The Baby Gamble (Texas Hold'em)

“I’ve given some thought to your request.” In fact, pretty much every nonwork thought he’d had in the past forty-eight hours had concerned Annie’s request.

She looked about twenty as she sat there, silently awaiting his response. Instead of filling out with approaching middle age, she was thinner now, her belly flatter—and more tanned, he saw from the sliver of skin showing between the bottom of her shirt and the low-cut top of her jeans.

His gaze settled there, finding momentary escape. But then that belly was a reminder of other things, too.

“What happened?” His dry throat made speech difficult.

Annie was frowning. “What do you mean? What happened when?”

There was a time when she’d known what he was thinking, sometimes even before he did. Back then they’d talked in code, their own particular language of half-spoken thoughts understood only by the two of them.

“With the baby.”

He could feel her stiffen. Watched her wineglass tremble as she raised it to her lips.

Our baby, he’d wanted to say.

“The doctor just said it was one of those things.”

“One of what things?”

Annie ran her finger around the rim of her glass, not looking at him. “It happens that way sometimes. Could be the egg and sperm didn’t fully fertilize, or that the egg wasn’t properly embedded in the uterus. Maybe there was some genetic abnormality that would have produced catastrophic results. Miscarriages are common—nature’s way of ridding the body of something that wasn’t right.”

He thought about that. Wondered what could possibly have not been right about a baby between him and Annie. A baby that they’d conceived together in love.

“What are the chances of it happening again?”

How could talking with Annie feel so awkward? And at the same time so natural? Right?

“Slim. I’ve had all the tests, just for my own peace of mind, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me—no reason I shouldn’t carry a healthy baby full term.”

Suddenly, he could feel the tremors starting—behind his knees was always the first place they hit. He had to get out of here. Or at the very least, out of a conversation that was triggering such painful memories.

“Were they able to tell…if it was a boy or a girl?”

Stop, man. Go home.

The interior of his uncle’s old Lincoln was beige. With white stitching. After all these years, the smell of the leather still permeated the car. And if he concentrated hard enough he could smell it.

If Blake stood up, he could be driving away in less than a minute.

It took him several seconds to see that Annie was shaking her head, the curls around her temples brushing against her skin. “It was too soon,” she said, her voice hushed.

She still hurt. The loss of their child tore at her, undiminished with time. He’d known that, of course, on some level. He just didn’t want to think about it.

Not unless he couldn’t help it. Like all the other things locked away in that cave inside him, numbing him to much of what went on in the outside world. And in his own world, as well.

“I was expecting to see a three-and-a-half-year-old girl when I got off that plane.”

What in the hell was he doing? He didn’t relive this stuff. This wasn’t why he’d come here.

He had a plan. Strict orders to himself.

One of which was to be out of Annie’s house within ten minutes.

He’d already disobeyed that order.

Annie sat still, not looking at him.