Unfinished Ex: A Second Chance Surprise Pregnancy Romance Page 2

  “Heads up,” Cooper says, nodding across the room.

  Calista is walking over, her eyes as bright as I’ve ever seen them. “Jaxon! I just heard the news.”

  “I guess good news travels fast.” I almost choke on the words, but they please her. And if I’m anything, I’m a people pleaser. It’s one of my best qualities. Or perhaps my greatest downfall.

  “Well, congratulations.” She leans down and kisses my cheek. “I’m here with friends, but maybe we can get together after.”

  “Sure. I’ll text you.”

  “Great. See you later then. Bye, guys.”

  Cooper stares me down. “You aren’t going to text her later, are you?”

  Lissa puts another round of drinks on the table. I toss one back. “Is it that obvious?”

  Tag huffs. “Bro, you have a gorgeous woman who basically just told you she’s up for a game of hide the sausage, and you’re just going to go home and sulk over your failed marriage to the girl who cheated on you?”

  Cooper pushes his shot in front of me. “You need this more than I do.”

  I drink it, knowing I’ll need a lot more to numb whatever the hell feeling this is inside me.

  Chapter Two

  Nicky

  Yesterday…

  “Five minutes,” my producer, Marty, says, popping his head into my small dressing room at 5:15 a.m.

  “Got it.”

  I check my face in the mirror. After almost eight months on air, I feel I’ve gotten the makeup down pat, albeit far from a professional makeup job. At least I have a dressing room, even if it’s not much bigger than the broom closet next to it. For all I know, this was a closet before WRKT hired me as their morning meteorologist. But it’s a country mile from what I had before they offered me this position—which was a corner of the supply room. Let’s face it, while this is basically my dream job (or at least a stepping stone toward it), WRKT is like working at a coffee cart instead of Starbucks.

  When I first came to Oklahoma, I worked as a forecaster. I chased storms, researched data, and helped come up with interesting weather-related stories the ‘real’ meteorologists would cover. Then I caught the eye of one of the producers, who thought I might work well on camera, so he put me in an on-camera apprentice program. It was basically an unpaid internship, and I was living in an apartment over some guy’s garage surviving on tips I made waitressing at the local honky-tonk.

  But I was doing what I loved. Being on camera reporting the weather was never even on my radar. Yes, I took a few TV studio classes in college taught by a former television reporter who said I should try my hand at weather broadcasting. But that’s like a professor telling an acting student they should try to be in a television series. It’s something a lot of meteorology students dream of but that very few will ever achieve. In reality, most meteorologists don’t even work for TV or radio. They work for private companies: insurance, trucking, shipping, even the government.

  I wanted to gather data, dissect the atmosphere, and make the appropriate predictions. After Marty Maxwell took an interest in me and got me the apprentice gig, I started doing small ninety-second environmental pieces about controlled burns, pollution, and deforestation. When I tested well on those segments, they moved me to weekends when Marisol Hennesee left to go to a larger station in Seattle. I was in that position for less than a month when a more prestigious position opened up right here at the station after Kyle Morrison left to go to KBLJ, a much larger New Jersey station akin to Dunkin’, if we’re still talking in coffee shop metaphors. It’s no secret that small stations like mine are merely a pit stop until something better comes along. Turnover is common if not expected. So there I was being offered the coveted morning meteorologist slot at this small Oklahoma City affiliate of XTN, the national cable news network second only to ‘the big three.’

  I immediately quit moonlighting at the place where serving handsy men paid my rent and literally went from being an unknown weekend weather girl to a respected TV forecaster overnight.

  Weather girl. That term grates on me like fingernails on a blackboard. It’s left over from a time when they put pretty girls on TV to recite information fed to them by meteorologists. But today, almost everyone doing the weather on television has a science degree.

  I look down at my chest, running a hand across my breasts, making sure my stiff nipples aren’t showing. Studios are cold. It’s better for the equipment, but certainly not for nipples—unless you’re a horny man watching the weather who gets off on that sort of thing. Over the past year, I’ve gone from wearing sexy bralettes to padded, more traditional bras that cover my pointy peaks.

  “On in two,” Marty says as I make my way to the set.

  I take my position in front of the green screen, put in my earpiece, and wait for my cue. Marty talks to me in my ear, doing a quick sound check. I nod. Marty is always in my ear. He feeds me any new and breaking information while I’m on camera. He corrects me if I say anything wrong so that I can rephrase it, and he offers encouragement when needed. He’s become like a father to me. And if Marty is my father, Josh, the cameraman who always shoots me when we go out on location, is like a brother.

  My broadcast starts. I never read from a script or teleprompter. Unless there is breaking weather news, my spots only last for a few minutes at a time, peppered through the morning show and the news show directly after.

  Today is no different than every other day this week. August in Oklahoma is hot, humid, and mostly cloudy. Tornado season has long since passed, although we still get the occasional outbreak—a meteorologist’s dream.

  My spot ends and I head over to my designated workspace, grabbing a muffin and a third cup of coffee along the way. I get on the computer knowing I’ll be back on air again in about thirty-five minutes. I’m always looking for something else, an edge to a story, a spin on the typical weather. Sometimes it gets boring reciting the same information seven or eight times a day.

  Last month, I was sure I’d be fired when I reported about homelessness and the heat wave, getting far too political by pointing out shortcomings in how the city deals with the indigent population. Instead, Marty brought me flowers and told me to keep up the good work. A week later, I pushed the envelope again when I did a clip of my own story and why I became a meteorologist. I was hoping to inspire young women to get excited about science. The station was flooded with texts, tweets, and emails about how much they loved the human element I brought to weather segments.

  A week ago, Kenny Marin, the station manager, offered me a raise. I’m now making more than my predecessor, which delights me to no end considering he was a man. I know they’re afraid I’ll leave. Just like everyone else leaves eventually. I’ve had my eye on WMBZ in New Orleans. While Oklahoma City is exciting as the tornado capital of the US, New Orleans is a hurricane magnet. And if tornadoes are the meteorologist equivalent of crack to a drug addict, hurricanes are heroin.

  While I’d be happy moving to a more well-known station here in Oklahoma, I’m ready for a change after being here for two years. It doesn’t quite feel like the place I’d settle down.

  A hand lands on my shoulder. “Great spot,” Marty says. He leans down. “Might want to get the scoop on what Scott Hayes from KMBL was reporting this morning.”

  Before he’s even done speaking, I’m typing it in and pulling up Scott’s segment. Damned if I’m going to be the last broadcast meteorologist to report on hot topics.

  Someday, I’m going to be the first.

  ~ ~ ~

  I’m home by three p.m., and that’s after I’ve done my grocery shopping and picked up dinner. Most days, I eat my evening meal in the late afternoon. If I’m not too tired, I work out, then I’m in bed by eight, sometimes seven. That’s the price I pay for having to be up at three o’clock each morning. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything—I rub the pendant on the end of my chain—well, almost anything.

  I put away my groceries and set my take-out sushi on the table. I op
en a bottle of wine and then eat as I go through my email. I’ve been getting more fan mail lately. It’s mostly nice people telling me how much they like me, but some of it shouldn’t really be categorized as fan mail. Hate mail is more like it. Marty warned me there will always be people like this, people who criticize my hair or say I’m too fat, too skinny, or that my clothes are hideous. People who tell me how to do my job or frankly tell me to go get another job because I suck at mine.

  I try to let the negative comments roll off me, but it’s hard. A lot of TV personalities have assistants to weed through their mail. Goals.

  Thankfully, the last one I read is a gushing review of the reporting I did on the fires in Arizona last month.

  I close my laptop on a high, putting all other thoughts aside.

  I pour myself a second glass of wine and move on to my snail mail. There’s a second reminder that I haven’t signed a new lease for another twelve months. A credit card offer. The new National Geographic magazine.

  Then I pause when I see it—the envelope I’ve been waiting for. Well, not waiting for as much as dreading. I don’t need to open it to know what it says inside. It says that I’m no longer Mrs. Jaxon Calloway. Not that I ever took his name. My maiden name was always the one I was going to use for my career. Nicole Forbes has that je ne sais quoi that Nicky Calloway doesn’t.

  But this is it. It’s over. Jaxon is not my husband. I’m not his wife. We’re not married. It’s as if the last fourteen years have been erased with this one little envelope.

  Emotions I didn’t anticipate bombard me. Guilt. Regret. Unbelievable sadness. I swallow them knowing there’s no one to blame but myself. I shouldn’t be allowed to be upset. I made this bed. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t leave him because I didn’t love him. I did. I guess I just loved weather more. I know that makes me a selfish bitch, which is why I did what I did. He shouldn’t have to live his life playing second fiddle to my first true love. He deserves a woman who wants the same things he does: marriage, family, Disney World vacations, and game nights. That was never going to be me, no matter how much I wanted it to be.

  And according to Paige, the one friend I keep in touch with on Facebook, he’s moved on with someone who may be able to give him what he wants. Just… why does it have to be Calista Hilson? My high school nemesis. The head cheerleader and class president—both junior and senior years. The person everyone joked Jaxon should be with, as he was not only the star quarterback but also on the student council. Me—I was too busy being in the science club, math club, physics club, and any other geeky organization I could join. I spent my weekends reading books about weather and watching TWC videos. Jaxon spent his weekends playing or watching football and organizing school events with, you guessed it, Calista.

  She and I are complete opposites in every way. We couldn’t look more different either. She’s blonde and petite. I’m a statuesque brunette who towers over a good portion of the male population.

  Opposites in every way. Maybe that’s exactly why he chose her.

  The doorbell rings. Thankful for the distraction, I answer it.

  It’s Marty. He walks in with a huge smile on his face, the kind that crinkles his eyes and shows all his teeth. “You’re about to kiss me.”

  I take a step back. I love Marty. He’s been a great friend and my biggest supporter here, but I’d never cross that line with him. Not to mention I’m not the least bit inclined to.

  He laughs at my reaction. “Let me rephrase that. I’ve brought you an early Christmas present.”

  I look in his empty arms and then behind him. “What is it?”

  “Get ready for your life to change.”

  My heartbeat speeds up incrementally. This is my producer here. He usually finds out about things before I do. “Spit it out, Marty.”

  “Makenna Kendall from The Weekend Show on XTN—”

  “The pregnant one?”

  “That’s her. She went into early labor and will be out for two to three months.” His smile gets even bigger, if that’s possible “They want you, Nicole.”

  My legs almost give out from under me. I get light-headed. I’m not sure I heard him correctly. “Me?”

  “Those stunts you pull—the ones you think will end up getting you fired—they actually get you noticed. People like it. You bring a human side to weather reporting that no one else does.”

  I pull out a barstool and sit, absorbing his words. I may as well be chasing a tornado across a grassy plain with how fast my heart is pounding. “They really asked for me?”

  “They want you out there tomorrow. You’ll go on air on Saturday.”

  “Tomorrow?” I look around my apartment. “But—”

  “But nothing. This isn’t the kind of offer you say no to.”

  “I don’t even know the offer.”

  “Does it matter? And just so you know, it’s a good one.” He gets out his phone. “I’ve forwarded it to you. They need an answer by the end of the day.”

  “You’ll go with me?”

  He sits at the bar and absentmindedly sifts through my mail.

  “That’s not part of the deal. There’s a reason I’m forty-three years old and still producing at a small-time station. This is where I’ve always been. It’s where I’ll always be. That’s simply the way some things are.”

  “You sell yourself short. You should be in a larger market. I think you’re comfortable here. Either way, I’ll be back in two to three months, and everything will be back to normal.”

  “No you won’t.” He picks up my lease renewal papers and tears them up. “Don’t sign this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After being the weekend broadcast meteorologist at XTN, I promise you won’t be coming back to this Podunk station. You’ll have offers from all over the country, Nicole. You’ll be able to write your own ticket. Don’t you realize what’s just happened? You’ve won the lottery.”

  I sit and stare at the still-sealed envelope that signifies the end of my marriage. My euphoria morphs into trepidation. “XTN is in New York City. It’s only thirty miles from Calloway Creek.”

  “You’re not seriously thinking about turning them down, are you?”

  I hold up the envelope. “My divorce papers came today.”

  “Well, that’s untimely. But it’s no reason to give up this opportunity. You’d be a fool not to take it.”

  “I am a fool, Marty.” I slap the envelope on the counter. “This proves it.”

  “Still. You’re going to say yes, right?”

  I close my eyes and breathe. Finally, the wariness loses ground to the longing, the determination, the hunger to achieve the goals I set for myself when I was a little girl.

  “Nicole?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “Yeehaw!”

  I laugh. Only in Oklahoma do people actually say that.

  He pulls a second wineglass from my cabinet and pours himself a cup. “We’re celebrating.”

  I take a drink, and then anxiety takes hold. “They want me there tomorrow?”

  He doesn’t answer as he taps on his phone. “Done. I told them you accept. They’ll send over the details of your flight directly to your email. I’ve taken you as far as I can. This is where I get off the train. The rest is all up to you.”

  “What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not good enough?”

  “Nicole, I knew from your very first broadcast that you were too good for WRKT.”

  I let it sink in. “Oh my god. XTN. It’s a dream come true.”

  “A well-deserved dream. Now let’s kill this bottle and get you packed. Josh is already on his way over to help.”

  “You called Josh? What if I had said no?”

  “Josh and I would have strapped you to the roof of my car and driven you there against your will. Nicole, you need to realize something. You’re going to be a legend. A decade from now, you’ll be talked about in the same circles as Stephanie Abrams, Jim Cantore, and Al Roker.”
br />   “Shut up.”

  “And I’ll be able to say I knew you when.”

  “If I’m going places, it’s only because you took a chance on me. You saw something in me and believed in me when everyone else just thought I was a weather girl. Whatever happens to me, I owe to you.”

  “Remember to thank me when you write your autobiography one day.”

  I pull him in for a hug. Then I kiss him on the cheek.

  “See?” he says. “I knew you’d want to kiss me.”

  Tears flood my eyes. I’m excited. I’m grateful. I’m utterly terrified.

  Chapter Three

  Jaxon

  “Don’t look at me that way,” I say to Heisman as he peers at me from the end of the couch when I open another beer. “Want to trade places with me and see how you handle this?”

  He lays his head back down but continues to stare.

  I left Tag and Cooper at Donovan’s. I could only take so much of us ‘celebrating’ my divorce. Not to mention having to endure Tag belittling Nicky. It’s a ruse, my being a good man. Because a good man wouldn’t let people speak badly about someone who isn’t inherently bad. We’ve all made mistakes.

  The envelope still sits unopened, only now it’s on the coffee table. Why I continue to torture myself with it is beyond me. I knew it was coming. I’ve known for two years. Hell, I don’t even talk to Nicky anymore. When she left, she cut all ties. She ghosted me on social media. We only speak through our lawyers.

  The only connection I have to her is her sister, Victoria, who is a senior in my calculus class at Calloway Creek High School. And she’s tight-lipped when it comes to sharing information. It’s like the day Nicky walked out on me, she ceased to exist. I don’t even try to Google her anymore. The last I read, she was working as a junior weather forecaster at some small-time TV station in Oklahoma City.

  I take a sip and point the mouth of the beer bottle at Heisman. “You would have liked her. She loved dogs. We always said we’d get one after we had kids.” I huff out a pained laugh. “Sadly, she kept pushing that off further and further until… Well, you know the rest.”