Page 19 of In The Game

“You wouldn’t try seeing if there was someone else you connected with?” She looks hopeful, but she’s also tipsy.

“Not as long as she’s around. She’s somewhere. We’ll run into each other again, I know it.”

She slow nods. “That’s really sweet, Barrett, I can respect a man on a mission. That’s cool that you are dedicated to finding her.” She gives a small laugh. “I appreciate you letting me down easy. Maybe I could help you find her?”

A lightbulb goes off in my head.Shit! Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

I sit up and slam my hand on the table, far too loud. “Oh my God, of course!” I lunge forward in my chair. “You’re good with social media shit! I tried searching but all my results were from Raleigh, North Carolina.”

She purses her lips and offers a tight smile. Yeah, asking for this is kind of a dick move, but if it’ll help me get in contact with her, it’ll be worth it. Besides, she offered. Maybe this’ll finally help solidify that my feelings toward Julia are strictly platonic.

“So, her name is Raleigh, spelled like the city, but I don’t have a last name. She’s from Raleigh, North Carolina too. She used to be a goalie in high school. She’s got light-blonde hair, brown eyes, really cute. I didn’t see any tattoos or unique piercings. It would really be so helpful, Julia. If you can get me in touch, I’ll owe you one.”

“Yeah?”

“If you find her, I’ll do whatever promo thing you want to do.”

She laughs. “Wow. You want to find her that bad?”

“Yeah, it’s important. Could you try?”

Her frown curves into a smile, and I relax my shoulders.

“Of course, I’ll try! Anything for you, B.”

This is my Hail Mary, she’s gotta be able to track her down. I grin, the night doesn’t seem so wasted now—though I certainly am.

“You’ll find somebody, Jules. You’re an attractive woman, you’re hard-working, any guy would fall over themselves to go on a date with you.”

“Not any guy…”

“You know what I mean. They will, though. Be patient. It’ll happen.”

She smiles and the corners of her eyes crease as she takes another sip of wine.

SEVEN

Asmall ladybug crawls along the hem of my bedroom curtains. Occasionally it loses its footing and opens its wings to find purchase and cling to the fabric. I’m not sure how long I’ve been watching my little friend, but it’s been a nice way to pass the time. Ladybugs probably never feel shame in pregnancy. It’s been about twenty-four hours since I found out I was pregnant, and I’ve only left my bed to pee.

I’m too embarrassed to call any of my friends or the girls from work, but I don’t know what to do and could use some advice. I could call my aunt, but she’ll tell my mom. My mother and I have a volatile relationship.

I was in middle school the first time one of my mom’s boyfriends tried to touch me. When I told her, she yelled at him, and they broke it off. Unfortunately, she had a rotating door of boyfriends, and every once in a while, one would look at me a certain way, and it creeped me out. The older I got, the more often it would happen. Eventually, she sawmeas the problem, not the disgusting men she let into our trailer.

It made me hate myself and my body. I felt dirty all the time. It didn’t matter how many clothes I put on, they still looked. It made me hate my mother too. I told myself I’d never make the same choices she did and my life would be different from hers. Then I turned out like my mom after all—pregnant at twenty-two by a one-night stand.

As much as my mom has let me down, she’s the only person I know that’s been in my shoes before. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and pick my phone off my nightstand to make the dreaded call to North Carolina. It rings twice before I hear background noise.

“Mom?”

“What’s up, Raleigh?” It’s loud wherever she is. Probably the casino.

“Um, where are you?”

“We’re in Vegas. You should see the lights here!” Her gritty, raspy voice makes my shoulders tense up. I can always tell when she’s speaking with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth. That’s how it was my entire childhood. A Newport sticking out one corner of her mouth, with verbal abuse spewing from the other. I can still hear it, usually paired with the sound of hollow stomps across our linoleum floor. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

I clear my throat. Maybe I should call another time. She’s been drinking. But it can’t wait. This baby is growing bigger by the second. It’s all I can think about, and every time I look down at my belly, I expect it to be five times bigger than it was a minute before. And if I wait for her to sober up, I might never tell her.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

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