Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
The atmosphere is charged.
Clutching a weathered deck of cards tightly in my hand, I’m perched at a worn-out table in the shipyard’s breakroom with three fishermen huddled around.
This afternoon, as the first group of fishermen returned, Saylor encouraged me to approach one of them and invite him to play a game of poker. He had a history of playing with this particular guy and was confident he wouldn’t turn down the opportunity.
Turns out, he was right. Now, a crowd of onlookers has formed, and it appears that every Jones & Sons fisherman is back and standing around us, the room echoing with laughter and chatter.
This little poker game has drawn quite an audience, and I’m already questioning why I even agreed to do this in the first place.
But Saylor insisted, telling me there is a lot of money to win if I do it right, and he will make sure I do.
Saylor has already completed a circuit of the table, noting the cards held by the other three men. He now stands close behind me, peering over my shoulder to catch a glimpse of my cards.
The first guy is a gruff-looking fellow with a beard, a man of few words.
The second is the one Saylor urged me to invite to the game, a man likely in his forties who takes this poker match far more seriously than I ever intend to.
And then there’s Adam, one of Nash’s and Tim’s crew, seated next to me.
He’s around my age, with tousled chestnut hair, green eyes, and a boyish grin that is quite charming. He’s cute and undoubtedly my type.
Nash stands behind him, leaning casually against the back of Adam’s chair, his muscular, tattooed forearms on full display and his intense blue eyes locked onto mine.
It’s unfair how every other man pales in comparison when next to one of the Jones brothers.
The fisherman with the thick beard, raises the stakes. “Five dollars,” he declares.
I glance at my hand, a pair of eights.
Hmm…
“Call,” Saylor whispers in my ear, making goose bumps rise on my arms.
I follow his advice and toss my five dollars onto the table with a confident “Call.” The second fisherman chuckles and raises the bet to ten dollars. Saylor gives me a nod of approval. “Raise him ten more,” I declare, sliding an additional ten-dollar bill into the pot.
Adam hesitates for a moment before reluctantly folding his hand. The other two call, and the tension in the room rises.
As the next set of cards is dealt, I’m delighted to find another eight in my hand. A full house is within reach, and I can sense Saylor’s excitement building. He revels in the thrill of the game.
The first fisherman bets twenty dollars this time, and I quickly follow suit.
“Someone is confident.” Saylor chuckles.
I can be since he taught me so well.
I nod and announce, “All in.”
The two guys match my bet. Saylor makes his way around the table again, checking what cards they just got, and gives me a mischievous grin.
This hand is mine.
As the final card is revealed, I confidently lay down my hand, revealing a full house—aces over eights. The second fisherman angrily throws his cards down, revealing a pair of sevens. The first one simply grunts in annoyance, and I can’t help but break into a triumphant smile as I rake in the pot.
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Just as I’m savoring my victory, Adam leans in with one of his charming smiles. “Wanna go another round with me?” he asks, his green gaze locked onto mine.
“Sure,” I breathe out, feeling myself blush.
“We’re here to win money, not to flirt. Stay focused, Boo,” Saylor cautions from next to me, his tone agitated as his gaze shoots daggers at Adam when I steal a quick glance his way while shuffling.
I would like to tell him that I am, in fact, not flirting, but that needs to wait since it feels like all the eyes in the room are on me while I deal out the cards.
We start another round, and Adam’s smile hasn’t faded. “I was on the boat you repaired last week,” he tells me, his voice warm and appreciative. “It’s like new. You’re really good.”
I offer him a small, genuine smile before turning my attention back to my cards. The second fisherman calls, and the intensity of the game grows as we all raise our bets.
Adam leans in closer, his voice lower as if sharing a secret. “You’ve got a great poker face, Sloan,” he compliments.
“Thanks,” I respond, trying to keep my tone casual, although I can feel my cheeks warming again.
Is he trying to get me nervous?
Saylor clears his throat loudly and leans in closer to me. “Concentrate, Slo.”
I nod, tearing my gaze away from Adam and refocusing on the cards. His flirting is getting under my skin, and I’m not quite sure if I like the attention. And I can’t ignore it as we continue playing, his knee occasionally brushing against mine.
Saylor is walking around the table again when I glance up, trying to catch his advice. But my attention is drawn to Nash, who’s still standing behind Adam’s chair, his jaw clenched tightly. His blue eyes are blazing, and he doesn’t look happy.
“Watch out, Adam, blondie is going to get the last shirt off your back,” someone out of the crowd jokes, prompting a few chuckles from the onlookers.
Adam’s response takes me by surprise, his gaze intense as he flirts unashamed, “I wouldn’t mind that one bit.” His innuendo hangs in the air like a promise before the whole room starts to laugh, but it’s too much for Nash.
With a forceful slam of his hand on the table, he explodes, “Focus on the fucking game!”
Adam raises an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by Nash’s outburst. “Just having a little fun, man,” he coolly retorts.
But before the tension can escalate any further, my chair is abruptly pulled back, and I’m yanked to my feet by my upper arm. I turn to face an irate North, his expression contorted with fury. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The shipyard’s alive with laughter and cheers as North, Lio, and I enter, returning from yet another frustrating doctor’s appointment.
They still can’t provide us with any concrete answers about Lio’s worsening condition, offering useless advice like changing our laundry detergent and shampoo.
As if there weren’t already enough hypoallergenic products at home.
Damn, the house is almost bare of decoration or clutter to ensure there won't be any dust catchers.
Lio would be one of the kids who climbs trees and runs around all day, a little troublemaker. But most of the time, his sickness leaves him so weak that he has to watch from the sidelines, and it hurts to watch the glimmer in his eyes grow duller every day.
Nash is the only one who manages to make him smile without trying, and I envy him for that, but at the same time, I would do everything to make this sad boy a little happier.
He’s only five, but his world is far from carefree.
All the doctor appointments, all the coughing, the dizzy spells, they’re dimming his light.
He’s the kind of kid who dreams big. His eyes light up at the sight of boats, and he often gets lost in his make-believe adventures on the high seas.
But his illness is an anchor, pulling him back into a harsher reality.
Despite all that, Lio is the kindest little boy, greeting everyone with warmth and a smile.
He’s a gentle soul in a body that struggles to keep up.
I try to give him as much joy as possible.
North tells me I’m spoiling him rotten, but who could not give the child everything he wants if that’s the only way to light up his eyes again?
His good days are like sun breaks in an overcast sky, moments of unbridled energy where he almost seems like any other child, running and laughing without care.
But these days are rare gems, getting rarer the older he gets, and all too soon, he’s back to being that delicate boy, so pale and fragile as if a stronger gust of wind might carry him away.
He’s so much more mature than he should be at this age, and I can’t do shit to make it better.
It’s so fucking frustrating.
Nash’s voice rings out, getting me out of my thoughts with his frustrated exclamation, “Focus on the fucking game!”
North’s eyes lock onto mine, and I can see the fury building in them. Without hesitation, he strides toward the breakroom, and I quickly follow, pulling Lio along with us.
As the crowd parts to make way for North, I spot some of the guys engrossed in a poker game at the table. A sudden jolt of surprise courses through me, and it feels like déjà vu.
Without much thought, I scan the chairs for Saylor, even though I know he won’t be there. Instead, my eyes lock onto an unexpected sight of blonde braids, and it leaves me just as dumbfounded. I watch North pull her chair back and abruptly yank on her arm to make her stand.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” North’s voice pierces through the room, filled with anger and disbelief, making everyone around fall silent.
“North, chill,” comes out of my and Nash’s mouth at the exact same time, and I look over some heads to find his amused gaze.
But North isn’t having any of it.
He grabs Sloan by the arm even tighter and forcefully drags her out of the room, heading toward the stairs leading to his office.
“Hey, hey!” Tim yells after North, trying to push himself through the crowd where he’s standing in the back, but he can’t get through further than the table, so instead he scoops up Sloan’s money just before Paul can reach out to grab it.
I know I have no choice but to follow North and Sloan, sensing that if I don’t, this situation is bound to end in disaster.
“Nash!” I yell, but he’s already at my side, bending down to Lio’s level.
“Hey, Li-Li, how’s my favorite nephew?” Nash asks with a playful nudge to Lio’s shoulder, eliciting giggles from the little one.
I know Nash has this under control, so I move as quickly as my less-than-athletic self can manage to catch up with Sloan and North. I can’t help but groan as I ascend the stairs.
Stairs, the bane of my existence.
By the time I reach the top, I’m completely out of breath. The sound of North’s booming voice reaches my ears even before I open the door. “… you’re fired!”
I step into the room, and North is standing by his desk, his face flushed with anger, while Sloan is just inside the room, standing there, wringing her hands. I move closer to her, taking a position at her side.
With a panting sigh, I argue, “She’s not.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you have to say in her defense this time, Hunt. She was just hosting an illegal game, disrupting everyone’s work in my damn shipyard,” North yells.
“Our damn shipyard,” I correct him, feeling a pang of nostalgia as a memory of Saylor boasting about winning a few hundred dollars from North flashes through my mind.
There was a time when North was just as involved in the poker games as Saylor and me, and our dad used to give us an earful for hosting those games in that very breakroom with the employees.
“I’m pretty sure she didn’t even start it and was just there to play. Why would you barge in on her without a second thought while ignoring Adam or Paul, for that matter?” I argue, trying to reason with him.
“Because there hasn’t been a poker game since… since…” North’s voice trails off, frustration evident in his huff. He turns away from us, his hand resting heavily on the side of his desk.
Since Saylor.
Sloan winces beside me as North continues his tirade, “And now she’s here for not even a week, and chaos erupts!”
I can’t help but laugh at that.
He’s such a fucking drama queen.
“North—” I start again, attempting to soothe the situation, but Sloan interjects before I can say more.
“I started it, he’s right. It was my idea,” she admits, not lifting her gaze from the floor. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done it here. I needed to come up with some money quickly, and I overheard one of the guys talking about playing poker, so I thought, why not,” she explains.
This girl is way too honest for her own good.
North turns to look at her once more, his expression resembling someone in the throes of constipation.
Sloan, however, meets his gaze with determination, her fists clenched at her sides.
The room falls into a tense silence before North bursts out laughing.
“A damn gold digger, just as I said.” His gaze remains piercing on her as tears well up in her eyes, a single tear running down her cheek.
“Oh, my God, are you fucking kidding me?” North looks up at the ceiling.
“You’re worse than my five-year-old with all your crying! ”
“I can’t handle people yelling at me, okay? That doesn’t mean I’m weak or that you can’t discuss things with me while I cry,” Sloan retorts, her tone laced with anger despite the tears.
“Women,” North mutters dismissively, and I can’t believe my ears.
Oh no, he didn’t.
“You fucking dick,” Sloan exclaims.
At the same time, I start, “Are you kidding me, North? I told you—”
“And I told you!” North interrupts me, his frustration mounting as he wipes his hand over his desk, sending a stack of papers flying in all directions.
Sloan instinctively ducks away from him, but I remain unfazed.
I know North would never harm anyone intentionally.
He’s the kindest, most caring guy, always trying to keep everyone safe and looking out for those around him in his own subtle ways.
He’s just been tightly wound with grief, despair, and self-loathing for the past few years, and the only way he seems to release some of those emotions is through anger.
I’m not afraid of North. I pity him.
We’re both our own level of fucked up.
Turning my attention to Sloan and effectively ignoring North, I inquire, “What could be so urgent that you couldn’t wait for your paycheck?
” She only bites her lip and averts her gaze, crossing her arms over her chest. I take a step closer, gently lifting her chin with my thumb and forefinger to make her look at me. “Tell me,” I urge.
“My heater broke,” she states matter-of-factly, taking a step away from me and shrugging.
I furrow my brow at her.
The heater in her van?
“North, let’s give her an advance payment,” I suggest, my eyes still fixed on her.
“No,” they both exclaim simultaneously, and I have to suppress a chuckle.
Stubborn idiots.
“I’ll manage. Thanks,” Sloan mutters, glancing at her phone to check the time before turning back to North. “Am I fired?”
North is about to speak, but I beat him to it. “No, you’re not fired, Sloan. See you tomorrow.”