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“Hey, Chip?” Corbin calls once too many moments have passed and Rowan still hasn’t put any distance back between us. “Want to deal in and spare me from being a third wheel over here?”
“Sorry, mate.” Chip touches a kiss to Lace’s forehead. “You’re the fifth wheel.”
Corbin blinks, running his fingers over the top of his cropped hair. “I am suddenly very sad.”
Rowan puffs the idea of a laugh as he finally draws back and toys with one of his few remaining chips.
Without him near, I’m suddenly aware how cold I am.
I miss playing Poker with my parents. Every Sunday. In the quiet back at The Giungla, we’d deal in with candy. Mama always lost everything first. Papa would “sponsor” her so she could keep playing. In the end, it didn’t matter, though. I’d eat the Almond Joys, Mama would take the KitKats, and Papa would munch away on the 100 Grands while we plotted our moves for the following week.
Papa always told me that life is chess, but the pieces are playing Poker. Even the pawns can bluff their way into becoming queens. So long as you don’t live with self-imposed limits, anything is possible.
All you risk losing is your soul along the way.
Realizing I’ve lost my smile, I stand. “I need a drink. I think I left some of my lemonade in the kitchen.”
Rowan’s hint of a smile fades when I pass him on my way out. Halfway down the hallway, his heavy footsteps trail behind me. “Princess?” His hand meets my shoulder, stopping me in place.
I don’t turn.
“Is everything all right?” he asks.
My lips part, and a hundred lies collect in my skull. Any number of them would work to manipulate his care and concern away, so I could get a few spare minutes to myself.
But after last night, lies seem too cruel.
So, I opt for the truth.
“I miss my parents, Rowan. We used to play Poker every Sunday night.” Biting my cheek, I close my eyes and hold tears at bay. “It’s been months since I last saw them, and—” My voice breaks.
Rowan’s arms close around me—as though hugging me is effortless. The big guy who struggles to smile hugs like it’s easy, like all he’s needed is someone to give him permission.
He is tragic. Beautiful. Warm. A man capable of so much good because he’s seen the harrowing depths of the bad. He could have left this place—with all its abuse and cold memories—behind when his parents vanished. Granger would have taken over seamlessly and never looked for any of them.
But Rowan didn’t.
He didn’t because he wanted to make something better for people he’s never met. In contrast, I—
“Everything will be okay,” he murmurs, cupping my cheek and lifting my face. I let my eyes open to find his.
“You don’t know that,” I say.
His thumb swipes over my cheekbone. “I do. No matter what happens, no matter what has already happened, you will be okay. You have Lace. And Chip. Your family. You will not be alone.”
Moisture burns in my eyes. I fight to keep from sniffling. “You’re not adding yourself to that list, what with your grand proposal last night?”
“Last I checked, husbands and wives were family, princess.”
My stomach clenches even as a damp laugh breaks free. “Heavens. You’re so articulate today. Except earlier. Strip Poker? Really?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I do not know how you make it look so easy to say the most unhinged lines.”
“Practice. Which I do not recommend for you.” Pressing my lips together, I settle my face against his chest and wrap my arms around his waist. “You’re an uncut gemstone, pet. Sharp, unpolished edges. Precious regardless.” He smells so much better than anyone is supposed to—especially than anyone whose job description includes disembowelment is supposed to. I’m pretty sure the sweet, faintly metal scent isn’t just guns and knives, but maybe I’m being morbid. “I’m feeling vulnerable tonight, and I don’t want to take it out on you. I’m not trying to lead you on like this.”
“I don’t care.”
“Your feelings will get hurt.”
