He nods slowly, fingers laced in front of him. “I used to think that too, that pain had to have a purpose.” His voice drops, low and thoughtful. “Not everything happens for a reason. But everything that happens can become one, if we let it. We don’t choose the cards we’re dealt—just how we play them.”
He swallows. “You’ve been dealt some bad hands in life.” He frowns, nodding slowly, then meets my gaze. “But you’ve always been good at poker.” His lips curve, pride shining in his eyes. “You’ve always known how to play a losing hand better than most, Alley girl. Look around you. You’re winning. Every day, you’re winning. And I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
With that, he pushes away from the counter and walks toward me. His words—God, his words—crack me open in the best possible way. I melt into his arms, wrap mine around him tight, and let myself break. Let myself just be, present, aware, and okay with where I am.
I’ve never been more grateful to Jensen for helping me reconnect with my dad.
A small smile tugs at my lips, the taste of salt lingering from my tears.
Maybe fate found me after all.
I flipoff the light at the top of the stairs. The tree glows in the corner, lighting up the living room in soft gold. The rest of the house is quiet and dark. Leo and Vivian are gone this week for Christmas, and I never stopped to think about what that meant for me—for my Christmas morning.
I drop my bag of gifts by the stairs and walk to the couch. Sinking into the cushions, I take in the holiday decor—the tree, the nativity on the mantel, the stockings over the fireplace. Vivian insisted on hanging one for me. It was a sweet gesture. But looking at it now, I realize there’s no one here to fill it. No one to have coffee with by the fire. No one to watch open gifts.
A pang of sadness squeezes my chest. It hits all at once, how empty it feels. How alone I really am. Maybe I should’ve stayed at Michael’s. I’m going back over in the morning anyway. I shift to the side, pull my feet up onto the couch, and drape a blanket over my lap, eyes fixed on the tree.
My phone buzzes from inside my purse. My brows knit—it’s past midnight, and Michael and Stella were headed to bed when I left. I dig it out, and my breath catches when I see the name on the screen.
Jensen.
I press the side button automatically, a natural reaction to stop the vibration. My grip tightens around it, heart racing as Istare at the name. I debate what to do with the few seconds I have left to decide.Why is he calling?
I know I should send it to voicemail, but I don’t want to. I want to hear his voice. Want to hear my name on his lips. Want to not feel so alone.
I tell myself something could be wrong, that it might be important. Why else would he call? And before I can talk myself out of it, my thumb slides across the screen.
I bring the phone to my ear, breath shaky. “Hi.” It’s barely audible, barely a voice at all.
“Hey, Al.”
Silence. Just the ache. Just the hurt. Tension, somehow felt through this tiny device.
“I’m surprised you picked up. Glad you did, but… surprised.”
My eyes close, letting the sound of his voice wrap around me like the hug I so desperately need.Oh my God, I miss him so much.
I don’t know what to say. I could spill everything, talk to him, let him make it better like he always has. But instead, because I feel my resolve weakening, I hear myself say, “Why are you calling, Jensen?”
“I don’t know, I just…” He goes quiet for a moment. “Wanted to hear the sound of your voice. I thought you’d send me to voicemail.” He lets out a soft, broken chuckle. “Figured I’d hear your message telling me you’d call me back, and try to believe it.”
My lips quiver, the emotion creeping in so fast my next breath shudders—loud enough to notice.
“And I wanted to apologize.” His voice cracks. “For last year. When I left you at my parents’. I didn’t realize—didn’t even know I did that until yesterday. God…” The words strain, his composure slipping.
He doesn’t say anything else, and I know it’s because he can’t. He’s too emotional. We both sit there, miles apart, listening to the sound of our pain in every breath.
He finally sniffs, then says quietly, “Anyway, I just needed you to know that. You deserved better.”
“I did,” I choke out. “And I still do.”
“I’m not that man anymore, Alley. Please. Give me a chance.”
A chance. Like he hasn’t had dozens of them.
I need to end this call—because if I don’t, I’ll slip. I’ll give in. I feel it, the pull in my heart and my mind that wants to run to him. That wants to say,It’s okay. I still love you.
I’ve come too far and cried too many tears for it all to be for nothing.
