“If your parents ask you a specific question, don’t bother with the lie because they already know the truth. They’re just giving you a chance to make it right. Take it.”

She nods her agreement. He looks at me with his eyes narrowed into slits, before turning back to her. “I think we’ll take the check now, Yvonne.”

Without another word, she scurries off to the back. I only have twenty bucks on me, but I make a mental note to leave it for her for having to deal with our shit.

“Dad, I…”

He puts his hand up to silence me. “No. Your little comedy show is over.” He takes a menacing pause. “How far along are you?”

My heart starts racing. “Six weeks.”

“Good. I will make an appointment for you.”

“An appointment for what?”

“To take care of your problem,” he says with a sneer directed at my stomach.

An abortion. He wants me to get an abortion. My neck snaps back in shock.

“I’m not getting an abortion.”

He doesn’t speak again. Not when Yvonne returns with the check, not when she returns again with his receipt. Not even when we walk outside into the Houston heat.

I’ve said all I needed to say, so I start to walk away when he calls my name. “You will take care of it. It is your only option.”

“No, it’s not. I’m keeping this baby with or without your blessing.”

“You would give up on your dreams, give up on your goals for what? A mistake? Please. I did not raise a stupid girl.”

“You barely raised me,” I whisper-shout. “You have been my coach, my trainer, and my nutritionist, but you haven’t been my dad. Kai will be a much better father than you were.”

He laughs again, utterly void of any humor. “You have so much to learn about this world, Liv. And you will learn. We’ll be in touch.” He storms past me without a single look back.

My meeting with my dad fucks with me for the rest of the day. I knew he wouldn’t be happy about me being pregnant but to demand I get an abortion? As if it’s not my body? As if I don’t have a say in what I do with said body? I’m disgusted.

“Goddamn it, Harding! What is up with you today?” Coach Naughton screams as yet another ball sails by me without a single attempt to stop it. The blow of her whistle puts an end to Monet’s drive down the field. I haven’t been able to focus the entire practice. I was worried about my morning sickness fucking me over, but it’s my father’s words playing on a loop in my head that have truly screwed me.

“Sorry, Coach!”

She assesses me and then benches me for the rest of practice.