Page 83 of Pucked and Pregnant

“Not really,” I reply, explaining what the texts said from Travis.

“I hate that guy,” Connor mutters as he holds out his hand and helps me get up.

“Get in line,” I say ruefully, testing out my balance by looking around the bathroom and shifting my weight. Surprisingly, I feel better than I thought I would. This whole pregnancy thing is just… weird. Why doesn’t anyone talk about how strange your body feels once a tiny little person-parasite gets a hold of it? It’s all about the magical stuff, or the scary stuff.

“Are you sure you’re feeling up to doing that?” Connor asks as I step around him to start getting ready.I need to brush my teeth,I think to myself as I pull a face. My mouth tastes fuzzy and just plain bad.

“How many days do you get off when you’re not feeling well?” I ask him.

Connor snorts. “Like, zero, unless you’re seriously hurt and on the injured list.”

I nod. “Yep. Same here. Duty calls and I answer.”

A small corner of my brain wonders what I will do when I become so pregnant that there is no way of hiding my condition anymore. While the press and the players may never get days off under normal circumstances, I don’t know how maternity leave works for TV personalities because, well, it just doesn’t happen that often. I decide that’s putting the cart well before the horse for today. I just need to get to work and start prepping for the spots that need to be filmed.

“Can I help with anything?” Connor asks as I step into the closet and yank out some clothes.

“Nah,” I say as I shrug into my blazer and button my slacks.Already feeling a little snug, fuck, I think with annoyance. Another problem for future me.

“Are you going to interview all of us, do you have a plan yet?” Connor asks as I hurry into the kitchen and make myself a cup of coffee, which I then dump into a travel mug with a lot of milk. If I’m only allowed one small cup of coffee a day while I’mcreating life, I’m going to make sure it lasts for at least part of my morning.

“I hope they let me interview a few of you, at least,” I say. “But it’s kind of up to Travis. This is his deal with the higher-ups, I’m just along for the ride.”

“You are the show, not him,” Connor insists. “No one likes that guy.”

I chuckle. “Yeah, well, he’s a man and that’s pretty much enough in my line of work,” I say sarcastically.

“See you later,” I tell Connor, pressing a quick kiss on his lips before hurrying out the door.

My phone pings again as I arrive at work, and I grumble as I unlock it, expecting more annoying texts from Travis.

What I see instead makes me gasp out loud and causes me to press a hand to my mouth. I feel sick all over again, but not because of the baby this time.

The texts are from Max, and they are links to a bunch of slimy shock-value tabloids. Each one that I open reveals a new horror that makes my cheeks grow hot and my heart beat rapidly in my chest.

Analyst ‘pucking’ the players? Mysterious man carrying hockey bag seen leaving Olivia Winters’ apartment.

Winters enjoying a warm welcome from players on the Boston Blades.

“The Iceman” thaws out at Winters’ Place After the Game.

“Why?” I say to the universe at large as I look at the picture that the paparazzi caught of Connor going into my building. The pictures of Dimitri and Aiden are not as clear as the one of Connor, but it doesn’t take too much imagination to recognize them.

Max’s message couldn’t be more clear.

WTF IS THIS?

I stare at the message, feeling my heart drop. Why can’t I just have something nice for myself, just for once? Why does the universe have to make everything I care about turn into something that pains me?

Another message comes in from Max.

Look, I know the guys wouldn’t be doing anything with you. I didn’t realize how bad the press had gotten. We need to get you a bodyguard or something.

I almost wish he was mad at me for sleeping with his friends. That would be better than him trying to defend me when the negative press is actually very accurate. And it would make it easier, reason being I wouldn’t have to tell him myself. I press my forehead against the steering wheel and try to gather myself.

Finally, I lean back and tap out a quick message to my brother.

We need to talk about this. Make a game plan. I have to work, but when I’m done, I’ll call you, okay?

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