It was the second game of the playoffs and all Emma could do was try to think about anything except the churning in her stomach. Morning sickness had hit her like a beast at all times of the day and right now, she could barely sit up straight let alone focus on the game. She still hadn't spoken to Kyle; she wanted to give him time. As much time as he needed. In fact, she wanted to ensure that he knew she supported him, regardless of whether there were issues between them or not. 

She took great care to pull on clothes that were somewhat loose - something she didn't wear under normal circumstances. Her white jeans were already starting to feel snug and she wore a faded navy-blue boyfriend shirt with the Newport Beach Seagulls scrawled across her chest in white slanted text. She had on a matching hat that hid the top half of her face and left her hair down. As much as she wanted to pull her hair back, any pressure on the back of her head would cause a headache to breakout and that was the last thing she needed.

Currently, she was leaning forward, trying to ease the queasiness but trying not to make it obvious she was in any sort of discomfort. Despite the fact that her father knew about her current predicament didn't mean she wanted to revert back into a child and have him take care of her - even if that would make everything easy.

Right now, she needed to take care of herself.

"I'm actually surprised we got home ice advantage," her father murmured from behind her. "This team constantly surprises me. It's the best part about being a fan." He cocked a grin. "Seraphina Hanson's most recent press conference was one for the books, let me tell you what. Calling out Phil Bambridge like that. And then Bambridge had the nerve to release grainy photos of two people kissing, claiming it's Hanson and Thorpe. How freaking sexist, am I right? Seraphina isn't stupid enough to get involved with her best player." He snorted, rolling his eyes.

Emma pressed her lips together, trying to hide a smile. She trusted her father with almost anything. If he found out about Seraphina and Brandon Thorpe, Emma knew he wouldn't say anything but it might cause him to lose respect for her, and considering Seraphina was a friend of Emma's, she didn't want that to happen. And anyway, Emma knew that once Seraphina was ready to come out and tell everyone, she would.

Not that it was anyone's business.

"I hope this game goes well," he continued. His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes on the players warming up. "The Sacramento Suns have always been a tough team and their fans are nearly as awful as the Hollywood Stars." He glanced over at his daughter. "You hungry? You're eating for two now."

"Actually," Emma said, her eyes still on Kyle even though she wanted nothing more than to look away. "I'm not eating for two until the second trimester."

From the corner of her eyes, she could see her father push up his brow.

"It's the truth," she continued. "It's one of the first things they tell you in the book. What the healthy amount of weight you should gain."

"And let me guess," he mumbled, raising a skeptical brow. "You're following the book diligently?"

Emma snorted. "I wish," she said. "It's difficult when all I'm craving is everything bad for you. Jalapeño poppers. Jalapeño cheeseburgers with extra special sauce. Spaghetti with tons of cheese. Cheese by itself. Lots and lots of cheese." She sighed wistfully, just thinking about cubed cheddar. 

"Emma," her father said flatly. "I'm glad you bought the book and you're actually reading it. But I want you to know that you are entitled to indulge your cravings every once in a while."

"I know, Dad," she murmured.

He pressed his lips together. "Have you considered getting in touch with your mother about the whole thing?" he asked casually, looking away and at the glass.

"I haven't even told Kyle," she pointed out. "Why the hell would I tell the woman who walked out on me when I was three before I told the baby's father. Why would I tell her anything?"

"You don't have to," he said, turning to look at her. "That's not what I'm saying. She was around your age when she got pregnant. She might know how to handle it, or, at least, tell you what she went through. Granted, she wasn't as ambitious as you are, but a different perspective might help."

"Maybe," Emma allowed in a curt voice. "But not hers. Ever." She clenched her jaw and looked away, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You might have to," her father pointed out, his voice more curt than she expected from him. She gave him an odd look. "You have a responsibility to that child. Now, I'm not sure what you plan to do in terms of prenatal care. Going to your appointments, eating right, and taking a prenatal vitamin every day are great first steps. But what about prenatal screenings? What about planning for your baby's health insurance? One of the responsibilities you have to your baby is the health of the mother's family and the father's family. That means eventually telling Kyle and getting his history. And it also means talking to your mother."

"But what about all the adopted men and women who don't have access to that?" Emma asked.

Her father cut her a look. "Em," he said. "Do you know how badly those adopted parents wish they had the opportunity to even communicate with the people who abandoned them - especially expecting couples? And you have the opportunity. You do. And you're taking it for granted."

"Just because I want that woman to stay out of my life does not make me selfish," Emma snapped. She realized she was in public and pressed her lips together, feeling slightly regretful for her outburst.

"At the very least, please think about it," he murmured.

"Why?" Emma asked, with more attitude than she originally intended. "Dad, no offense, but there's no way you're going to change my mind about this. This woman does not have the right to be in my life. She doesn't get to know my life. And she definitely does not get a place as a grandmother to my child." She cut her father a look, almost as if she couldn't believe the suggestion had come out of his mouth. "Why are you suddenly on her side? Last time I checked, she left me AND you, not just me."

Her father sighed and it was only in that moment did she realize just how tired and aged he looked. Even though he was in his fifties, he looked like he was in his early forties and had the energy to show for it. Emma always told him the next woman he ever got serious would not only have to keep up with him but realize just how lucky she was to have him.

Except, there was no other woman.

Sure, he dated but there was nothing serious. Emma never met any of them - something she was secretly glad about. If she didn't meet anyone, she wouldn't have to smile and pretend she was happy for her father when, in reality she was suspicious that this woman was nothing but a gold digger. But now, she realized it was selfish. Now, she realized she wished her father had found someone to make him happy because no one deserved a lifetime of loneliness.

"I'm over holding onto the resentment I had for her," her father explained slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "I turned into an untrusting, bitter old man. I realized that I didn't want that to be my life. I refused to allow her to have that power over me. So I let it go and I've never been happier."

"So you aren't mad at Mom anymore?" Emma asked doubtfully with a raised brow. "You've forgiven her?"

Her father nodded once. "I have," he said with a nod. 

Emma furrowed her brows. "Why would you do that for a woman who treated you like garbage?" she asked. She didn't understand how her father could be so zen after everything that had happened. "You told me that all couples fight and I need to figure out what I could forgive and what I couldn't." She narrowed her eyes. "Please tell me that what she did to us isn't so easily forgiven."

He sighed. Her breath caught in her throat.

"Emma," he told her. "I didn't forgive her for her. I did it for me."

"Don't use that self-help bullshit with me," she told him. Her voice was getting shrill; she couldn't help it. She hoped no one could overhear her, but she almost didn't care if they could. 

"It's not self-help if it's the truth," he told her, still the ever-patient father. She didn't think it was his intention but it almost sounded as though he was condescending, as though he was trying to humor her beliefs even though he had some knowledge that it wouldn't work out. Almost like he didn't take her seriously. "I decided for myself I wasn't going to allow her to control how I felt. I took back that control. I let it go. She no longer has a hold on me but, clearly, she still has a hold on you to the point where you don't even trust Kyle not to leave you. You think everyone is going to leave you."

He pressed his lips together, looking away. She could tell he was going to pull one of his lawyer tricks on her, get her with his words, perhaps manipulate her own so it proved his point. There was a reason he had a waiting list of clients who wanted to use his services. "There's a reason you don't share things with Kyle. There's a reason you can't even tell him you want to dance on Broadway. You're afraid. You're afraid because what if he doesn't support your dream? What if he doesn't want you to go? And normally, you wouldn't care but Kyle is different. You love Kyle. You love him with every fiber of your being and that scares you because now, you have something to lose. So you keep him at an arm's length because there's a little voice in the back of your head whispering terrible things and you believe that voice. You believe that voice because your mother left you. The one person who isn't supposed to leave. So if she left you, why the hell wouldn't Kyle?" He twisted in his seat and placed both hands on her shoulders. "Listen to me, Emma Winsor. You are not unlovable. You are worthy of love. You are worthy of a steady, safe, reliable relationship. You are worthy. Do you understand me?"

Without warning, Emma burst into silent tears. Somehow, her father said exactly what she needed to hear. She knew they were at the game, knew people were probably giving them odd looks, but she didn't care. She needed to feel his safe embrace as his words started to sink in. They were pretty and she knew he meant each one - not just because he was her father but because they were true.

Of course, it was easier said than done but she would start working at it. She needed to. She deserved as much.

"So," she said, trying to keep her voice down. Just because people saw her a certain way didn't mean they had to overhear their conversation. "What do I do, Dad? I can't just do this cold turkey. I can't change who I've been for the past twenty-four years over night. What do I do?"

"Honey, first and foremost, you need to figure out what you want," he replied as they slowly broke apart. "Not what you think Kyle wants. Not what you think you should want. But what you really want out of life. Out of your relationship. Then, talk to Kyle and see if he wants the same things. And talk about it. Once you both get on the same page, it'll get easier."

She nodded, rubbing the back of her hands across her cheeks. "So you think I should talk to him?" she asked.

He nodded his head. "I do," he told her. "And soon. Now, let's watch the game and hope that Game 2 does better than the last one."

Emma leaned back in her chair, sniffling. Her eyes caught sight of the back of Kyle on the bench and her heart swelled. He was worth it. He was worth the risk.

Game 2 definitely was not better than Game 1, but Emma was going to talk to Kyle anyway.