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Black Number Four
  • Текст добавлен: 6 октября 2016, 02:43

Текст книги "Black Number Four"


Автор книги: Kandi Steiner



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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

When I check into my room at the Aria, I can’t help but feel like a bird in the pouring down rain – so desperate to fly, yet with no means to get off the ground. I’m broken, and I just wish the only thing that could fix me wasn’t the one thing I need to stay away from.

The past month has been absolute hell. I somehow managed to make it through the rest of the semester and finish out my classes, but just barely. Practicing for the tournament has been nothing but me playing like complete shit. I’m off my game, and it’s not a secret, anymore.

I drop my luggage and sit down on the bed, looking around at the beautiful room. I have an incredible view of the strip from my window and the bed is luxurious. Whites and purples cover the room and every amenity is top of the line and brand new. The Aria is one of the newer hotels on the strip and this is the first year they’ve hosted the American Poker Club Tournament. I just wish I had someone here to celebrate this amazing room with me.

I thought it would be Kip here with me. I planned on asking him to join me before everything happened. My Little was going to come but I knew she wanted to get a head start on her summer classes, so I told her it was okay. I’m sure the other girls would have come, too, but to be honest I was tired of them asking if I was okay. Why is it that I can hold everything together until someone asks me that one question? I’m fine, until you ask me if I’m fine.

Then I’m not fine, at all.

It’s the exact same feeling when I think about Kip calling me. He checked on me the day after formal and I basically told him to fuck off, and he has. But isn’t it funny how sometimes we tell someone to fuck off but then wish more than anything that they would just call?

They’re hosting a tournament pre-party tonight downstairs and even though I don’t want to go, I know I need to make an appearance. For one, everyone in the blogosphere has been talking about how I’ve been off my game, so I need to try to fake that I’m fine so they see I’m still here to compete. Plus, I want to scope out my competition. A lot of people register last minute, just like I did, and I want to see who I’m going to be facing the next two days.

I pull out the black cocktail dress I packed for the party and slip it on, curling my hair and touching up my makeup before heading downstairs. The party is already packed and I run into a few friends from past tournaments almost immediately. When I say friends, I mean either competition or other female players. For some reason, we all gravitate to one another. I guess because we all understand what it’s like to be on the “hot or not” list.

Stupid sexist magazines.

I grab a plate of hors d'oeuvres, even though I haven’t really eaten anything in the past three weeks, and snag a glass of honey whiskey from the bartender before finding a table near the back of the room. The lights are off, but there’s multicolored uplighting and lights that move with the music from the DJ. On any other day, I would be stoked to be here. I would be taking in everything and how amazing it is here in Vegas, one of my favorite places in the world, but right now I just can’t. I need to get myself pulled together before tomorrow.

I just really don’t know how.

“This seat taken?” He asks, and I know it’s Kip without even looking up from my plate. I shake my head and he sits down. For some reason, I still can’t look up.

“Hi,” he says softly, and I find the strength to pull my eyes to his. He’s dressed in a long sleeve white button up and black vest, and of course he’s wearing his glasses. Awesome. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, his hair styled perfectly, and he looks tan. Maybe he’s been lounging by the pool living the good life. I don’t know, but whatever he’s been doing, he looks amazing.

And I know I look like shit.

“Hi.”

He takes a pull of his drink, surveying me. “You look beautiful tonight.”

I really want to make some smart ass comment back to him, but I just don’t think it’s worth it. And I need my head on straight tomorrow. I can’t let him faze me tonight.

“Thank you. So do you.”

He cocks a brow. “You think I’m beautiful, huh?”

I roll my eyes, but a smile threatens at the corners of my mouth and it’s the first time I’ve had that urge in a while. “Like a shark before he eats his prey.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’m like Sparky?”

I laugh a little, forgoing playing with my food on my plate and taking a drink instead. “Sparky is fluffier than you. I think I like him more.”

“Hey, I’ve put on a few pounds. I might be fighting Sparky for that fluffy title here pretty soon.”

He doesn’t look like he’s put on even a single ounce. In fact, he looks like he’s lost weight – especially in his face. It’s then that I take a closer look at him – the bags under his eyes, the tired expression behind his smile. Maybe this hasn’t been as easy for him as I thought.

“Skyler, I need to talk to you.”

I close my eyes, setting my drink on the table. “Please don’t do this, Kip. Not before tomorrow.”

“It’s not about us,” he clarifies, but then he bites the inside of his lip a little. “Well, not entirely. I just need you to know something before tomorrow, before we start this tournament. I want you to understand.”

Pulling the glass to my lips, I drain the rest of my whiskey and cross my arms on the table, bracing for impact. I have no idea what he could possibly say to make me understand why he’s here, why he’s doing this to me. But, I remember running to him on our cruise, desperate to make him understand the whole Erin situation when I knew I didn’t even deserve him listening to a word I said.

I owe him the same courtesy.

“Skyler,” he starts, and the way he says my name is almost too much. It’s almost enough for me to get up and walk out. “I did come to Palm South to seek you out. My dad has been watching you play for years and when he found out you were entering this tournament, or well, rumored to be, anyway – he made me a deal. If I came to this school and got close enough to you to learn how to take you down at this tournament, he would pay for me to go to my dream school – UCLA.” He pauses, probably reading the confusion on my face. “Please don’t take it personally. My dad doesn’t have a vendetta against you or anything, it’s just that he thinks you’re the best in the game right now. And you’re also one of the youngest. I don’t know, I guess he felt like if everything he’s taught me about the game could help me beat you or at least keep up and compete, he would be ‘beating the best’, in a way. He even made that crazy fucking file that you found.” He runs his fingers through his hair, but keeps going. “It’s like he’s living through me. And I didn’t understand that before, not for a long time. But I get it now.”

He shakes his head, almost as if he’s jumping to something too quickly – something he’s not ready to say yet. “Anyway, I’ve been going to community college the past couple of years because I couldn’t afford anything else without my dad’s help. And I know there are loans and I could work but to be honest, I just didn’t think it through. I was lazy, I was selfish, and I wanted my father’s help. So when he offered it, I jumped on the chance.”

I inhale a deep breath and lift my glass, trying to suck the remaining whiskey from the ice cubes. Kip pauses for a moment, his attention falling to my mouth as I swirl the cube around inside. A surge runs straight through me when I realize why he’s distracted. And no matter how much I try not to like it, I love the power I still have over him.

So I grab another cube.

But he continues. “When I met you that night at rush, I didn’t know who you were. You have to know that. I found out that night when I went back to my apartment. That first night between us was all us – you didn’t know about Erin, I didn’t know about you – it was just us and the way we felt together. When I did find out it was you my dad had sent me to Palm South for, I almost called it off then. I fell for you that first night, Skyler. The first time my eyes found yours. When you called me a nerd and said I looked like a Matthew.” He laughs a little and I do, too. “You had me. Right then.”

We both sit silent for just a second, just a split second after that laugh before he takes a breath and continues. “But it’s my dad, and this was his deal. For a while, I let that drive me. Then, when I was close to calling everything off because I was starting to fall for you, you ended it at the dance. And then I was more determined than ever to take you down. But then things changed again and fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair again and lets out a puff of air. “Everything was just such a mess, Skyler. My head was fucked up. But I tried calling my dad to tell him the deal was off before the cruise.”

I sit up a little straighter at his words. “You did?”

He nods. “Yes. But, he didn’t answer, and I should have known then that something was wrong.” Kip swallows hard and his eyes grow darker. “But I called him as soon as we got off the boat, Skyler. And my mom answered. And once again, when I thought I was done with his game, shit got more complicated.”

I inhale, waiting for him to continue. Something tells me what he’s about to say is difficult for him, so I give him the time he needs to gather the words.

“My dad is sick, Skyler.” He chokes on the words a little, his façade breaking. “He has lung cancer. And he’s not going to live much longer.”

Tears immediately sting the backs of my eyes, but I hold them back, because this isn’t my time to cry. This is my time to listen and be there for Kip, even if I’m not sure I can be.

His dad is sick.

And now, suddenly, everything between us seems so small.

“Oh my God, Kip.” I shake my head, reaching out to grab his hand in mine. He flinches at first, but then he takes mine in his and squeezes like it’s the last thing in life he has to hold on to. “I’m so sorry. I’m such a bitch. God, I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “No, you’re not. I didn’t tell you. I was going to that night at formal, but you weren’t exactly in the best state.” He eyes me for a second and I blush, looking down at the table. I made an ass of myself that night and I know it.

“I know this doesn’t change anything between us. I know I still betrayed you, lied to you, earned your trust when I didn’t deserve it. I know that. But, I wanted you to understand. I needed you to be able to look at me from across the table tomorrow and know that I’m here for my dad, not because I don’t love you. Because I do. I love you, Skyler.”

He pulls me across the table and our lips meet in the middle, his hands moving to either side of my face. I let him kiss me and I kiss him back, but my heart is still torn. I still don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what was real between us and what was an act. I’m still broken.

When he pulls back, he runs the pad of his thumb over my cheek once before dropping his hands. We both stand there for a moment, and I know this very well could be the last time I stand this close to him. We’ll be at the tournament together, but there’s no telling if either of us will even make it far enough to sit at the same table together. And after this, he’ll be gone from Palm South.

From me.

“Is your dad here?”

He hangs his head. “He can’t travel right now. He’s watching from home.”

A pain shoots through my heart and I bite my lips together. “I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

Kip nods, trying to smile but failing. Finally, he looks up at me once more, his diamond blue eyes glimmering in the soft light. “For the record, I hope you win tomorrow.” I cock my brow and he leans in, kissing my forehead. “I want to win for my dad, yes. But, more than anything, I want to see you happy. And if that means you kick my ass tomorrow, then so be it.”

My skin stings from where his lips touched my head, and my fingers move to the spot as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a long, slender case. He hands it to me and I know what it is without even opening it.

“Good luck, number four.”

He winks before turning and walking away. I watch as he walks across the room until he disappears behind the doors and I lose sight of him. Then I grab what was left of his drink and down it, open the case, and try not to show any emotion.

Inside are the same glasses he got me before, though I know he smashed that pair, so this is a new one. On the top left of the left lens, there are four gold dots, just like my freckle tattoo. I swallow hard, closing the case again before sitting back in my chair.

For some reason, I find myself wondering if Kip has a tell. What is the sign that he’s bluffing? I can always spot it. Always. I can read every single person. But not him. Why? Why when he tells me he loves me, why do I think that it’s true? Yet, there’s still something warning me that maybe, just maybe, he’s bluffing.

But what could his tell be?

Is it the way he kisses me? The way he runs his hands through my hair? The way his eyes shift from dark blue to sky blue? The way he smiles when I touch him? What is it that will give me the true answer?

I need another drink.

I head back to my room not too long after that, exhausted from our conversation. My heart and soul aches for him and what he’s going through. I can’t imagine losing either one of my parents, and knowing what a big part his dad played in his life, I know this isn’t easy for him.

As if I’m a glutton for punishment, I pull his oversized black t-shirt from my bag and slip it over my head, taking everything else off. I don’t know why I packed this, why I kept it after all this time, but there’s something about it that brings me comfort.

Wrapping up in the covers of the bed, I pull the shirt to my nose and inhale his scent, closing my eyes as tears start to gather again. I hate crying, and I hate crying over him more than anything else.

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel. He told me he loved me tonight and I believe him, I just don’t know what that means. I understand why he’s in the tournament still, but how do I know what was real between us and what wasn’t? Does he really love me, or did he just get caught up in his game?

As I drift off to sleep, I think about love. Love is like the wind, someone once told me, because it’s felt and not seen. But I think you actually can see it. You see love just the same way that you see the wind – by the way it moves other things. Love has moved me, it’s changed me, and I can see it more clearly than the sun in the sky. Clearly, love has moved Kip, too.

The question is, will love move us together, or sweep us apart?

If I do one more push-up, I’m not going to be able to hold the cards today, but my dad is going to call any second now and I just need something to get my mind off what to say to him when he does.

It’s the first day of the tournament.

Holy shit.

I never actually thought this day would come. This is the biggest tournament I’ve ever played and to everyone else here, to all the big shots, I’m just a fish. They’re not going to give me a second look and they shouldn’t, but somehow I have to prove them all wrong. I have to follow my gut, my training, and my intuition and I have to make it through today. More than that, I have to make it through tomorrow and then win.

No pressure.

For some reason, I thought telling Skyler about my dad would make me feel better. It turns out that unless me telling her ended with her back in my arms, it doesn’t really make much of a damn difference. I didn’t expect her to just forgive me and go back to normal, I knew it wouldn’t happen like that, but I guess there was still a bigger part of me that wished it would. Sitting across the table from her last night and not touching her made me physically ache – more than these push-ups, more than the stress from my training, more than anything I’ve ever experienced before. I just wanted to pull her into me. I wanted to take her back to my room. Instead, I “slept” alone, if you consider staring at the ceiling all night and tossing in the sheets sleeping, that is.

I drop to the floor after the one-hundredth push-up and just as I land, my phone rings, making my stomach fall even further – like it collapsed through the floor and landed somewhere on the Vegas Strip.

Rolling over onto my back, I reach for my phone and answer, holding it just a few centimeters away from my sweaty ear. “Are push-ups a good pre-tournament ritual?”

My dad laughs a little before coughing, which makes me pissed at myself for making him laugh at all. When the fit is over, he clears his throat. “I used to do crunches. Looks like we both need physical distraction when our mentality is involved in something high stakes.” He pauses for a moment and I smile, thinking of my dad in his youth. He joined the service at eighteen, and I can imagine him just a little younger than me now, doing crunches on the floor of his old house before heading to the underground poker tournaments he used to hit. He used to look just like me, or I guess I look just like him. Either way, we have more in common than I realize, sometimes. “Are you ready for this, Son?”

I let out a shaky breath, standing up and heading toward the bathroom. “As ready as I can be at this point.”

“Well, what matters is that you give it hell. Don’t let anything or anyone run you off a table. Keep your head on straight and evaluate every hand before making a move. Learn the players at your table and learn their moves, figure out their tells. You know how to do it. I know you’ll be fine. Odds are you won’t even be at the same table as Skyler today, but on the off chance you are, you know her best. Show her you came to play.”

Starting the shower, I pull off my shirt and throw it on the floor, putting my phone on speaker and leaning against the bathroom counter. I’m staring at myself, but I don’t see the same man who stared back at me just two short months ago. Everything about me, about my life, has changed. “I want this, Dad,” I say, the steam from the shower starting to gather. “I want to do this for you. I know we don’t talk about this kind of emotional shit but I love you, Dad.” I choke on that last bit, tearing my eyes away from the mirror long enough to get myself under control. “And I know this is important to you. I just want you to know that it’s important to me, too, because you’re important to me. We don’t always see eye to eye on things and maybe I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to, but –”

“Kip, stop,” he says, his voice surprisingly loud. “Damn it, you would think you’re the piece of shit father in this scenario.” He takes a few moments before continuing. “You never disappointed me, Son. You are everything I could have asked for in a kid and I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise. I pushed you, yes, and maybe sometimes too hard, but that’s the only way I knew how to. And I know you made a lot of sacrifices to do this for me. Please don’t think I don’t know that.” My mind immediately flicks to Skyler and I wince. “I love you, Oliver Kip Jackson. And whether you win this tournament or not, that will still be true. And when I’m gone…” He pauses and tears threaten to spill from my eyes, stinging and blurring the already foggy version of my mirror self as a tight pain radiates through my chest. “You are going to tell yourself every day that your dad loved you. And he was so, so damn proud of you.”

I nod even though he can’t see me because I need to move, I need to do something to hold it together. “I’ll call you when things are squared away,” I say, smiling against the fact that I really shouldn’t be right now. But I feel Dad smile on the other end, too.

“Carry on, soldier.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, Son.”

“Dad?” I say quickly, hoping I catch him.

“Yes, Son?”

I pause, not sure if I’m ready to tell him, but I know I need to. I want him to understand what I’m doing for him, how much he means to me. “I’m in love with Skyler.”

There’s a short pause on his end, but then he clears his throat. “I know, Son. I’ve known for a while.”

Swallowing, I nod again. “Okay.”

“Do you still want to do this?”

That’s a fucking question if I’ve ever heard one.

No.

No I don’t want to do this. But then again, yes, for him – I do. I know how much this meant to him before he became ill, how much it still does now. “Yes. I want to do it for you, Dad.”

He’s quiet for a moment, but finally speaks again. “When this is over, make her understand. If she loves you like you do her, she will let you explain.”

“Okay, Dad,” I say, still nodding.

“Okay. Good luck today.”

Ending the call, I throw myself into the shower without even taking off the rest of my clothes and turn the water up as much as I can stand, letting it scald my skin and turn it red with anger because that’s what I feel. I’m sad and I’m hurt and I’m fucking angry. My dad doesn’t deserve to go through this shit and it kills me that he has to. And I already did explain everything to Skyler, but I don’t know if it’s enough. I don’t know if anything I ever say or do after this tournament will ever be enough.

Five months ago, my dreams were so simple. Go to UCLA, intern with one of the top television networks, write for an amazing show, graduate, and one day write shows of my own. It was so easy, then. I had a clear cut, shiny view of life. Now, I’m looking through a distorted kaleidoscope, trying desperately to make out the bigger picture that all these damn jagged pieces somehow form.

Sighing, I focus on my breaths until I’m breathing somewhat normally. I have to rein it in.

Focus, Kip. Focus.

It’s day one of the tournament, and as much as I want to dwell on what my dreams mean to me now, they’ll have to wait. It’s the moment I’ve prepped for and I can’t screw this up. Game face on, no time for mistakes. All or nothing.

And I’m ready to give my all.

There’s something about a poker tournament, or just a poker game, really, that gets my blood pumping. It’s so fucking exciting. You sit down at your first table and at first, everything is slow, but the next thing you know you’re three tables down and wondering how that many hours flew by so quickly. The smoke clouds your vision, the lights and bells of the casino ring in your ears, and yet you’re completely alone – completely zeroed in.

This is a freezeout style tournament, which means no re-buys, no second chances – if you get knocked out, you’re out. Somehow, I’ve made it through the first day, and I feel like I should drop to my knees and pray for tomorrow because today was fucking tough. There were a few times where I was barely holding on and I had to make some risky bluffs to pull it back, but I hung in. And as much as I’m excited to be through to day two, I almost wish someone would have put me out of my misery today.

Almost.

The bigger part of me wants to win this. The whole thing, no matter what – or who – gets in my way.

I think it’s hard to wrap your mind around someone dying. How is anyone supposed to actually grasp that? My father is dying, though, whether I can truly face it or not. Maybe this is so important for me because I’m not sure what else to do to show him how much he means to me, how much he’s influenced the man I am now. Funny, two months ago I was bitching and moaning about his game, blowing him off every second I got and blaming him for trying to live his dream through me. But somehow, I feel like I’ve aged years in the past two months. I’m a completely different person – older, more mature, less sheltered from the reality of life and what it means. I think I get it now. The way I feel about screenwriting, about going to California – that’s how my dad felt, feels, about poker.

No matter what it takes, I’m going to win this. For him.

I’ve seen Skyler a few times throughout the day, mostly during our very short breaks between tables. The gods must have smiled down on me because we somehow managed to not get the same table. Today is a piece of cake for her, I’m sure. I remember listening to her tell me about how day one is all about playing aggressively and getting the weaklings out of the way. Of course, with random table assignments, the most important thing is recognizing who’s at the table with you – are they a pro, a fish, or somewhere in-between? Once you figure that out, she told me, you align your strategy. Day one is easy, she had said. But day two? It’s a bitch.

There are only two tables still left playing when I cash my chips in for the day and they write down my starting amount for tomorrow. I’ve racked up a pretty good starting point to head into day two, so hopefully that will help in the morning. Glancing up at the table assignment screen, I see that one of the remaining tables is Skyler’s. Because apparently I love to be tortured, I make my way over to the viewing area and watch her play from afar. She’s dressed in a big black hoodie, classic Skyler poker attire, and she’s got her head thrown back in laughter – which means she’s probably targeting a fish at her table. She knows how to confuse the daylights out of unseasoned players. They can’t figure out if she’s flirting, bluffing, if she’s a little bit crazy or maybe a mixture of the three.

And just like the first night I saw her play, it turns me on watching her slay these tools.

I watch her for a while, studying her, but not to prepare myself to play against her. Instead, I focus on the way she breathes, the way her chest and lips move together to get oxygen in and out of her body. She seems so calm, so steady, and I envy her that because my chest still hurts from the tightness I’ve put it through all day. This is her element, her home. She’s too fucking beautiful to fit in here, but she does – like a rose in a sea of dandelions.

I’m just about to turn to head up to my room when she folds a hand and takes off her sunglasses to rub her eyes. When she finishes, she glances up and pins me with her gaze. For a moment she just stares at me, and I just stare at her. We don’t wave or nod or even really acknowledge that we’re both looking. We just look. Finally when I can’t take it anymore, I swallow and the corner of my mouth pulls into a soft, non-committing smile. She shifts in her chair, grabs her sunglasses, and pulls them back on just before the next hand is dealt, peeling her eyes from my own.

Skyler is just like this tournament. She’s a freezeout. There are no re-buys, no second chances – and I rode the blinds and played it safe before betting it all on a hand that couldn’t win. With her, I know it’s over. I know she’s done. We’re done. But something inside me refuses to let her go.

I’m still holding on to one, lone white chip. She doesn’t know I’m holding it, but I saved it – just in case. And maybe she is a freezeout, maybe there is no hope for me.

But then again, she could have worn any sunglasses she wanted to today, but she’s wearing mine. Maybe because they’re better than the ones she brought, maybe because she broke or lost the pair she had – or maybe, just maybe, because she’s not finished with me yet, either.


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