Chapter 46

Friday December 13th

Finn

“I’m all in,” Ace’s dad declares, and his eyes are stone-cold as he stares down the only person still left in the game—Ace. “You in, Acer?”

Ace doesn’t respond, and I eye the cards on the table, trying to guess what Ace and Thatch might have in their hands. I folded after Ace bet $25 in chips on the flop. Kline Brooks, Wes Lancaster, and two guys from the book club I met at Julia’s party—Milo Ives and Caplin Hawkins—folded when Thatch bet $50 on the turn.

The five cards that sit before us consist of an ace of clubs, ten of hearts, nine of spades, five of spades, and nine of hearts.

I think the best possible hand someone could have right now is four of a kind, but that would mean they have the nine of clubs and the nine of diamonds sitting between their fingertips.

Next-best hands would include three of a kind with one nine, or a full house with one nine and a five, ace, or ten. Not so great but not terrible hands would include two pair, or a single pair with a king high.

I’m almost positive there aren’t any straight or flush opportunities sitting on the table, but I’m not exactly a Texas Hold’em expert like Ace claims to be, and I’m not the best at math. Everything I’m thinking could be complete bullshit, to be honest.

“You gonna rumble, son?” Thatch taunts again, chewing on the butt end of his unlit cigar. Cassie came in just as he was about to light it and shut him down real quick. She wasn’t mean, though—just whispered something in his ear that had him mumbling under his breath about titties for the next five minutes.

Ace still hasn’t said a word, but his eyes are locked on his dad. His eyes narrow as he searches his face. Thatch grins. Ace looks down at his cards again before running a hand through his hair.

“C’mon, Acer. What’s it going to be?” Thatch continues talking. “You gonna hold your nuts to the fire or let your mom honey-roast ’em?” Clearly, the name of his game is shit-talking.

Both Milo and Wes chuckle while Kline smirks over his glass of scotch. Caplin Hawkins, on the other hand, is almost just as much of a shit-talker as Ace’s dad. Even being out of this hand, he can’t stand not to be included.

“You better bow out, Aceface,” he says. “Normally, all that comes out of your dad’s big fucking mouth is bullshit, but I can tell he’s gonna smoke you on this one.”

“I’d tell you to suck my dick, Cappy, but we both know the Supercock is far too big to fit in your delicate little mouth,” Thatch replies, blowing a kiss at Caplin right after.

“I fold,” Ace says, disappointment rife in every long line of his Stretch Armstrong body.

“Uh-oh, boys. Better catch the falling star and put him in your pocket,” Thatch teases as he makes a show of raking in the chips to his side of the table. “His poker skills are fading away.” His smile is big and blinding from his clever change to the Perry Como song, so much so that I can see all of his pearly white teeth. If I took out my phone and started filming, I could submit the footage to a fucking toothpaste company.

He slides his cards toward Milo, who is the dealer for our next hand, and Ace reaches out to stop the cards’ descent toward the discard pile.

“Hold up,” he says, desperate. “You’re not going to at least show me?”

“Take a look,” Thatch says, and Ace turns the cards over to reveal two nines.

“I fucking told you, Acer!” Cap exclaims. “For once, your dad had a mouth full of something other than crap.”

“Hey, Cappy, I’ll have you know the thing my mouth is most full of at all times is pussy. Not crap.”

Kline lets out a deep sigh. “You think you idiots might want to tone it down a little?”

“Oh, get real, Brooks,” Thatch retorts. “This isn’t a damn tea party. We’re not deflowering virginal ears here. These fuckers have probably had more pussy this year than we have, and that’s saying something. I have a very high sex drive.”

“Yeah, Kline,” Cap agrees. “Finn and Ace are full-grown college men now.” He smirks. “I think I heard they spend a lot of time with your daughter.”

Kline’s eyes are daggers, spearing Ace first. Ace raises both hands in the air.

“Oh no, no, no,” Ace refutes. “Don’t look at me. I’m not dating Julia and have had very little pussy, if any at all.”

Cap snorts, but Kline still isn’t amused, his glare moving to me. I’m a little terrified at how such an easygoing guy can look so murderous. I shake my head, but Thatch’s overbearing nature saves me from actually having to comment.

“You and Julia aren’t dating?” he questions Ace, his face as serious as I’ve seen it.

“Good grief, Dad. No. We’re friends. That’s it. Hell, Finn and I are going to a sorority party after this, and I have plans to meet up with a girl named Scarlett.”

We do? He does?

This is all news to me.

When Thatch smiles at Kline, raising his eyebrows in more disbelief, Ace gets agitated. “I don’t know why the hell you guys can’t seem to understand that men and women can be friends. Finn’s been spending nearly every waking moment with a cheerleader named Scottie, and they’re just friends.”

Instantly, all the attention at the table is directed at me. The feel of bus tires is heavy on my back.

“A cheerleader named Scottie, huh?” Milo questions with a little smirk. “What’s she like?”

Ace smiles nervously as he has a premonition of me strangling him. Cap is fully invested as he places his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his hands.

These old bastards are like the fucking FBI. “She’s smart. Kind. Funny.” I lick my lips. “Beautiful.”

Thatch hums, and I sigh. “We had a little bit of a thing at one point, but now it’s over. Definitely over.”

“Uh-oh,” Thatch mutters, his voice a lot softer than I’m used to. “I know that look.”

“We all know that look,” Milo says.

“Because we’ve all fucking experienced that look,” Cap adds.

“Yeah.” Wes chuckles. “We had to survive Cap’s romance book club when he had that look.”

“My book club, dude.” Thatch points a finger in Wes’s direction. “Cap just commandeered it like a real dickhead when he was trying to make Ruby fall in love with him.”

“Can we not talk about book club?” Ace asks with a shudder. “Mom making me beta-read her manuscripts is enough romance for me.”

“Don’t shit on the romance world, son. It’s a literary powerhouse, with the biggest readership of any genre on the planet.”

“I’m not shitting on romance,” Ace hedges. “I’m just scarred.”

“I think we’re getting a little off the rails here,” Cap chimes in.

“Yeah.” I nod. “Pretty sure it’s Kline’s turn to deal.”

“Oh no, Finn,” Cap responds with a smile I don’t like one bit. “I meant that we need to get back to you and Scottie the Cheerleader.”

I let my head fall back onto my chair. “Like I said, there’s nothing to tell because we’re not anything.”

When I don’t look up, Thatch’s voice is the first to fill my ears.

“Like we said before, Finn, we’ve all been there,” he says, and his voice doesn’t hold his usual edge of teasing and sarcasm. “But from years of experience, I can tell you that you only get that look when it’s someone who means something.”

“Yeah, man,” Kline agrees. “It’s been decades since I almost screwed everything up with Georgia, but I will never in a million years forget how it felt during those moments that I thought I’d lost her for good.”

Every single guy at the table voices their very similar experience. Even Wes, and he talks about Winnie—my sister—like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

The way these men talk about their now-wives is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my house growing up. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my dad tell my mom he loves her. Or that she’s beautiful. I’ve never heard him compliment her or say something just because he wants to make her feel good.

All I’ve seen is a man treating his wife like she’s an object that doesn’t deserve respect or love. I’ve seen my dad treat my mom so cruelly at times that, at the age of thirteen, I found myself on my knees beside my bed, praying to God and asking him to never let me treat a woman that way.

But I can’t avoid that he’s half of my DNA.

Kline starts to deal another round of cards, but my mind continues to race. I might be looking at my cards and doing my best to follow the table conversation, but I’m preoccupied with a startling new notion.

Did I push Scottie away because, deep down, I’m afraid I’m like my dad?