Chapter Four
Ty
Poker night at Thatch’s penthouse is always a spectacle, but tonight? Tonight is on another level.
Cards are flying, chips are stacking high, and the shit-talking is at an all-time peak. There’s also a picked-over board of fancy food in the shape of a vagina, just as Thatch said there’d be, that all of us have been hungry enough to pretend is normal.
“Call,” I say, leaning back in my chair with an easy grin, tossing my chips into the pot. “And raise you twenty.”
Jude, across the table, narrows his eyes at me. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I, though?” I smirk, watching him sweat.
“You think he’s bluffing, Flynn?” Jude asks, meeting Flynn’s eyes.
Flynn shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.
But our eldest brother Remy nudges his stack of chips forward with a lazy grin. “Doesn’t matter. I’m in.”
Wes sighs, already looking like he regrets showing up. “I swear, playing poker with you guys is like playing with toddlers. No strategy, no logic—just pure fuckery.”
Thatch grins and tosses his chips in. “And yet, you’re here. Again. Admit it, Wes. You love us.”
Wes grumbles, but before he can come up with a retort, several loud knocks come from the door.
Instantly, Thatch’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, hell yes! The real fun is about to begin!”
“What are you talking about, T?” Kline questions, fear making his eyebrows crease, but Thatch just waves him off as he hops to his feet.
“Oh, get ready, Special K!” he booms over his shoulder. “We’re going to have some real fun.”
Remy groans. “I swear, if he ordered fucking strippers or some shit, I’ll kill him.”
Jude looks at me, brows raised. “You think we should be worried?”
“Dude.” I crack up. “When it comes to Thatch? We should always be worried. If I weren’t a little tipsy, I’d be ghosting you fuckers already.”
“Fuck,” Wes mutters.
“Boys! Your surprise has arrived,” Thatch announces as he walks back into the room, but he’s not alone and he’s thankfully not with strippers.
Though, the person standing beside him is someone I honestly never thought we’d see again. Ever.
“Holy shit,” Jude mutters.
In all her bohemian, mystical glory, Cleo, the fortune-teller who predicted all our love lives years ago with creepy, eerie accuracy, smiles widely. And then, five years ago, when she got invited to a Winslow Family Dinner as a surprise, she predicted multiple pregnancies.
I’m terrified what her being here now could mean.
“You gotta be shitting me,” Flynn mumbles.
Rem barks out a laugh. “This is actually happening?”
Wes, looking thoroughly unamused, glares at Thatch. “You invited the fucking fortune-teller?”
“Fate psychic, dear,” Cleo corrects smoothly, stepping all the way inside Thatch’s poker den. She makes herself at home, sitting down in the spot that Thatch vacated. She sweeps her long, flowing shawl over one shoulder, and the bracelets on her arm jingle as she sets down a deck of tarot cards on the poker table.
“I thought we could use a little…enlightenment,” Thatch says, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist. “Besides, we all know Cleo is never wrong.”
Wes sighs so dramatically I think he actually considers walking out. “Why do I let you convince me to do things?”
“Because, deep down, you know you need me. I keep shit exciting, Wes.” Thatch winks.
Remy leans back in his chair, amused. “Well, this just got interesting.”
Cleo settles in, looking around at each of us like she can see straight into our souls. “Let’s begin, shall we?”
“Me first!” Thatch demands, practically pushing Wes out of his chair so he can sit down beside Kline. “Tell me all the good things, Cleo baby.”
She glances at Thatch and then at Kline and then back at Thatch. “Well, this seating arrangement is certainly convenient.”
Kline furrows his brow.
“Am I going to have Kline’s baby?” Thatch questions, and Cleo smirks.
“The two of you,” she says, humming as she flips over two cards. “You’re intertwined like ivy vines on weathered brick. The bond, built on years of growth, may be tested, but these roots run far, far too deep to be pulled free easily.”
Kline frowns. “What does that mean?”
Cleo expands vaguely. “Your lives will soon be connected in an unbreakable bond, but the road to get there may be treacherous. Sight is shocking when first blessed, and your loved ones are at the precipice of great, great vision.”
“Huh?” Kline questions, glancing around the room at all of us for clarity.
Thatch’s face lights up like a fucking Christmas tree as he locks eyes with Cleo. “An unshakable bond. The bond of family, right? Cleo, are you telling me one of my boys is going to marry one of Kline’s girls?”
“No, no, no,” Kline refutes, shaking his head in desperation. “That’s clearly not what she meant, T-bag.”
Unfortunately for Kline, Cleo just smiles, eyes twinkling with mystery. “You’ll see.”
“Holy shit, Special K! We’re going to be family!” Thatch exclaims and wraps his arm around Kline’s shoulders, tugging him around in excitement.
Kline groans and Wes laughs, clapping Kline on the back. I bite my lip to fight my laughter and note my three brothers are doing much of the same. For once, this shit doesn’t seem to be about us.
“I’m sad for you, honestly, man,” Wes says, but his amusement can’t be hidden. “But fuck, it’s funny.”
Kline groans again. But my attention is pulled back to Cleo when she turns to me. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but it’s as if even if your back is turned toward her, you know when she’s looking at you.
And suddenly, I don’t feel so amused anymore. Because yeah, I love this shit. The idea of fate, destiny, whatever. But I also love my life exactly how it is. I don’t want her to tell me something bad.
I’ve got Rachel. Emily. Our perfect life.
But Cleo’s gaze lands on all of us Winslow brothers, and her expression softens.
“My dear Winslow boys,” she says, her voice almost…warm. “Fate isn’t done with you yet.”
A silence settles over the table as we realize this fucking stuff hasn’t avoided us as much as we thought.
“A revelation is coming,” she continues. “One that will uncover past family secrets. But don’t fear it—embrace it. Because in time, it will bring you an incredible new addition to your beautiful family.”
The air feels thicker. Heavier.
Flynn just sits there, his brow furrowed.
Remy leans forward. “What the hell does that mean, Cleo?”
She smiles knowingly. “You’ll see.”
And just like that, Cleo collects her cards, stands up, and walks out—leaving us all sitting there, staring at one another, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
And more importantly…wondering just how much our lives are about to change.
Cleo, after all, is never wrong.