of us tonight.”
I realize that I’m talking out loud to myself like a crazy person and hustle after Travis to get in position for the puck drop.
I sit down just as the puck is dropped and the game begins. The intern who was stuck listening to our awkward discussion in the green room counts us down until we’re live.
“Good evening,” Travis begins with a big smile on his face. “Tonight, we are going to watch history being made. The Boston Blades have all but clinched their spot to play in the Stanley Cup Finals, but they need to tuck away one more win. Do you think they have it in them, Olivia?”
Travis’ throw to me is so polite that I nearly drop my notes all over the floor. I never know how to handle him when he’s being nice, even if it is in the name of putting on a good face for the media. I know too much about him now to be able to reconcile this charming, good-looking man with the one who has been threatening my career and the men I love for a few weeks now.
I feel sick with annoyance at him, or maybe that’s just the morning sickness talking.
“I know they have it in them,” I reply, glancing down at my notes. I start reeling off stats and figures, pleased that my voice sounds sharp and professional. I can’t stand sounding unprepared, and I work hard to recall the data that I have collected on each player.
Two can play at this impersonal and work-driven game.
We start bantering back and forth about some of the more ridiculous plays that the team has produced in recent years. I feel bad picking on them but it’s part of the job description, even if it’s not specifically named when you apply.
As we are cued for a commercial break, I sag against the wall behind us. We have been standing near one of the VIP sections where there is a great view of the action on the ice behind us. My feet are aching and my head is swimming.
“You’re actually doing great,” Travis observes, as if this should surprise him.
I scowl at him, feeling sweat prickling all over my body. “Thanks, I guess,” I grind out, breathing deeply and contemplating switching back into my flats. If I did that, Travis would be much taller than me. I decide I cannot tolerate him towering over me.
“Back on the air in five… four…”
I force a smile onto my face despite the sweat trickling between my shoulder blades.
“We’re back!” Travis announces. “And just in time for a huge play by The Russian Bear,” he says, glancing behind us briefly as he rattles off the score and a couple of quick stats.
“This really is the dream team,” I add, my smile feeling as shaky as my knees.
I mentally cross my fingers that I can hold up for another hour or so. This is not a day where I can afford to give into my body’s demands.