Текст книги "Black Number Four"

Автор книги: Kandi Steiner

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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

“Not to sound like your mother, but you look too thin. Are you eating out there in Vegas?” Little asks, her brow arching slightly.

I laugh a little. “Trust me, it’s just the camera. I’ve eaten at like five buffets already.”

“Sounds like heaven to me,” Jess pipes in. All the girls are squeezed together on my Big’s bed, fighting for room in the camera of our video chat and passing around a bottle of wine while I sip on the one I had brought up to my room.

“I just wish we could be there,” Ashlei says, her face falling. “You should have someone there to cheer you on.”

“I know you girls will cheer me on at the watch party tomorrow, and honestly that will probably be more fun than the viewing section here. Send me pictures! I want to see everyone.”

“You know we will. Bear has been planning this thing for months. I’m pretty sure he bought enough kegs for the entire city instead of just the school. Which, by the way, literally the entire school will be there.” Ashlei smiles, shaking her head. “We are all so fucking proud of you.”

“Thanks.” I smile, but it falls a bit when I see Erin in the corner of the screen. “What are you thinking so hard about, Big?” Things are far from fixed between us, but ever since we had our blow out and confronted all the shit we’ve been through, we’ve started to try to get back to normal. Try being the keyword there. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully recover from everything she did, not enough to be as close as we were before. But, she’s my Big, and I do love her. I’m not ready to write her off from my life.

She sighs. “I just can’t get over what you told us about Kip’s dad.”

I swallow. “What do you mean?”

Erin shakes her head. “They were just so close when I knew him back in high school. His dad was everything to him. He was so afraid to be who he was because he wanted to be everything his dad wanted him to be. I was in the process of finding myself that summer, but Kip couldn’t join me in that because he was trying to find how he fit in his father’s picture. I know he’s come a long way from that, but I also know this can’t be easy for him. I just can’t believe he’s even there.”

“Well isn’t that precisely why he’s there?” Little points out. “I don’t think he would be if this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Can we not talk about this?” I pinch the bridge of my nose and force my eyes shut, still trying to clear the smoke from the casino. Today was long, and tomorrow is going to be even longer. The last thing I need to do is have another sleepless night with my mind consumed by a blonde-haired boy with blue eyes and a kiss too devastating for words, and hearing Erin talk about him like she knows him better than I do really gets under my skin for some reason.

“Whatever.” Jess jumps up, pulling the wine bottle with her. “Forget all that. To you, Skyler Fucking Thorne.” She lifts the bottle to the screen. “Kick ass tomorrow and then get back here so we can throw a huge rager with all that money.”

We all laugh and Jess takes a pull of her bottle as I lift mine to my lips, too. “I love you girls. Thank you.”

Ashlei shrugs. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“Do you guys mind if I talk to Little alone?”

They all blow me kisses and offer various forms of advice before leaving, letting me sit with just Cassie. I inhale a shaky breath and she shakes her head fiercely.

“Do not cry on me, Big.”

I exhale. “I’m trying not to. Little, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. This tournament means everything to me, or it did, anyway. But now, I’m not sure what matters most to me anymore.” I bury my face in my hands. Saying the words out loud scares me more than I thought.

“I think you do know.” She offers a soft smile. “Skyler, you were going to pretty much be done with tournaments after this, right?” I nod, blinking quickly to keep the water from pooling in my eyes. “You want this more than anything not for the title, but for your family. You want to pay off school at Palm South and help your parents out. I get that, I totally do. But Sky, it’s not up to you to set your parents up for life. And you and I both know that it wouldn’t take first place for you to be able to pay off your tuition. Don’t let the pressure of winning get to you. Just play like I know you know how to and let the cards fall where they’re meant to fall.”

I bite my lower lip, chewing on her words. She’s right, it wouldn’t take first place to pay off my tuition, and she’s also right that I’ve thought about that. It was almost all I could think about last night. But the fact that I’m even thinking of the possibility of losing makes me hate myself because poker is my thing, it’s everything I know, everything I am. I don’t want to give that up.

But then again, I don’t know if I want it to be everything I am anymore.

“What are you going to do about Kip?”

I shrug. “What is there to do? It’s over.”

“I call bullshit.”

Huffing, I take a long drink from the bottle of wine. “It is! How could I ever forgive him for what he did? How do I know what’s been real and what was just a game?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. Every single moment between the two of you has been one-hundred percent real and you know it.” She leans forward a little. “Look at me, Big. I have known you for two years now and I’ve never seen you like this with a guy. Ever. You may not be sure about what’s happening between you and Kip, but I am. When he says he loves you, he means it – and I think you know that, too.”

“I don’t though, that’s what’s so hard!” I say a little louder than I intended, slamming the wine bottle down on the bedside table in frustration. “I would never have guessed he was playing this game, Little. Never. Everything with him felt so real, so genuine, so unlike anything I’ve ever had before. If it was so easy for him to pull off this whole scheme without me knowing the difference, wouldn’t it be just as easy for him to make me believe he loved me when he didn’t?”

Cassie shakes her head. “But then why would he still be trying to convince you? If it was all just a game, why would he bother?”

I scoff. “He’s probably trying to get under my skin for tomorrow.”

“You and I both know that’s complete crap,” she says firmly. “You’re scared, Skyler. I know you are and it’s okay to be scared. But remember, some of life’s best experiences are masked as terrifying leaps of faith. Just please, please – think about what you want before tomorrow. Think about what matters to you. What really matters.”

I nod, though I’m not sure I want to think about anything right now. Tomorrow is one of the biggest days of my life and I need a clear head, but at this point there’s practically no hope for that.

“I love you, Big. We’ll all be watching tomorrow. Just know you have a team rooting for you, no matter what happens.”

We end the video call and I fall back on my bed, exhausted from the day. The wine is lulling my body into a relaxed peacefulness while a war rages in my head. If I win tomorrow, there’s no telling if Kip will want anything to do with me at all. And even if he does still want me, will I want anything to do with him? And what if he beats me? Even if I do get enough prize money to pay off tuition, this is my tournament. What will I feel for him if I see him holding that champion ring instead of me? I trusted him, I told him my strategy for this tournament, I let him videotape me and I believed him when he said he wanted to help. I let him in only to find out everything he said was a lie.

Or was it?

I roll over onto my side, feeling a wave of nausea roll over me. Everything is a mess. A big, nasty, steaming pile of mess. Before Kip, I never knew what love was. I never knew love could hurt like this. I never knew how cruel it was. How heartless. Careless.

But that’s the thing about love.

Love doesn’t care about the games we play. It doesn’t care about the rules or the players or what’s at stake. Love is wild and unruly and it does what it wants with our hearts without us having any say in it. It’s beautiful and paralyzing and breathtaking. And it kills us because it’s the only thing that keeps us alive. Love doesn’t play our games because love is a completely different game in and of itself. And in the game of love, when all the chips are on the table, no one emerges unscarred. No one.

But sometimes our scars are the most beautiful story tellers.

I’ve been playing poker professionally now for exactly three years, seven months, and twelve days. I’ve been in countless tournaments, played everyone from a fish to a pro, lost and won amounts of money I never thought possible – but nothing, nothing, in my poker life could ever have prepared me to feel any less calm in this moment.

I am sitting at the final table.

In one of the biggest poker tournaments in the country.

Only ten players are left out of thousands.

One of them is me.

And one of them is Kip.

We somehow managed to not get placed at the same table throughout the tournament, which either means luck loves me or really, really hates me. I silently prayed every time I got a new table assignment that his name wouldn’t show up on the screen, but now, sitting across from his electric blue eyes, I wish I could take it back. Part of me thought he would be knocked out by now, as shitty as that makes me sound, and part of me didn’t think I would even make it this far. I’m confident, yes, but I’m also realistic. There are thousands of pros here, and right now Kip and I are about to take on eight people who I know by name without looking at the table details. That’s a bad sign and we both know it. They know what they’re doing, and this isn’t going to be easy. For anyone.

Kip is nervous. He can’t even hide it anymore. I watched him play a table earlier and I knew he was nervous then, too, but he was hiding it from everyone else. Now, he’s visibly shaking slightly, a thin film of sweat gathering on his forehead. Pulling off my sunglasses, I catch his eyes with mine and try to silently reassure him, to calm him, but if anything I just make things worse. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple moving along his throat and pulling more of my attention than I care to admit. I chew my lip and pull the glasses back over my eyes, taking shelter in the protection they provide.

This is it.

All or nothing.

Quickly, I size up the stacks at the table. I’m definitely not the lead chip holder right now, but I’m far from the bottom. Unfortunately, Kip is low. He’s here, which is what’s important, but compared to the rest of us, he’s low. I think only one person has less than he does, Veronica Small, an older woman from Indiana who I played once before. I don’t think she’ll be here long, and unless Kip can play smart, he’s not going to last, either.

Wait.

Why do I care?

I shift, licking my lips and shaking my head. Good. I hope he’s out quickly. Asshole shouldn’t be here in the first place. But, even though I want to think that way, I can’t. It’s impossible. As much as I want to crush him, I want him to win, too. Or at least last a while and move up in the prize payout bracket. But I don’t know if that would be enough for him. This isn’t about prize money to him – it’s about the title.

And I want that same title.

I study him from behind the shade of my sunglasses, letting my eyes wander the length of his arms as they tense and move beneath his button up. Every single man at this table is dressed modestly, jeans and a nice shirt at best, but not Kip. He’s got the same vest and button up look that he does so well, so effortlessly. And while four of us at the table sport sunglasses, he wears his regular black frames, his blue eyes clear and wide for everyone to see. His hair is styled but messy, probably from him dragging his fingers through it all day the way he’s doing right now. He’s so handsome, so painfully handsome.

We barely have time to get a good look at everyone at the table before the first hand is dealt and I slip my poker face back on, zeroing in on the task at hand. When I play, something happens that I can’t quite explain. I know I’m here, I’m at the table, but I feel like I’m removed – almost as if I’m hovering above it, watching each and every player as they play the cards. I look for their tells, watch their strategy, note when they call and when they raise. Every small move is a neon sign, flashing their strengths and weaknesses. I lose myself in discovering them, finding just the perfect way to take them out.

Hand after hand is dealt, the hours dragging on but flying by at the same time. I watch Kip closer than any of the other players at the table and a mixture of emotion rolls through me the more attention I pay him. He quickly climbs the chip ladder as we knock players out, creeping up to my stack. I’m proud of him and terrified of him at the same time and I’m not sure which way to lean, so I straddle the two emotions.

When it’s down to just me, Kip, and Brendan Cartwright, last year’s tournament runner-up, I start to sweat under my heavy black hoodie. I debate taking it off, but I’m wearing nothing but a tank top under this hoodie and I know all too well what the headlines would be covering if I won wearing it. Unfortunately that’s what happens when you’re a girl in the poker world. Truthfully, though, I’m thankful for the heat. It makes me focus, it keeps me centered – and I need to be centered right now.

Kip hasn’t looked at me but maybe twice the entire time we’ve been at this table, but he has to know I’m watching him. When I go all in against Brendan and we flip over our cards to let the hand play out, I let out a sigh of both relief and panic when I see he has a pair of Jacks and I only have a hope of getting another heart to complete my flush. Standing, I pull my sunglasses off and drop them to the table, resting my hands on my head as the dealer pulls the turn. Jack. Of spades.

Fuck.

Kip’s eyes finally find mine and I realize he’s breathing just as hard as I am, his chest moving and ebbing under his vest. I try to steady my heartrate but it’s useless. If a heart doesn’t show on river, I’m screwed. I’m done. And as much as I don’t want to lose at all, I definitely don’t want to lose to Brendan. I don’t want third place. No one remembers third. If I’m going to go down, I want to lose to only one other person – the best. Brendan is amazing, but he’s not the best. And I don’t want to lose by his hand.

My heart is in my throat as the dealer burns a card and then slowly flips the river. I close my eyes for just a second, listening to the crowd’s mixture of gasps, claps, and groans. I don’t know if it’s safe to look, but I peek anyway.

Nine of hearts.

Thrusting my fist into the air, I join the crowd in celebrating for just a moment. Brendan moves to shake my hand and then just like that, he’s out. The adrenaline is still rushing through me when I take my seat again, the smile on my face absolutely ridiculous as I realize I just practically doubled my stack. But when my eyes find the matching pair of icy blues at the other end of the table, I swallow, my throat suddenly too dry for comfort.

It’s just me and Kip now.

There’s always a short break when it gets down to the final two. They make a show of it, having scantily clad women bring out briefcases stacked with cash and a glass case displaying the ridiculously expensive ring that goes to the champion. Do they ever have any half-naked men for the ladies of the poker world? Of course not. Damn them.

By the time the little show is over, Kip and I are both visibly anxious but trying to play it cool. By the way he’s looking at me, I can’t tell if he’s excited to be here or if this is his worst nightmare. Maybe he didn’t think it would be us two sitting here, maybe he thought he’d be out by now or hell maybe he thought I would be out by now. Truthfully, this isn’t what I expected, either. But here we are. And before I have the chance to truly register it, the first cards are dealt and it’s game time. I reach for my sunglasses but pause, letting my hand hover over the plastic for a moment before pulling back, grabbing my cards and flipping up the small corners just enough to see their value instead. Kip eyes me curiously, but I shrug.

I don’t want to hide my eyes, anymore.

The truth of the matter is that we’re here. This is happening. And as much as I want to be pissed and hurt, I’m stoked. I’m proud of Kip and I’m beyond excited that I’m here. One of us is going to leave here the champion of this tournament and the winner of close to a million dollars. This is something to celebrate. I smile at Kip before placing my first bet. “Sixty-thousand.” I move the chips forward and then lean back in my chair again, crossing my arms. “And a shot of tequila.”

Everyone in the viewing area laughs and I’m sure the announcers are having a hay day with my comment. They probably think I’m being a smart ass, or maybe they don’t understand it at all, but I don’t care because Kip smiles – a true, radiant, full-teeth smile.

“I kind of like tequila now.”

“Is that so?” I quirk my brow.

He shrugs, his smile growing even wider. “Acquired taste, I guess.”

I blush a little and he winks, and suddenly the table doesn’t feel so scary. He’s smiling, and that’s enough for me. We both visibly relax.

And then we play.

My tequila comment must have loosened Kip up, because by our thirtieth hand between each other, we’re cracking jokes back and forth, causing fits of laughter in the viewing area and even getting a smile from our dealer from time to time. We’re pretty much even chip-wise and we’re having way too much fun to be battling for almost a million dollars, but I love every minute of it.

But when we get up around forty hands and we both start pushing harder, we fall quiet, and I watch as Kip’s expression turns solemn. I know he’s thinking about his father, he’s digging to find the last push he needs to win this. I should be looking for the same, but for some reason, I already feel like I’ve won. I feel a sort of peacefulness fall over me as the dealer deals our cards. When he lays out the flop, my breath catches in my throat.

A pair of fours is on the table.

One club, and one spade.

Two black number fours.

My eyes flit to Kip’s just as his find mine. Maybe we should laugh at the irony, or at least smile at the coincidence, but we both just stare. And somewhere in those ocean blue eyes of his, I find what I’ve been searching for.

There are three things you should know about me.

One, I can read any bluff like a neon sign. Two, I have one of the best poker faces in the game. And three, I know when to fold.

But I couldn’t read Kip’s bluffs. He played his game on me and I fell for his every trick, thinking I had a handle on him when I didn’t even come close to touching him at all. And my poker face is gone, destroyed by the notion that maybe it’s okay to be myself and not hide behind it all the time. And maybe it’s those two truths that made me hold so strongly to my third rule – folding. I gave up on Kip, on us, on everything. For once, I walked away from a hand I maybe could have won if I would have stuck around. Kip Jackson has completely turned me on my ass, and now I’m not exactly sure who I am.

But I think I’m on my way to finding out.

When my hands move to my chips and I start slowly pushing them forward, Kip’s eyes flick down before catching mine again, realization settling in. He shakes his head slightly, but it only makes me move the chips forward faster. With a shaky breath, I say the words I’ve known all along.

“All in.”

And I know just as well as Kip does how this will end. Black fours are my death sentence in poker. Call it superstition, but I know it to be true. I won’t win this hand, and I know that, and Kip does, too. His eye are wide with panic and I know he doesn’t understand, but maybe one day I can explain it to him.

I know what this means to him, to his father. Second place will be more than enough to pay off school and set my family up for a while. And truth be told, even if it wasn’t, I would still be making this same move.

Sometimes we have to step back and ask ourselves what matters most. It’s so easy to get caught up in the titles, the money, the dreams and goals that we’re not even sure are our own anymore. But I know without a doubt that what matters most to me right now in this moment is Kip. And what matters most to him is his father. So we’re going to win this thing. Together. For Kip’s dad.

When Kip calls, he still has a small stack of chips, but I’m completely in. If I lose this hand, I’m out and Kip will win. We both stand and even though my eyes are fixed on the cards, I feel Kip’s burning the skin of my neck. One by one, the dealer slowly reveals the turn and the river, neither of which help my case. I had a pair of Kings when I went all in, but with three fours on the table and one in Kip’s hand, he beats me with a four of a kind. Four fours. And even though I knew what I was doing, I can’t help but feel a surge of pain in my chest when I realize I’ve lost.

The room explodes in cheers and I can just hear the announcers going on and on about how a fish won the tournament. I know that back at Palm South, the entire school is probably staring at their screens and wondering what the hell happened.

Game over.

A swarm of reporters crowd us as the half-naked women stand behind Kip with the cash and the dealer slips the ring on his finger. His eyes find mine across the crowd and I smile, shrugging a little, but before he can make his way over, I shake hands with the man handing me information on claiming my prize and then I leave. I turn toward the elevators and I just go. I don’t turn back, I don’t wait to hear him speak to the media or to shake his hand and take pictures. I just slip away, silently, letting the mixture of emotions wreck my soul as they flow through me.

When I get back to my room, I flip on the television and find the tournament. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Kip’s face floods the screen, a clamor of microphones in his face as they ask him how he feels.

“I’m not really sure how I feel just yet,” he says, laughing. It’s a charming laugh that I’m sure is melting panties across the country right now. “I just…” He pauses, biting down on his bottom lip and looking up for a second to compose himself. “I just want to dedicate this to my father, Oliver Jackson Sr. Thank you for sacrificing your dream so that I could have mine. I didn’t win this tournament today. You did. I love you.”

The announcers go on and on about Kip’s dad and his condition and I wonder how they found out. Did Kip reveal it in one of his pre-tournament interviews? Had they been talking about it while we were at the final table? Regardless, this will make for one of the best headlines in the tournament’s history.

FISH TAKES HOME GRAND PRIZE, HONORS FATHER WITH WIN.

I smile, wiping at my eyes and inhaling a deep, shaky breath. It’s all over now, and even though I feel slightly deflated, I mostly just feel lucky. Lucky to have won the money to even enter the tournament, lucky to have made it as far as I did, lucky to have the prize money to pay off the rest of school, and most of all, lucky to have known Kip.

Even if I never see him again, if I never feel him again, I was loved and touched by him in a way that I’ll never forget. His eyes, his hands, his lips will linger on me long after tonight. And for me, that’s enough.

I click off the TV and make my way to the bathroom, turning on the bath faucet and drawing it as hot as I can stand. I remove my hoodie, laughing when I see my drenched tank top underneath. I peel it off and throw it to the floor, sliding my jeans down to join it. I’m just about to step into the water when I hear my phone ping in the other room. Sighing, I sink down into the tub and let the steaming water warm my cool skin still slick from sweat.

The calls are already starting, and I’m just not ready to face them yet. Will people be proud of me? Disappointed? Confused? Let down? I sink lower into the tub and shake my head. Who cares? If I’ve learned anything about myself this semester, it’s that I care entirely too much what other people think. I know why I did what I did, and that’s all that matters.

I soak in the tub for what feels like at least an hour before finally climbing out and wrapping myself in a soft robe. Brushing my hair, I walk back into the main room and grab my phone, curiosity getting the best of me. There’s a missed call from my parents’ house, three missed texts from Jess, and about a dozen social media notifications. But I don’t really look at them, not closely, because my attention is focused on the one other text in my inbox.

From Kip.

– Meet me at the Bellagio. 11:30. -