"It's not about what they want," Emma replied. She hoped she didn't sound defensive. It wasn't her intention to do so. "It's about what's right for the piece. It needs to fit."
Kyle's lips quirked up but he made no comment on her words. It was almost as though he was amused by her phrasing, as though she wasn't talking about the piece.
"Anyway," she said hurriedly, setting down the menu. "I have a lot of work I need to do, considering the recital is four weeks away and these kids need time to perfect it."
"They aren't going to perfect it, Em," Kyle pointed out gently.
"Nothing will ever be perfect."
Emma pressed her lips together, feeling her heart jump in her throat. "Yeah," she said with a slow nod. "You're right about that."
"But that's okay," Kyle said. "That's what makes life fun - the unexpected. Life's little imperfections make things unique. So one kid isn't pointing their toes and hitting their mark or whatever else dance deals with."
Emma giggled as the waiter came back with a wine sample for both of them. Immediately, the smile slid off of her face and her eyes went wide. She had no idea what to do. She couldn't drink. She wasn't even going to fake it, unwilling to take that risk and potentially harm the baby. But she needed to get out of this without making it obvious as to why.
"N-no thank you," she stuttered, moving the wine glass before the waiter could pour her a sample. She nearly knocked the glass down. "Sorry, I, uh, I'm on a strict diet to keep me focused until this whole recital thing is over." She was speaking more to Kyle than to the waiter, her words coming out jumbled and shaky just like her hands.
"It's just a sample," Kyle said, narrowing his sky-blue eyes and cocking his head to the side.
"You okay?"
"I'm getting sick of everyone asking me that, to be honest," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
"Weire concerned about you, Emma," Kyle pointed out, his tone slightly defensive. "What do you expect? Are we not allowed to ask if you're okay? You aren't acting like yourself and I don't think it has to do with your spring recital."
"Oh, just because it's not hockey doesn't make it any less important to me," Emma said, trying to keep her voice down so they wouldn't attract onlookers. "Dancing is my life. Well, it was before I started dating you. Then, everything started revolving around your schedule. Our dates, my recitals, my practices. I was looking forward to New York because then it would be about me. Me and me alone. But it's not. Not anymore."
Kyle narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, go to New York?" he asked.
Emma felt her throat dry up. She hadn't told him, she remembered. She wasn't planning on telling him until she got her acceptance letter. If she got an acceptance letter.
"For dance," she told him, forcing herself to look into his eyes. He deserved that much. "My dream has always been to dance on Broadway."
He seemed surprised. His eyes went to his lap as though he was searching for something there, something Emma wasn't quite sure what he was looking for.
"Why," he began, picking his eyes up. They were filled with an emotion Emma had never seen in them before - hurt. And she was the cause of it. "Why wouldn’t you tell me?"
Emma shrugged, feeling herself get increasingly more and more uncomfortable. "I just," she said. "I didn't want to bring it up unless I was accepted. You already have so much on your plate, I didn't want to add to it."
"That is such bullshit, Emma," he said through a harsh whisper. He was already socially awkward on a good day. Now that things were tense between them in a public place, he was doing his best to keep control over his emotions in order to calm himself down, to not make a scene, to not get more and more people to look at them.
Her eyes widened at his accusation. "Excuse me?" she asked, trying to keep her voice down, more out of respect for Kyle rather than because she cared whether or not people looked at them during their tiff. She had never been one of those girls who cared one way or the other if she made a scene - though she did try to avoid it as much as she could - but she knew how uncomfortable Kyle was in the public eye so she always made sure she kept her behavior in check so they wouldn't be noticed as much.
"You heard me," he said, his teeth clenched together so his voice came out tight. "It's bullshit. You should have told me you were doing something like applying to dance academies in New York because your dream is to dance on Broadway. Don't you think that as your boyfriend, that's something you should have told me? Don't I deserve that much?"
Emma opened her mouth to reply. She knew what she wanted to say but knew it wouldn't help matters. "You never asked," she said anyway.
He gave her a look, like he couldn't quite believe she had said that, and then glanced away in disgust. "I shouldn't have to," he told her as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm your boyfriend. Or, at least, I thought I was." Without warning, he threw his keys on the table and abruptly stood. "I've got to get some air. You can drive yourself home."
"Kyle, I-" Emma began but Kyle was already making his way out of the restaurant.
Chapter 8
When Emma parked Kyle's car in front of her house, she unbuckled her seatbelt, placed her arms over the steering wheel, and started to cry. She didn't know if it was the pregnancy hormones or the fact that she felt like a complete idiot. She saw the hurt that flashed across Kyle's eyes when she told him about New York - something she hadn't actually meant to do. Not until she knew for sure.
But now, she realized what a fool she had been. Emma had purposefully kept that secret from Kyle because she didn't want to share her dreams with anyone. No one knew about New York except for her father. Why wouldn't she tell her boyfriend of nearly two years? Unless she didn't wholly trust Kyle. But that didn't make sense because there was no reason for her not to trust him. He was trustworthy and dutiful and always there when she needed him. And she... well, she assumed that eventually, he would leave, just like her mother did. Which was why she kept him at an arm's length. She didn't invite him to recitals, thinking it would be a bother since it sometimes clashed with his hockey schedule. She didn't invite him to eat dinner with her and her father for the same reason. They did date every now and then - go out by themselves dressed up and romantic. They didn't spend holidays together - a lot of the time, he was traveling anyway.
Why didn't this bother her until now?
Probably because she was okay with this safe relationship, superficial in all its commitment. When push came to shove, though, they weren't really boyfriend or girlfriend, were they? Not when they didn't share things with each other. Not when they didn't trust each other enough to open up.
And sure, Kyle did have hockey to focus on, but he always made it clear just how much he loved her and how lucky he was to be with her. To the point where he was allowing her to dictate this relationship and where it went. He wanted to be with her in whatever way she would take him. And she chose to keep him out.
Because she was afraid.
She wasn't certain how long she cried for but she did know her nose was blotchy, her face was wet with tears and mucus, and her head hurt more than it had in a long time. When she finally ran out of tears to cry, she continued to hiccup, her entire body expelling the hiccup with jumping shoulders and a stuffed nose.
By the time Emma walked into the house, it was well past eleven o'clock. She expected her father to be in his office, looking at paperwork for his latest case or sleeping. Instead, he was on the couch, reading a newspaper - one of the last people to do so - almost as though he was waiting for her. When he heard the click of the door, he lowered the newspaper and gave Emma a small smile.
"I've been waiting for you to come in," he told her, his lips quirking up into a small smile.
She sniffles. Any hope of hiding her tears or the fact that she had been crying for a good duration of time went out the window. She felt his eyes on her face, noting the dropping mascara, the red face, the tear-stained cheeks, the crusted nose. She was a disaster.
>
"How did you know I'd even be back this soon?" she asked through a hiccup.
"To be honest," her father murmured, folding the paper, setting it down on the coffee table, and removing his thin-rimmed reading glasses, "Kyle called me and told me that the two of you got into a bit of a tiff at the restaurant. He wanted me to text him when you got home just to make sure that you made it home safely."
Before she could stop herself, her eyes started to fill tears. She immediately looked away, hoping her father wouldn't notice. The problem with her father was that, as a lawyer, he noticed everything.
"Em?" he asked, slowly standing up and keeping his sharp eyes on her. "You okay? I know Kyle said you guys had a tiff. Do you want to talk about it?"
Emma shook her head, trying to maintain control of herself. Her face was sore, her eyes were exhausted, and her headache was starting to come back. She hated crying so damn much and yet she couldn't control these emotions no matter how hard she tried.
"Well, can I hug you until you stop crying?" he asked, slowly coming over to her, reaching his arms out. Emma didn't hesitate to step into the hug her father offered and buried her face in his plain white t-shirt. It would probably be ruined after her cry but he didn't seem to mind. "When you're ready to talk - if you're ready to talk - I'm here for you, okay?"
She nodded in his chest and let the emotion pour out of her, not bothering to try and push it away anymore. Not when she felt so safe.
It took a few moments - not nearly as long as the first time - but Emma finally felt herself start to wind down. Her father gently led her over to the couch so they could sit together and relax as best as they could.
"I've never been the one to claim I have a sense of intuition," he began slowly, his voice a gentle murmur against her ear, "but it seems to me that something is troubling you." He pulled his head away from hers, his eyes going over her face. She knew he was looking for any tell he could find, any indication of what she had in her mind. "I'm not an expert in everything. I hardly say the right things at the right time and even when I try, it all comes out wrong. But I'm still your dad. I'm still here for you when you need me, even if that's not right now."
Emma's heart broke and she felt herself cry even harder than she had been before. She felt her father tense and she knew he was taking it personally, as though he was the one who was causing the tears. And, in a way, he was. But not because he meant to. Not because of malice or ill-intentions. He was saying exactly what she needed to hear right now.
"Dad," she said, sniffling as best as she could. Her head was completely clogged and she wanted nothing more than to take off her clothes and crawl under her covers, feeling the cool, smooth sheets caress her skin. Instead, she forced herself to continue, forced herself to admit what she hadn't admitted to anyone save for Harper. "Dad, I really messed up and I don't know what to do about it."
There was a heartbeat of silence. He tensed as he continued to hold her, continued to offer her whatever comfort he could.
"Okay," he finally said slowly. She knew the worst case scenarios were going off in his head and she couldn't help but wonder if unplanned pregnancy was part of those scenarios. "What, exactly, did you do, Emma? You didn't cheat on Kyle, did you?"
"What?" Emma pushed off her father and gave him a watery glare. "No, Dad, I did not cheat on the man I love, thank you very much."
"Well, excuse me," her father replied. "You said worst case. I'm just going with what you've given me." He gave her a sideways look. "You didn't hit him or verbally abuse him, did you?"
Emma nearly laughed at that insinuation. "No, Dad," she told him. "You know I don't fight typically. At least, not with my hands."
"That's why I added verbal abuse," he pointed out.
"Clearly, you're kidding," she said.
He raised his brows, a dry look on his face. "Clearly."
He nudged her with his shoulder. "Tell me." Then, quieter, he added, "Please."
"Dad," she said, taking a deep breath. She picked her eyes up and locked onto his. She wanted him to see how serious she was. "I'm pregnant."
There was a tight breath, sucking in sharply, tight and tension-filled. She could feel her father shift beside her, his entire body tense. Just like the air. She could count the heart beats sounding off in her head.
She let out a shaky breath, needing him to say something.
Anything.
"Okay," he finally managed to get out. He nodded his head once. "Okay. So what you're saying is you have a child in-" he stopped, closed his eyes, shook his head, gritted his teeth so his jaw popped. Opened his eyes, took a breath. "I don't want to think about how it happened. Would you mind telling me why it happened?"
Emma nodded. While his voice came out muffled and tight, at least he sounded... open. Open to the possibility that she didn't mean for this and she was coming to him for help. For guidance.
"A stupid mistake," she said, speaking quickly. "Do you really want to know the details? It happened in Vegas, I think. It's the only time we -" She cut herself off. Even though her father was an adult and she was an adult did not make it any easier to talk about sex with him. She might have trusted him with her life but that didn't mean she was able to talk about this sort of thing with him. "We were both tipsy."
"You don't drink," he said flatly.
"When you're in Vegas..." She let her voice trail off and shrugged her shoulders.
"Well, clearly it doesn't always stay in Vegas, does it?" he snapped and then winced. "I didn't mean to snap. Emma, you always have a good head on your shoulders. You're entitled to mess up every once in a while. But this isn't some mess up to be taken lightly. Does Kyle know?"
She shook her head, biting her bottom lip. "I haven't told him yet," she told him.
"Oh." A suck in of breath, like a small vacuum. "Do you plan on it?"
"Dad," Emma said, shaking her head. "I have no idea what my plan is, to be honest. I have no idea what I'm going to do. I just... I just need time to process this. I have nine months, right?"
"Honey, you're having a baby," her father pointed out. "You need to make choices now. You need to figure out what you're going to do. But I'm here for you, okay? I'm here."
He pulled her into a hug, and for the moment, that was all Emma needed.
Chapter 9
Kyle didn't call her the next day. Not that Emma expected him to. She had been an asshole about the whole New York thing and instead of at least acknowledging his feelings, she got defensive. She pushed him away, even further away than she kept him since they first got together.
The problem was, she hadn't even realized she had been doing it until that blowout. She thought she was doing him a favor by purposefully not putting pressure on involving him in certain aspects of her life so he could focus on his hockey game. She realized, however, that ultimately, it kept him away from knowing who she really was. And not because he wanted but because he didn't have a choice. Not if she was making these decisions.
More than that, Emma was kept out of certain parts of his life as a result. How was she supposed to know how he'd react to her dancing or to her applying to New York or even about the issues she had with her mother if she never gave him the opportunity.
"What's the problem, Em?" her father finally asked her that evening over dinner. Emma had made spaghetti with ground beef, something she loved. She had already topped the pasta with a heap of Parmesan cheese - her favorite part. She needed comfort food right now. She needed to feel as good as she could.
"Honestly, Dad?" Emma asked, dropping her fork so it clattered against the plate and dropped her head into her hands. "I really messed things up with Kyle. This entire time that I've been with him, I never even told him I wanted to dance on Broadway." She picked her head up, furrowing her brow as she looked directly in front of her. "Like, why? Why wouldn't I tell him that? That's something even my friends know. Why would I keep that from him?"
Her father finished chewing his spaghetti and then wiped his
mouth with the paper napkin. "Well," he said slowly. "What do you think it is?"
Emma shrugged, letting her head hang down. "I have no idea," she said through a groan before shaking her head. "I just, I didn't want to distract him from his game."
"Or," her father said slowly, "and, please, take this with a grain of salt because I'm an old man who hasn't experienced love in a very, very long time, but indulge me: maybe you're using his hockey as an excuse when, in reality, he has never given you any indication of that at all and you're seeing what you want to see."
"Why would I want to see that?" she asked, turning her head to lock eyes with him.
"Because you're afraid to get close to anyone," he pointed out, his voice gentle and not judgmental. "Because the one person who's supposed to be there for you always left without a word, without a reason. And you're afraid of letting anyone close to you."
"And you're the exception?" she asked, raising a skeptical brow.
"I'm not going to take your attitude personally," he told her in a breezy tone. "I've been the one person who's been in your life since you were born. You had no choice but to let me be close to you."
Emma chewed her bottom lip, dropping her eyes to her lap as she tried to get comfortable in her father's oversized theatre seats.
"I think it doesn't help matters that you have an added responsibility you have to consider," he pointed out gently, replacing his eyes onto her still-flat stomach. She felt her cheeks pinch; it felt weird knowing that he knew about her pregnancy. Before him, only Harper knew about the pregnancy but that was never much of an issue because she wasn't around enough to make it a reality.
Her father, on the other hand, was constantly in her life. For the most part, she saw him every morning and every evening. They always tried to eat one meal together, even if that meant Emma picked up takeout and took it to him at work because he couldn't get away.
Positives & Penalties: A Slapshot Novel (Slapshot Series Book 4) Page 5
