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The grin on Sawyer’s face faltered, then disappeared entirely.
Laughter exploded around the table, loud and sharp, Cal and Roy slapping the table in appreciation. Hunt shook his head, finishing off the last of his whiskey. Ben watched wide-eyed, excited like he’d never seen anything this thrilling before.
“Boy, you should’ve listened to your elders.” I picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured myself a finger into Hunt’s empty glass and downed it.
Sawyer’s face burned red. His hands clenched into fists, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Hunt leaned forward, voice calm but final. “Time to go pack your things, Sawyer. Someone’ll drive you to town in the morning.”
Sawyer’s jaw ticked. “This is bullshit.”
I just smiled. “No, boy. This is poker.”
He glared at me, then shoved himself up from the table, his boots stomping heavily against the wood floor.
Ben snorted, grinning as he leaned back in his chair. “That wassome luck.”
“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it,” Cal muttered. “The sumbitch sees patterns before the rest of us even know we got cards in our hands.”
Ben’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh…I….”
“You wanna play more, you can’t do that crap,” Hunt warned me.
I raised both hands in a peace offering. “It was just this time.”
Ben still looked confused, so Hunt took pity on him. “He played to get rid of Sawyer.”
Roy guffawed. “Easiest fix.”
Cal shook his head, his smirk saying he wasn’t sure if he was impressed or irritated. “You heard him shoot his mouth off, didn’t ya?”
I just tipped my head in acknowledgment.
“Is someone gonna deal so we can play, or are we gonna talk about the fuckin’ weather next?” I demanded.
The men laughed, shaking their heads, and just like that, the tension was gone. Someone slid cards across the table, another hand already starting.
Roy picked up his cards and gave me a knowing look. “Your old man used to come and play, but he had the decency to lose his money.” He paused, shaking his head with a half-smile. “He wasn’t a Goddamn card shark like you, Duke.”
I smirked, collecting my cards. “Well, I gotta be good at something. Now, can I have a beer or what?”
CHAPTER 13
elena
The cabin was small and barebones. Its walls were thick pine logs, the furniture plain and sturdy. The whole place smelled like cedar and smoke from the wood-burning stove.
I didn’t have any plans for the day, except to spend it alone, fishing down by the creek where the world was quiet, untouched.
The water ran clear and cold, threading through the valley like a silver ribbon, its surface broken only by the occasional ripple of a trout rising for a fly. Cottonwoods leaned over the banks, their branches swaying with the wind. Birds called from the trees, a steady background rhythm to the soft gurgle of the current.
I took my fishing gear and went to the bend in the creek, where the water deepened and slowed. This time of year, it was the place to catch brown trout. The best spots were where the fish could sit, hidden, waiting for food to drift by.
Nash taught me how to fish. We’d go together and sit quietly. No unnecessary movements, no sudden splashes to spook the fish—just calm and silence.
I baited my hook with a fat nightcrawler, threading it carefully with my fingers. I could’ve used a lure, maybe even a hand-tied fly, if I felt like testing my luck, but today, I needed something simple—life was complicated enough, and fishing didn't need to be.
I cast my line, watching the gentle arc before the bait hit the water with barely a ripple. Then I waited, my hand loose on the rod, feeling, not forcing.