Author: J. Saman
Category: Contemporary
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Tears are pooling in her eyes, and I hate that reaction, so I reach my hand out for hers. The second she slips hers into mine, I realize that I need the comfort just as much as she does.
“Were you hurt?”
I nod. “The pilot was killed on impact, and I walked away with a broken arm, some broken ribs, a concussion, and a lot of cuts and bruises.”
“Jesus.” She shakes her head, wiping away a stray tear and looking out the window. She’s silent for a minute, seemingly lost in her thoughts when she says, “You can’t die, Ryan.”
“What?” I ask, taken aback.
She turns to me, and the look in her eyes causes my breath to stall. It’s a mixture of pure fear, anger, and resolve. “You can’t die,” she demands. “I need you to promise me.” I don’t say anything because that is not a promise any of us can make—something I became even more painfully aware of as a result of that crash. “My heart couldn’t take it,” she continues. “I can’t lose anyone else that I care about. I realize that it’s an impossible request, but I still need you to say the words.”
Fuck. I didn’t even think about what that story would do to her. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”
She’s not mollified, but she doesn’t press it further either.
A moment of tense silence follows before she sighs out, her stiff posture relaxing. “I can see why you don’t fly anymore. I guess I’m glad for that part; otherwise, I wouldn’t have met you.”
“Me too.” I mean that with all my heart. I don’t exactly believe that everything happens for a reason, but I feel like all that we have been through has led us to each other. I’ll never be happy or grateful for the loss Katie endured—who would?—but it brought her to me and for that alone, I am both of those things.
The waiter comes back and we order. I manage to lighten the mood by giving Katie shit for ordering chicken instead of something expensive, and our dramatic moment is forgotten—at least for now.
After dinner, we take the limo to the club, and thanks to the passes, we not only get to bypass the psychotic line, but we end up in some roped off bar and dance area surrounded by the glitterati—Katie’s term, not mine.
She and I each do a shot of some green thing that is passed around in a test tube, but we both decide we need something real, so I leave her at the edge of the dance floor and head for the bar. The music is insanely loud. The only thing I can hear is the heavy bass. It’s dark in here too, but there are a million lights of every different color swirling and gliding past me.
Actually, it reminds me of the club in Miami almost to a T.
The bartender smiles and asks me what I’d like by shouting. I order the tequila shot Katie requested, as well as my whiskey. But when I’m done ordering, I notice he’s not paying any attention to me. His eyes are fixed on something—or should I say someone—past my left shoulder.
“Are you here with that hot blonde in the black dress?”
“Yes.” He looks very interested in whatever he sees, so I turn and notice some asshole who looks like Captain America—minus the spandex—talking to her.
“Dude, you should go get your girl.” My eyes snap back to the bartender and he nods his head in Katie’s direction. “That’s Jamie Cole.” That name means dick all to me. “He comes in here a lot and never leaves alone. Always with the hottest woman and he could care less if she’s attached or not.” Another head nod in their direction. “It looks as though he’s set his sights on yours.”
I turn back, and no doubt about it, he’s trying to work her. Hard.
The full lean-in, brushing his fingers across her cheek, tucking a loose hair behind her ear and smiling at her with fuck-me eyes. She’s not uncomfortable or distressed—though she is leaning away from him—so I let her handle it and turn back to the bartender with an easy shrug.
His eyes widen slightly like he can’t believe that I’m not storming over there after her. “You’re either dumb as fuck or confident as hell, and you don’t look dumb to me.” The bartender shakes his head in disbelief.
I get it. Most guys would be all over that. But I know for a fact that Katie won’t go home with that guy.
If it had been Francesca, I’d have been over there in a flash.
Franny would have wanted me to think that she was going home with him. She was just that kind of woman—always making me work for it, and mind games were her specialty. Katie is nothing like Franny, and I trust her. It is really that simple.
“He steals women all the time, man. That’s all I’m saying,” he holds his hands up in surrender and then goes about pouring our drinks.
Small hands glide up my back, and as I turn, I’m treated to Katie’s soft smile and twinkling eyes. “You left me to the lions,” Katie shouts in my ear, and I smile down at her.
I had no doubts with this one.
“I knew you could handle your own.” I brush my lips against hers.
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “What a douchebag.”
I can’t help but grin at my girl.
Our drinks are placed in front of us, and I hand the shocked bartender two twenties. Apparently, Katie is a rare creature around here.
After drinking our drinks, we head to the dance floor and don’t leave each other’s arms for the rest of the night. It’s heaven, and I just pray it never ends, knowing I’m officially on the clock to convince her to be mine.
16
Kate
* * *
I wake in a similar fashion as the day before, wrapped in Ryan’s arms. It’s only been twenty-four hours of this, but already I’m used to it. And that has me troubled.
I know I should pull back.
I tell myself that constantly.
I’m blurring lines and pushing boundaries further, and I cannot stop myself. Every time I try to take a step back, Ryan does something wonderful—which is often—or he gives me a look that I find irresistible.
Or he does nothing, and I’m still hooked.
I’m falling for him.
I know I am, and I haven’t a clue as to how to stop it.
“Don’t go,” he rasps out in his sleepy voice, pulling me closer into his body before I can escape. “I like you just where you are.”
I do too, Ryan.
I give up the fight against my conscience and roll over in his arms to face him, kissing up his neck and through his scruffy beard. I like the beard. And I love the way it feels on my skin.
“You keep doing that, I’ll have trouble holding back.”
I sort of don’t care right now. I mean, I do, but I really don’t.
It’s a conundrum if ever there was one.
I think conflicted should be my new middle name, instead of Anne. His mouth finds my mouth, my jaw, my neck, my ears, and before either of us knows what’s happening, we’re going beyond my kissing rule. Not much, but enough because his hands are groping the hell out of my ass—my bare ass, since I’m in my thong and bra—and I can tell he’s struggling with his restraint.
His cell phone rings from the bedside table and Ryan groans out in frustration. “Fuck.” He rolls over and grabs it, about to silence it when he checks the caller ID. “Fuck,” he says again with a bit more annoyance because I can tell he has to take it. I’m relieved. He throws me an apologetic look before swiping his finger across the screen to answer it. “Yeah?” he snaps and then listens. He huffs out a loud angry breath. “I’m on it. Give me a few hours.” He hangs up and rolls back to me. “I’m sorry, Katie, but I have some work that needs to get done.”
I smile at him, running my fingers through his hair. He loves that. So do I.
“Don’t be. I’m fine. Go work.” I kiss his jaw before hopping out of bed and heading for the bathroom. I debate going to the gym, but I’m fried from getting home late last night, and frankly, my mind is a mess.
I need to walk, not run, if that makes any sense.
By the time I make it out of the bathroom, Ryan is on the phone and computer at the table
in the dining area. I wave bye and blow him a kiss, and he covers the mouthpiece of the phone, asking whomever it is to hold.
“Where are you going, baby?”
Baby? Yup, I’m a total mess.
I manage a smile somehow. “I thought I’d go walk around the hotel. You do your thing,” I blow him another kiss and head for the door before he can stop me. I need to get out of here.
“I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours,” he calls out, and I throw up a hand so he knows I heard him.
I walk through the lobby but get bored quickly, so I decide to check out the casino. I’ve never been much of a gambler. In fact, I’ve only done it a couple of times and both times were at a casino in Connecticut. I only played the slots, so I guess that’s where I’m headed.
“Excuse me?” a soft, male voice questions, and I look around. “Would you mind helping me out?”
I turn and see an older man, probably in his late-seventies, standing by a long table that I think is a craps table. He’s got bright blue eyes, similar to mine, light, almost-white hair, and a kind smile. “Me?”
He nods with a wide grin, so I take a step closer to him.
“I was hoping you could help me play some craps here,” he gestures toward the long oval table in front of him.
His clothes are reminiscent of Steve McQueen from The Magnificent Seven—very cool cowboy, with a faded pink denim button-down, tan pants, and matching cowboy hat.
“My wife is off getting her hair done, and I have no one to play with.” He looks down before meeting my eyes. “Would you mind being an old man’s good luck charm?”
I can’t help but laugh. “I don’t even know how to play.”
He smiles, waving me off. “That doesn’t matter. I do, and I’d like to teach ya if you’re interested.” His voice is thick with country and I find it oddly comforting.
I shrug. “Sure. Why not?” I sidle up next to him and pull out four hundred dollars from my wallet, handing it to the dealer to change out. It’s a fifty-dollar minimum, which is a little—or a lot—rich for my blood, but I’ll give it a go.
The guy, whose name I learn is Mo, gives me the rundown on how to play, so we both place a fifty-dollar chip on the pass line, and then he hands me the dice.
“Me?” I ask, feeling a little nervous.
“Yes, you,” he nods firmly. “You’re my good luck charm today, remember?”
“No pressure then,” I half-laugh.
“Just toss the dice down in that direction,” he points to the far end of the table. “And don’t worry about anything else.”
I roll the dice around in my hand a few times, and then do as Mo instructed. The dice hit the green felt wall and then bounce back in opposite directions on the table.
“Seven,” the dealer calls out, and Mo is beaming at me.
“Is that good?” He may have given me an overview, but there are a million rules to this game, and I’ve already forgotten most of them.
“That’s good, cookie. We just won.”
My eyes widen as the lady places more chips in front of the ones I had already put down. Mo stacks his winnings on top of his initial bet, so I do the same. The dealer slides the dice to me and we go again.
“Eleven. Winner.”
Holy crap. That’s twice. More chips and once again, Mo stacks his winnings. We both have a rather large pile building here. “What’s your name, cookie?”
“Kate.”
He looks at me with a smile, but there’s familiar sadness in his eyes. “How old are you, Kate?”
“Twenty-seven.” I’m searching his face, trying to figure out why he looks like a mirror.
“You look just like my daughter did.” And there it is. That one word. Did. Mo and I have a shared pain.
“How old was she?” I don’t even need to clarify my question. He knows what I’m asking him.
“Seventeen. Prom night. Drunk driver.” His words are somber, but the soft smile on his lips gives the impression that it’s always there when he thinks about his daughter. “Yours?” So he’s observant as well.
I swallow hard then blink twice. “Almost three. Drunk driver.”
He shakes his head, the smile slipping from his thin lips. “A baby.”
I toss the dice in my hand, needing the distraction.
“Eight.”
Mo and I fall into silence for a moment, letting the game lead us. I put money behind the pass line—the same as him—and more money on six. I don’t even want to think about how much I have in play on this table right now.
“What was your daughter’s name?” I ask, while the dealer does her thing with the new people joining the table on the other end.
“Chloe. She was my angel. Now she’s up in heaven.” He looks up at the ceiling and smiles again. “Yours?”
“Maggie,” I swallow again, suddenly needing to ask a very personal question to a total stranger. “How did you…?” I can’t even finish my words.
“Get through it?”
God, this guy just knows me. I nod.
“Well, cookie,” he touches the brim of his cowboy hat, sliding his finger back and forth across it. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I still struggle with it, and I know I always will.” The dealer slides me the dice again and I reach forward to retrieve them. “But it took me finally accepting that there are things in this world I cannot change. Death being one of them. And that I was beyond blessed to have had her at all.” He doesn’t rush me. No one does. Mo just continues to talk while I hold onto the dice for a moment, rolling them in my hand. “Now when I think about Chloe, I focus on the happiness her brief life brought me. Not the sorrow of her loss.”
I nod, understanding but not fully on the same page. When I think about Maggie and Eric, I still feel the heartbreak of their loss. It’s true, though, I am missing out on remembering the joy of their lives.
I throw the dice down the table.
“Six,” the dealer declares, and the people down on the other end of the table cheer, as does Mo.
“We won again, cookie,” Mo looks at me with his sparkling blue eyes and easy smile. “I think you are my good luck charm after all.” His expression turns serious. “And maybe I can be yours, too.”
“I think you are, Mo,” I smile, pick up my chips that I just won and toss the dice again. This pattern continues—us winning—for the next twenty minutes. I have no idea how much money Mo and I won, but the two guys at the other end of the table have been hollering and cheering and singing my praises. All four of us are laughing and smiling, because this is just fun.
Winning always is.
Eventually, I crap out, which is fine. It’s scary to think how far this could go and how easily my head would swell with it. But after I do crap out, I place a hundred-dollar chip on snake eyes.
“That’s a sucker’s bet, cookie,” Mo warns me.
I nod my head in acknowledgment. Thirty-one to one odds is a sucker’s bet. But Maggie was two when she died, and for some reason, I want to bet on that. The guy down at the far end picks up the dice and tosses them, and as they fly across the table I shut my eyes, picturing Maggie’s sweet smiling face.
Maggie was always smiling.
That girl had no shortage of happiness.
When the shouting erupts, I don’t notice right away that it is for me until someone shakes me. “Holy shit, you just won over three thousand dollars,” one of the guys who was playing on the other end of the table, says. He’s smiling with wide, excited, brown eyes.
“You did it, cookie!” Mo pulls me in for a hug, which would be strange if we hadn’t just shared way more than most strangers do in under thirty minutes. “Remember, the key is to find your happiness in the life you shared with her.” I don’t reply, I just hug him back and then release him. “You take care of yourself now. Find your peace with what’s done and live your life. That’s all any of us can do in this short go-around that we get.”
“Thanks, Mo. You’re something very sp
ecial.”
He smiles, pats my cheek like my grandmother used to, and leaves to go find his wife.
Someone hands me my chips and I silently walk away, far too stunned to react the way they want me to. I have no idea how much money in chips I’ve stuffed into my bag, but I think it’s a lot. My phone buzzes in my back pocket as I wander past some dinging slots, but I’m not ready to answer it. I want more of this moment of suspended time.
It’s almost like I’m floating, watching myself from the outside.
Maybe it’s the constant noise—the buzzing and ringing, and humming and talking, and laughing—all around me. Maybe it’s the artificial lights combined with lack of daylight. Who knows? But I’m reveling in it right now, surprised by how oddly good it feels.
A roulette wheel is spinning, and there are maybe six people standing around the felt, reaching and placing chips and markers all over the numbers. I’ve never played roulette either, but the concept is simple. Way easier to get than craps.
I take two one-hundred-dollar chips out of my bag and place them both on the number nineteen, drawing the curious gazes of a few fellow gamblers.
Eric was born on March nineteenth and Maggie on July nineteenth.
One hundred for each of them.
Seems a bizarre thing to gamble money on them, but for some reason, it feels like the right thing to do.
It’s as if I can sense their auras. Like Maggie thinks I’m being silly, and Eric’s laughing and shaking his head because I’m wasting money, but would never tell me not to, regardless. The dealer calls out: “No more bets!” and the small white ball clickety-clacks against the multicolored wooden wheel, landing finally on red nineteen.
People are screaming and grabbing me, and a large man walks over with a fake smile, congratulating me.
I’m too stunned to speak.
Then I’m being pulled into a large, familiar chest.
“Katie? What’s going on?”
It’s Ryan. Thank god he is here.