“Yeah, I guess so.”

I think about the commitment Maddox is making. He’s not much of a talker, hence him missing our phone calls a few times, and even when we’re on the phone, he’s silent a lot of the time—chiming in when he has to. That he’s willing to listen, makes me feel special.

“Are you drawing right now?”

“Always,” he answers, his voice sounds lazy, relaxed.

“What are you drawing?”

Smartly, he replies, “If we were FaceTiming, you’d be able to see.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.”

I smile to myself and look out the expansive windows to the life just past the glass. Lights dot the dark abyss reminding me I’m a far cry from Woodland . . . thankfully.

“Can I guess what you’re drawing?”

“Go ahead.”

I tap my finger to my chin even though he can’t see it. “Let’s see. Can you answer, person, place, or thing?”

“Person,” he says as I faintly hear the scratch of his pen against the paper of his notebook, a sound that’s more soothing to me than anything. It’s something I’ve heard nearly once a month for the last ten years. It might sound like a trivial thing, but it’s part of what’s kept me connected to Maddox. It’s part of who he is. It’s part of who we are, from times when he’s allowed me to add my own mediocre additions, without complaint. And knowing him, I doubt he has shared this with just anybody.

“Person, person . . . okay. Hmm. Do I know this person?”

“When did this phone call turn into twenty questions?”

“It’s fun, just answer.”

“It would be more fun on FaceTime, so I could actually see you.”

“Do you want to see me or do you want to make sure I’ve been cleaning up after myself?” I’m presuming the latter. He really is fastidious, and I’m glad he can’t see his apartment right now.

He chuckles. “See you.”

Feeling generous, I light up my phone and press the circle for FaceTime. It takes two rings before Maddox answers the call and his face pops up on the screen.

Resting against the headboard of his hotel bed, he’s not wearing a shirt, and his hair is a wild mess. But he looks adorable nonetheless, totally cuddleable.

“Hey you,” he says with a smile. “I didn’t think you’d ever FaceTime.”

“Never say never.” I prop my phone against a couch pillow and prop my head up with my hands. “So, do I know the person?”

“You do.”

“Interesting. Okay. Do I personally know the person, or is it like a celebrity or one of your teammates?” He scowls and I laugh out loud, pointing at his brow. “Oh, you’re right. This is more fun seeing the scowls in person.”

“I don’t draw my teammates.”

“Why not? There are some rock-hard bodies on that team. An artist’s dream.”

“Not mine.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine, is it a celebrity or do I personally know the person?”

“You know them.”

“Well, this makes things difficult. Not your teammate, someone I know personally, is it . . . your brother, Manny?”

“What?” His scowl deepens but also becomes more menacing at the same time. “Why the hell would I draw him?”

Whoa, okay, looks like I just touched on something that doesn’t make him happy.

“Umm . . . I don’t know.”

Before I can ask another question, Maddox turns his notebook around and says, “It’s you, babe.”

The phone takes a second to focus in on the picture but when it does, I’m rendered speechless. Soft black strokes capturing my hair, wavy and almost silky in a way. The strands fall over one eye as the other is looking at a camera. There’s a smirk to my lips and a sparkle in my eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it before.

“Maddox, that’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.” He looks at the sketch and then shrugs. “Easy model to draw.” He yawns and says, “It’s getting late. I need to get to bed.”

“Okay, yeah,” I answer even though my heart is beating so quickly. How else can I react to something so . . . stunning?

He drew me. But not just some image on his phone or a picture from the past, but almost as if he pulled up a snapshot in time from his memory and drew that. As if he’s truly studied me for all these years and captured me with one single drawing. Very unexpected.

Very flattering.

It makes my stomach flutter and my lips spread out in an all-out smile as this unfamiliar feeling deepens through my veins.

“You okay?” Maddox asks.

I look up at the phone again and nod. “Yup. Sorry. Just, uh, thought of something for a second. I’m good.”

“Are you sleeping in my bed tonight?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

He shakes his head but there’s humor in the shake, as if to say what am I going to do with you?

“Just because you’re stubborn, I hope Clyde bitch-slaps you again.”

“That’s brutal, Maddox. Very unfriend like.”

He chuckles and says, “I love you, Kinny. Good night.”

And for some reason, those three little words that we’ve been saying to each other for years feel more weighted, as if there’s a hidden meaning behind them. As if he’s saying more than I love you as a friend . . .

Trying to steady my rapid pulse, I lick my lips and say, “Love you too, Maddie.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, babe.”

I wave to the phone. “Good night, Maddox.”

“FaceTime, Kinny,” Maddox says when he answers the phone.

“Ugh, FaceTime is so annoying. I always have to look at the phone, I can’t just lay here and look up at the ceiling.”

“Didn’t know I was that repulsive to look at.”

I’m sitting at the kitchen counter with my favorite oat milk ice cream in front of me after a long day at work. It was only my third day but it felt like the heaviest of all days. I stayed longer, hanging out with a dog who just lost his owner, and after I left, I went straight to the store, got some ice cream, and sat down at the counter where I’ve been crying ever since. Until Maddox texted me to call.

Not wanting him to see me all teary-eyed, I called rather than FaceTimed, but seems like he’s not going to let me get away with that anymore, so I press the FaceTime button.

He answers right away. I have the phone propped up against my water bottle so I can still eat my ice cream while I talk to him.

When I come into view, his eyes quickly narrow.

“What’s wrong?”

I have a mouthful of ice cream when he asks, triggering a wave of fresh tears, because I’m that person who cries harder when someone asks what’s wrong.

“Kinny, babe, why are you crying?” Maddox asks, sitting up straighter now.

I wave a hand in front of my face while I try to chew my ice cream and swallow.

Once the ice cream is taken care of, I take a deep breath and say, “Rough day at work.”

“Tell me about it, Kin. What happened?”

I’ve never been a FaceTime fan . . . ever, but in this moment, with Maddox’s empathy and his caring and kind eyes, I’m grateful for the technology. It immediately starts to make me feel better, just being able to see him.

“We had an intake today that broke my heart.”

“Dog or cat?”

“Dog.”

Knowing me so well, Maddox says, “Tell me about the dog.”

Taking a deep breath to calm the shivering sadness that’s been wracking me, I say, “His name is Deeogee. You know, like D-O-G.”

He softly smiles and nods.

“I’ve heard the clever name before but never for such a little guy. A chihuahua. All black with one little white spot on his head. His owner, Carol Braverman, was moved to hospice today and none of her children can take the dog for all different reasons, so they surrendered Deeogee to the center today. She was terrified. Shivering, ears flat, looking around. God, it just about killed me. I held her in a blanket for hours after we closed, whispering to her that everything is going to be all right, that I was going to find her—” I get choked up thinking about it so I take a calming breath. “I was going to find her a home.”

“Kinny, I’m sorry,” Maddox says with so much sympathy in his voice that it sends another wave of tears through me.

I prop my chin on my hand and let them fall, cascading down my cheek as I think about poor little Deeogee in the kennels.

“He’s so tiny. Teacup size. I couldn’t bear to leave him near all the big barking dogs so I put him in cat row. I asked Marcy first and of course she said it was okay; we both agree Deeogee is special and frightened. We need to treat him differently.” I wipe at my eyes. “I just felt awful today.” I hold up my ice cream and say, “So I got some ice cream, and I’ve been eating it since I got home.”

“I wish I was there,” he says softly, looking guilty that he’s not. “I’d hold you until you felt better.”

“I know you would. I’ll just pretend that you’re here, maybe put one of your shirts on and talk to it as if it was you.”

He chuckles. “Or you can just put one of my shirts on and talk to me now.”

“I feel bad talking to you this late. You have to pitch soon, right?”

“Saturday.”