Chapter 17 #2
“I know that much,” she says, arranging the chips in neat stacks. “I’ve seen movies.”
Jake snorts. “Oh, we’ve got a pro here.”
“Watch it,” I warn him, but Sutton just smirks.
“Deal me in,” she says, leaning forward slightly. “I’m a fast learner.”
Killian raises an eyebrow at me across the table, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. I shake my head subtly, though Sutton catches it. Her eyes flick between us, that sharp bartender instinct kicking in.
“What was that?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
“Bullshit,” she counters, her voice low enough that only I can hear. “You two just had an entire conversation with your eyebrows.”
I smile at her perceptiveness. “Haynes family telepathy. Years of practice.”
She nudges me with her elbow, her eyes narrowed playfully. “Spill it, quarterback.”
“He’s wondering if I’m going to let you see my cards,” I admit quietly. “Which would technically be cheating.”
“And are you?” she whispers, leaning closer, her breath warm against my ear.
“Depends on how lucky you’re feeling.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I think my luck’s been turning around lately.”
Something flutters in my chest at her words. Before I can respond, Killian clears his throat dramatically. “If you two are done whispering sweet nothings, we’ve got a game to play.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Ignore him. He’s just being an ass.”
“Par for the course,” she murmurs, and there’s that small smile again, the one that makes me want to do ridiculous things just to see it grow.
“Deal the cards, asshole,” I tell Kill, but there’s no heat in it.
The cards slide across the table with practiced precision, and Sutton watches intently as each player receives their hand. When she gets hers, she lifts the corner carefully, her expression giving nothing away. Maybe she’s a natural at this after all.
“Alright, Sutton,” Kyler says, tossing chips into the center. “Five bucks to play. Show us what you’ve got.”
She studies her cards for a moment, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration. “So, if I understand correctly,” she says slowly, “the goal is to make these men cry?”
Boone chokes on his beer.
“Basically,” I agree, fighting a grin.
“Then I’ll play,” she says, and something about the way she says it makes me think we might have underestimated her poker knowledge.
The hand progresses, and I find myself paying more attention to Sutton than my own cards. She’s focused, her eyes tracking every move, every bet, every reaction. When Bennett tries to bluff, she narrows her eyes slightly. When Orry raises, she studies him for a beat longer than necessary.
“You sure you don’t know how to play?” I whisper.
“I might’ve watched a few tournaments on TV,” she admits with a small smirk. “And maybe picked up some things at the bar. You’d be surprised how many drunk men think they’re poker experts after a few whiskeys.”
Her confession makes me laugh. “So, you’ve been holding out on me?”
“I never said I didn’t understand the game,” she counters, eyes twinkling. “I said I don’t know how to play. There’s a difference.”
I lean closer, drawn to her playful side. “And what difference would that be?”
“Understanding is theoretical. Playing is practical.” She arranges her chips methodically, fingers nimble despite the healing hand. “I understand how planes work too, but I’m not about to fly one.”
She pushes a small stack of chips to the middle of the table. “I’ll bet this many.”
“This many?” Jake asks, dumbfounded.
She nods. “Yeah. I don’t know what these are worth. Are they like, a dollar a piece or something?”
Sebastian chuckles. “More like one hundred a piece.”
Sutton’s jaw drops and for a minute I think she’s going to bow out but then she straightens herself in her chair and shrugs. “Whatever. You guys get paid millions to play fucking tag. You can afford a measly little bet like this.” She curls her fingers. “Pony up, boys.”
The table erupts in laughter for a moment before Kyler says, “Tag? Did you just say we play tag?”
“Oh, sorry,” Sutton corrects herself, “I meant full contact tag. But yes. It’s tag.”
“In expensive pants,” Bishop adds with a wink toward Sutton. “Don’t forget that part.”
“Right.” She giggles. “You all get paid millions to wear expensive pants and play tag. Let’s just call it what it is.” Sutton curls her hand around my beer and lifts it to her lips.
“You gonna let her talk like that about us, Shep?” Jake teases.
“Fuck yeah, I am. Now pony the fuck up and let’s go.”
The laughter settles as everyone tosses their chips into the growing pot. Sutton’s confidence is magnetic. She doesn’t flinch even as the stakes rise. I can’t help but feel a surge of pride watching her hold her own among my brothers and teammates.
“All right, show ’em,” Killian says, nodding at Sutton.
She hesitates, glancing at me with a flicker of uncertainty before turning her cards over. “Two pair,” she announces, revealing a pair of queens and a pair of tens.
Not bad for her first hand, but Bennett lets out a triumphant laugh and slaps down a flush. “Sorry, darlin’,” he says, reaching for the pot.
“Wait,” Sutton says, her eyes narrowing on his cards. “Aren’t those all different suits?”
The table goes silent. Bennett’s smile falters as he looks down.
“Shit,” he mutters, realizing his mistake. “I thought they were all clubs.”
Jake howls with laughter. “You’ve been playing for years and you still can’t tell a flush from a garbage hand?”
“Apparently not,” I chuckle, watching Bennett’s face turn a delightful shade of red. “Looks like Sutton’s winning her first round.”
She glances at me with surprise, then back at her cards. “Wait, I won?”
“You did,” I confirm, sliding the pot toward her. “Bennett just handed you about a thousand bucks.”
Her eyes widen and she stares at the chips like they might bite her. “That’s…a lot of money for a mistake.”
Bennett shrugs good-naturedly. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Ask these guys how much I lost last month when I thought a straight beat a flush.”
“Two grand,” Kyler supplies helpfully, wiggling two fingers.
“Two grand and your dignity,” Boone adds.
Sutton’s eyes widen as the mountain of plastic discs slides her way. She glances at me, and I can see the momentary panic at handling what must be a couple thousand dollars’ worth of chips.
She starts to push them into the middle of the table, explaining, “Guys I can’t actually take your—”
“Yes you can,” Sebastian insists, pushing them back toward her. “You won fair and square. That’s how poker works.”
Sutton hesitates, her fingers hovering over the chips like they might burn her. “But I didn’t even—”
“Rules are rules,” Killian chimes in, already shuffling the deck for the next hand. “Besides, Bennett can afford it. His underwear contract alone could buy this house.”
Bennett tosses a pretzel at Kill’s head. “Fuck off.”
“Wait,” Sutton says, looking genuinely confused. “You have an underwear contract?”
The table erupts in laughter again, and Bennett’s cheeks flush even deeper red. “It was ONE billboard! And it paid well!”
“Very well,” Kyler adds, wagging his eyebrows. “Who knew Bennett’s package was so…marketable?”
“I hate all of you,” Bennett mutters, but he’s fighting a smile.
Sutton glances at me, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and something warm unfurls in my chest. She’s relaxing, becoming more comfortable by the minute.
The guarded bartender is still there, but there’s something lighter about her now, a playfulness I don’t get to see often enough.
I want to bottle this moment and preserve it somehow.
If for no other reason than to remind her of it when she has a hard day.
“So,” she says, rearranging her newly won chips into neat stacks, “are you guys always this bad at poker, or is this a special performance for my benefit?”
“Oh, this is us on a good day,” Orry says, reaching for his beer. “You should see us when we’re actually trying to win.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tell him. “Some of us are playing the long game.”
“Oh, we know, man.” Jake nods slowly, his eyes flitting between me and Sutton. “We know.”
I should not be trusted with medical supplies. That becomes very clear about thirty seconds in.
“Hold still,” I mutter, standing across from Sutton at the kitchen island, a roll of gauze in one hand and what I’m pretty sure is the wrong tape in the other.
“I am holding still,” she says, her hip braced against the counter. “You’re the one making it worse.”
“I’m not making it worse.”
“Um, you wrapped my finger to my palm.”
“That was strategic.”
“That was unnecessary.”
Behind me, Killian barks out a laugh from where he’s leaning against the fridge.
“Fuck you, I’m not a doctor,” I shoot over my shoulder.
“No shit,” Bishop says from his stool at the island watching the chaos with amusement.
Sebastian, who’s been watching me work like he’s witnessing a slow-motion train wreck, just crosses his arms.
“Shep.”
“I’ve got it.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You don’t,” he repeats, completely calm.
I glance down at Sutton’s hand.
Yeah. Okay. Maybe I don’t. Her bandage is definitely not how it started and I’m pretty sure I just made it tighter than it needs to be.
“Does that hurt?” I ask, my voice dropping as I look up at her.
She studies me for a second and instead of calling me out, whispers, “It’s fine,” which tells me it’s absolutely not fine.
I exhale slowly. “Seb.”
“Thank God,” Killian mutters.
Sebastian pushes off the counter and steps in, sliding into the space beside me like this was inevitable. “Alright,” he says, gentle but efficient as he reaches for her hand. “Let’s fix it.”
I don’t move right away because, well, I don’t want to. I don’t want anyone else touching Sutton so I don’t want to hand this over.
And yeah, I know that’s an irrational way of thinking, but still.
Sutton notices because of course she does, and her eyes flick to mine, soft and steady. “It’s okay,” she says quietly.
I hold her gaze for a beat and then nod once. “Careful,” I tell Sebastian, my voice low.
He deadpans, “I’m literally trained for this.”
“Still.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Relax, Shep. I’ve got her.”
I step back but not far. I’m close enough that my thigh brushes the edge of the island. Close enough that I can still reach her. Her hand stays in mine for a second longer before Sebastian gently takes over.
“This is…impressive,” he says mildly.
“Don’t,” I warn.
Killian grins. “Did he actually make it worse?”
“What do you think?” Sebastian chuckles.
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Sutton presses her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. I, on the other hand, watch carefully as Sebastian works, re-cleaning the cut, his movements precise and practiced under the bright kitchen lights.
“It’s definitely looking better,” he says. “I think you’ll get to keep the hand.”
“Good to know,” Sutton replies.
“Keep it wrapped like this,” he continues, redoing the bandage properly this time. “Shep, if you change it the next time, don’t pull too tight, that’s all. You don’t want to cut off circulation to her hand. We’re just keeping the bandage secure. See?”
I watch every single thing he does, memorizing everything step by step.
“Got it?” he asks me.
“Got it.”
He finishes, securing the bandage neatly, way better than I had, obviously. “There,” he says, stepping back. “Functional.”
Sutton flexes her fingers slightly, testing it. “Okay, yeah,” she says. “That’s…significantly better.”
“Low bar,” Killian mutters.
I shoot him a look, but he raises his hands, smirking. “What? It was.”
Sutton laughs softly. And yeah, okay. My brothers teasing me is well worth it to hear her laugh and to see her smile.
Sebastian claps me once on the shoulder as he moves past. “You’re good at a lot of things, bro” he says.
“Just not that,” I admit.
He smiles. “Correct.”
The kitchen settles into something quieter after that. Killian grabs another beer and Bishop scrolls through something on his phone. Sebastian leans back against the counter like nothing happened. But I stay right where I am. Close to Sutton. Probably closer than I need to be.
“You good?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah.” Her bandaged hand rests on the counter between us. My fingers brush lightly against the edge of it before I even think about it, but she doesn’t pull away and she doesn’t flinch.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
“For what?”
“For trying.”
I huff out a quiet breath. “Sorry I made it worse.”
“You tried anyway, and that matters.”
That lands harder than it should. My thumb traces the bandage, careful not to touch the cut, and though I shouldn’t say it out loud and certainly not in front of my brothers, the thought I’ve allowed to enter my mind a million times since I met Sutton slips right back in once again.
I’ll always take care of you…if you’ll let me.