Black Number Four (46 page)

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.