Page 21 of Going All In

Ouch. That bad, huh?

Let’s just say he wasn’t my soulmate.

Well, I’m not going to say I told you so.

You just did.

*wink emoji*

How was the rest of your day?

Tough. Long day, long story.

Want to talk? I’m between games. Can I call you?

I chew on one side of my lower lips as I consider. He’s a good listener. I know that much. And we’re friends, after all.

Ok. I’m in an Uber, and I’ll be home in a few. I’ll call you then.

* * *

My finger hovers over the phone screen.

I lie on my bed, staring up at Maddox’s contact information on the little lighted screen.

I’ve been home for ten minutes and I haven’t called him. What would I even say to him? How much of today’s crap can I dump on him?

I’m not sure we’re the kind of friends who spill about bad days and how work is getting under our skin. Maybe he just wants to say hi, hear a funny story about how the date went. Maybe he’s just being nice.

I reach over to put my phone on the nightstand and almost drop it when it starts buzzing insistently.

FaceTime call from Maddox.

I amsonot ready for a video call, but on the plus side, my makeup still looks reasonably good from the date. I swipe to answer, and his gorgeous face comes into view.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

His voice is so full of concern that I burst into tears, letting out everything that I’ve been holding back all day.

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry. Let it out.” He waits patiently, silent while I sniffle and sob and even blow my nose into a tissue while he watches.

God, I’m glad we’re not dating. I’d be mortified to do that in front of a guy I was seeing. But we’re just friends, so it’s okay.

When I finally draw in a shaky breath and swipe the mascara that’s started to run—so much for nice makeup—he smiles. “There you go. Tell me what’s going on.”

I swallow against the lump in my throat that’s been there most of the day. “It’s just work. It’s nothing. I’m sorry to unload on you like this. It’s nothing you can fix, anyway.”

His brows knit together. “Holly, it’s not nothing. It’s something that’s important to you, so it’s important to me.”

Even through the small screen of my phone, I can see the sincerity in his eyes.

I breathe in and lift my shoulders, then exhale as I drop them. “It’s a case at work. A baby safe haven. It’s just… hitting me hard, I guess. The idea that someone could just give up a baby. I know, logically, that the baby is probably better off with a family that wants it and can provide for it, but…” I search for the right words. “Just the idea that no one wants him. He didn’t do anything wrong or do anything to cause this. He’s so innocent.”

I wipe away another tear and wait. For the optimism, the reassurance that I’ve done everything I can, that the baby is better off. Any number of platitudes that people employ in these scenarios.

Maddox is silent, though. For a second, I think the call is frozen because he’s so still, but then he tilts his head. “I’m so sorry, Holly. That’s really sad. It must be hard for you to see that.”

And just like that, I tear up again. No rationalizing. No false optimism. No attempt to comfort the crying woman, to get her to pack away her tears. There’s not even pity in his voice.

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