Page 8 of Trade It All

I glance at the laptop, at the half-finished list, at the time in the corner of the screen.

“I don’t know if I can get them so last minute,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “It’s a home game. Everything’s usually locked in by now.”

“You work there.” He reminds me like I don't know that.

I close my eyes briefly. “I know, but that doesn’t mean I can just pull tickets whenever I want. There’s a process—”

“So what’s the point then?” The words land hard enough that I go still.

“What?” I stare at the wall across from me.

“What’s the point of your job if you can’t get three damn tickets?”

My fingers curl into the blanket beside me. There’s a second where I almost laugh. Not because it’s funny. Because of how easily he says it. Like it’s nothing.

“That’s not what I do,” I say, my voice quieter now but steadier than it was a second ago. “I handle media. I don’t control ticketing, but I will try.”

“It’s three tickets, Maddie.” His tone sharpens, impatience slipping in like it’s been waiting just beneath the surface.

“I already told the guys we’d be there.”

Of course he did. I press my lips together, staring down at my laptop screen, the cursor still blinking.

“I said I’d try.”

“That’s not good enough.”

The silence that follows sits heavy between us. I could push. I could tell him he doesn’t get to talk to me like that. I could remind him that I’m not responsible for things he promises without asking me first.

The words line up, one after the other. All I would have to do is say them. But I can already hear where it would go. The shift in his voice. The way the conversation would stretch, pull, twist into something bigger than it needs to be. And I’m already tired.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I say instead.

A sharp exhale comes through the phone.

“Yeah. Do that.” The line clicks off.

I stay still for a second, the phone still pressed to my ear. Then I lower it slowly, staring at the screen. The apartment feels quieter than it did before. Like the air shifted. Like something settled into place that I didn’t agree to but didn’t stop either. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and drop my hand to my lap. For a second, I don’t move. I just sit there. Then I reach for my laptop. Because of course I do.

It takes longer than I want it to. A couple messages. One favor I hesitate over before sending anyway. Another message I rewrite twice before hitting send.

By the time I get the confirmation, I’m already leaning forward, elbows resting on my knees, staring at the screen like it might change if I look at it long enough.

Three tickets. Done.

I pick up my phone and call him back before I can think too much about it.

He answers on the first ring. “Hey, babe.”

The difference hits immediately. Like the last conversation never happened.

“I got them.” My voice sounds steady, even if the last call still lingers in the back of my head.

A beat—then his tone shifts, easy and warm like it’s always been there.

“Told you,” he says easily. “I knew you had it.”

I lean back against the couch, letting my head rest for a second. “Yeah.”