7. Wyatt
CHAPTER 7
Wyatt
AIN’T NO HOLD’EM
Glancing up from my cards, I peer through the haze of cigar smoke at Colt Wallace.
He’s sitting across from me at the large, round table in The Rattler’s basement. There’s a Macanudo clamped between his teeth. A glass of Blanton’s single-barrel bourbon, neat, sits at his elbow. His Texas Rangers cap is pulled so low that I have to strain to see his eyes.
He looks like any other cowboy at this table. Could be his brother Beck’s twin for how alike their features are.
What is it about the Wallaces that caught Sally’s eye? Cowboys have never been her type.
Then again, she hasn’t been around Hartsville all that much. Maybe she’s just never had the chance to throw down here in town.
I blink when Sawyer clears his throat beside me. His eyes flick to my cards, which I’ve let wilt in my grip to the point that I’m about to reveal my hand to all eight players in the weekly poker game I’ve hosted for—wow—five years now here in the basement.
That conversation I had with Sally earlier has totally knocked me off my game. The ugly part of me is jealous she’s set her sights on someone—anyone—else. I also feel a little angry. Hurt, too, that she wouldn’t consider me for a real date. Her insinuation that I’m the king of casual, meaningless sex was more than a little insulting.
But the rational part of me knows I’ve never led anyone to believe any different. It’s not Sally’s fault that she doesn’t know the one-night stands and dance-floor make-outs have left me feeling hollower and more alone than ever. Really, who the hell was I to tell her no one deserves to be alone? ’Cause I’m sure as hell lonely, but I ain’t doing jack shit to fix that. Maybe deep down, I also believe I deserve the loneliness I feel.
Ultimately, it’s not Sally’s fault I’m hurt. That’s on me, because I’ve been too chickenshit to tell her the truth.
Truth is, I’d let her use me until I got nothing left.
Also hurt, hearing how messed up she feels around men. Makes me wonder who the fuck made her second-guess herself that way. How could she not know how perfect she is? How witty and smart and sexy? She deserves to have a good time as much as anyone else.
If I gotta be the one to remind her how it’s done…
Well, I’ll do it.
I got no choice when it comes to Sally Powell. If she’s unhappy, I’ll move heaven and earth to make her feel better.
I’ll do whatever it takes to make her see she’s perfect just as she is. And then I’ll let her go, just like I did twelve years ago.
I take a deep, unhurried inhale through my nose. Firm my hold on my cards, then lazily drop my elbows to the table, like I don’t have a shit hand that jeopardizes the four hundred dollars’ worth of chips I have in the pot.
I get dealt bad cards as much as anyone else. But I’ve learned to make my own luck .
“Fake it till you make it,” Dad used to say.
He was the one who taught me how to play Texas Hold’Em. The game started out as a way for Dad to occupy my brothers and me when it was too wet or cold to be outside.
After he died, I insisted we continue playing it as a way to keep his memory alive. When my brothers and I lived in the bunkhouse on Lucky Ranch, John B and Garrett would join us after supper, and we’d play until we couldn’t keep our eyes open.
I won. A lot. Not because I was a particularly skillful player, but because I was—am—an excellent bullshitter. My poker face is second to none.
Once we started playing for money—pennies at first, small bills—I slowly amassed a war chest of cash. I liked the money, so when my old friend Tallulah took over as owner of The Rattler a few years back, I approached her about hosting a not-exactly-legal poker game every Wednesday night in the basement.
The space ain’t fancy. But the exposed brick walls and low lighting give it a speakeasy vibe, and the liquor is free—I cover the drinks—so we’re all drinking top-shelf shit. Don’t hurt that I usually walk away with a wad of hundreds in my pocket.
Needless to say, Wednesday night is the highlight of my week.
Was. It was the highlight of my week, until Sally finished her residency and came back into town. Now I look forward to seeing her more than anything.
A familiar ache grips my heart and squeezes as I watch the players around me fold, one by one. I guarantee they have better hands than me. But as long as I stay relaxed, crack jokes, I’ll be the last man standing.
Finally, it’s just me, Sawyer, and Colt left in the game. I feel Colt eyeing me from across the table .
“What’re ya thinkin’ over there, Wyatt?”
“I’m thinkin’ I’d like to buy myself a nice steak dinner with your money.”
He smirks. “Sounds tasty. Although I think you’ll be the one treating this time, ’cause I got a good-lookin’ hand here.”
“Why haven’t you gone all in yet then?” I nod at the chips sitting by his drink. “You know I’m tryin’ to pay for Ella’s college. Haven’t put nearly as much as I’d like to in her 529.”
“I think y’all are doing just fine in that department now,” he replies.
He’s not wrong.
When Mollie and Cash created Lucky River Ranch, they made my brothers and me stakeholders in the company that owns and operates the ranch. Revenues are split more or less evenly between Mollie and all five of us Rivers boys.
It’s a wildly generous setup. Too generous, in my opinion. Cash agrees with me. We fought Mollie on it, mostly because the ranch she brought to the table was so much bigger and generated so much more revenue than our old Rivers Ranch did. Yes, in our family’s heyday, our ranch had rivaled Lucky Ranch in scope and size. But that hadn’t been the case for decades.
Still, Mollie insisted we all had an equal stake in the newly formed Lucky River Ranch. “No one works harder than y’all,” she said when we recently sat down in our attorney Goody’s office to sign the paperwork. “I’ve seen firsthand the love you have for this land. Each of you is an essential part of our legacy, and your ownership stake should reflect that.”
Now, all of a sudden, I’m a wealthy man.
Wish I could say that having that money hit my account was as much of a thrill as I’d hoped. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. When my parents died, they left behind a mountain of debt they’d accumulated trying to keep Rivers Ranch afloat. My brothers and I had to bust our asses for a long, long time to claw our way out of that hole .
I never wanna be broke again. And I won’t be, thanks to the enormous revenue that the ranch’s multiple income streams—cattle, oil, development—spin off.
But now that I have the money, it’s just thrown my loneliness into stark relief. What’s the point of having that kind of cash if you don’t have anyone to share it with?
“Wy?” Sawyer’s looking at me. “Your turn.”
I need to stop spacing, or I’m gonna lose for the first time in…well, for as long as I can remember.
Glancing at the table, I see that Sawyer’s folded. No surprise there—he’s a conservative player. Has been since Ella was born.
“Let’s see just how good that hand of yours is, Colt.” I shove my remaining chips into the center of the table, the stacks toppling into a pile with a series of quiet clicks . “I’m all in.”
Colt grins, and unease slices through my center as I watch him push his chips into the pot. There’s gotta be north of four grand on the table right now.
And somehow, before Colt even lays down his cards, it hits me that I really have lost. Not just the hand. But Sally too. Her asking me to be her fake date was the perfect opportunity for me to ask her if she’d be my real girlfriend.
Her telling me she hasn’t been touched in a while— has she ever been touched the way I’d touch her? —was the perfect opportunity for me to show her how it was done.
She wants the shit that I’m good at giving, and yet I didn’t say a fucking word. I just agreed to her plan and have been an angsty, distracted mess ever since.
But I can’t be honest because I can’t fuck with her head. Sally needs to go back to New York and become the world’s best veterinary surgeon. I know she’s capable of great things. She’s second-guessing her decision to return to Ithaca University now, but I know she’ll regret not taking a chance on herself .
Being honest with her about how I feel wouldn’t do either of us any favors. Especially now that I know she’s having doubts about the job she’s worked toward for basically her entire life.
Fuck me for falling in love with a girl who was never, ever going to be mine.
Colt wears a shit-eating grin as he lays down a straight flush. The table erupts in hollers and whistles, and then I feel all eyes turn to me.
Usually, I’d relish the attention. I’d add to the drama by pausing or pretending to be taken off guard.
But tonight, I’m too tired to give a shit. I’m the opposite of relaxed and fun and easy, and I don’t care who knows it.
My mask slips. I throw my cards across the table and shove up to my feet. Everyone stares at me in stunned silence.
“Wyatt?” Sawyer’s brows are pulled together. “You okay?”
“I’m…not feeling great.” I nod at Colt. “Enjoy the steak.”
Then I turn and dart up the stairs.
The night is cold and clear, the sky lit up with so many stars that it makes me dizzy to look at them. My breath is visible in a small white cloud as I open the passenger door of my truck and rummage around inside the glove compartment.
I’m taking a long, deep inhale of my cigarette when Sawyer emerges from the bar, hands in his pockets.
I wait for him to rib me for smoking. Instead, he does what brothers do and goes right for the jugular.
“You’re not sick. You’re in love with Sally.”
I take another pull on the cigarette, the nicotine making my chest tighten and my head buzz. I don’t say a word.
“And y’all had fun today on your little ride down by the river, and you’re realizing that the more you’re around her, the more you want her, and that ain’t ever gonna stop. But you think you can’t have her because you’d be holding her back.”
I drop the hand holding my cigarette against my leg and look up at the sky.
“For the record, I think you’re wrong. You couldn’t hold Sally back if you tried. No one can.”
“What does that mean?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Sally’s a grown woman. She’s the one who gets to decide what’s good for her and what’s not.”
I think about the joke I cracked with her earlier about assuming making you an ass. Am I being an ass, too, assuming I need to stay out of Sally’s way?
Sally is a great fucking friend. I want to be great to her too. I don’t know when doing that became so complicated.
“She’s going to New York. And my life is here, Sawyer. It’s where I belong. I’m gonna stay in Hartsville forever, if only so I can be a pain in your ass for the rest of our lives.”
My brother cocks a brow. “We’ll be just fine without you, thank you very much. Why’re you so scared to leave?”
“I don’t know.” My turn to lift a shoulder as I hold my cigarette between my thumb and forefinger and take a drag. “I feel like Rivers stay put. Leaving…” I swallow the sudden tightness in my throat. “It feels like the coward’s way out. And I love it here. I love what I do. I love y’all, even though I hate you sometimes.”
Sawyer is quiet for a long beat. “You know, you’re not gonna let Mom and Dad down by choosing a path that’s different from theirs. You don’t owe them anything, Wy.”
My eyes burn. I’ve always felt like I have no choice in the matter—that I have to stay in Hartsville because I owe it to my family’s legacy.
What if I did have a choice, though?
Why is Sawyer always fucking right? I’ve never hated him more than I do right now .
“Don’t we though? They worked their fingers to the bone to make sure we had a place in this life. It was in their goddamn will—they passed the ranch to us. We have a responsibility?—”
“To be happy.” Sawyer’s eyes gleam in the lights outside the bar. “That’s it. That’s all they wanted for us. As a parent, I can tell you that’s all anyone wants for their children—for them to be happy. To be who they are and do what they want.”
My fingers sting. I look down to see my cigarette is burned almost to the filter. I take one last drag before putting it out in the ashtray on top of the nearby garbage can. These ashtrays are everywhere in Hartsville, leftover relics from the era of the Marlboro Man. Back then, every cowboy in these parts smoked morning, noon, and night, and no one lived past sixty.
I gotta quit.
“I want to be a cowboy.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “But I also want Sally.”
“See how simple that is?”
“But it’s not. Not by a long shot.”
“It can be. Why not tell her how you feel?”
Looking down, I kick at the gravel. The chain around my neck jostles as I move. I’m gripped by the crazy idea that it’s Mom’s way of wringing my neck from the grave.
Your brother is right. Tell her. She might not stay, but that doesn’t mean you can’t leave with her.
“She asked me to help her pick up guys,” I blurt. “Wants me to show her how to have fun by pretending to be her fake date. Says it’ll give her some much-needed confidence.”
Another pause.
“Surely, you asked her to date you for real instead because the thought of her being with anyone else kills you? Because you’re not afraid of your feelings and you’ve learned from Cash and Mollie that putting yourself out there is worth the risk? But really, because pretending to date someone is the dumbest shit ever?”
“Like I don’t know that.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know how stupid that sounds, Sawyer, trust me. But I guess…” I squint up at the sky. I’m scared that losing someone again will do me in. “I was in such a dark place for so long after Mom and Dad died. I hid it well?—”
“But I knew.” Sawyer swallows. “We all did.”
“So, yeah, needless to say, I lost my nerve today with Sally. I don’t want to go back there. To the darkness. If things don’t work out, or she leaves…”
Sawyer peers at me. “Isn’t your nickname for her ‘Sunshine’?”
I scoff. “Ha. Hadn’t thought of that.”
“Move toward the light, brother. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
I cut him a look.
“Oh, you got it bad, boy,” he says with a smile. “Lord save us.”
“I’m beyond saving at this point, I think.”
“Stop that shit. You actually cornered yourself into a nice opportunity here, Wy. Obviously, you can’t let Sally get it on with randos. But you can encourage her to get it on with you.”
“Because that won’t fuck up our friendship or anything.”
“That ship sailed years ago. You don’t wanna ‘be friends’” — he uses air quotes—“with Sally. You’re worried you’ll lose her if you tell her how you feel, but what do you think is gonna happen anyway if you don’t say anything and she goes back to New York? She’s gonna meet someone. Y’all will still be friends, but you ain’t gonna see her but once or twice a year when she comes back to visit her parents. And don’t think that guy of hers will like you calling or texting her the way you do now. Either way, Wy, you risk losing your friendship, and that will definitely send you back into the darkness. But if you’re honest with her, then you have the chance to be with her how you really wanna be with her.”
“I fucking detest you, you know that?”
Sawyer just smiles. “It’s annoying when someone’s right all the time, isn’t it? All I’m saying is, you wanna be a good friend to Sally? Give her what she’s looking for. You . Not some drunk guy at a bar. Not some asshole from New York.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “I know you think you can’t be good to her. But you can. You’ve got a big heart, brother. Share that motherfucker with someone already.”
I wipe my eyes, wincing at the way the acrid smell of the cigarette lingers on my fingers. Sawyer has a point. I just wish I knew how to share my heart. How to open up, despite the very real possibility that I’ll get destroyed in the process.
Really, how do people risk so much with so little certainty of success?
Baby steps . The voice in my head that says that isn’t mine. Well, it is, but it rings with a certainty—a sense of wisdom—I don’t possess.
What if I dip my toe in the water of vulnerability and see what happens? Maybe I don’t tell Sally how I feel right off the bat. Maybe I never do.
I have to start somewhere though. Fill the hole inside me by spending time with the person I love most and opening up to her as best as I can.
If I ever want to be happy, I have to at least try to change. Because I think part of me is still stuck in the dark, and will be as long as I keep wearing this damn mask all the time.
I’m just buzzed enough from my cigarette and the cocktails I had to ask my brother, “You got a blazer I could borrow? A suit maybe? Something a little dressy?”
If you had asked me a month ago if I’d be excited to go to this fucking potluck thing, I would’ve laughed in your face. But now I can’t wait. Hell, I think I might even donate a poker lesson to be auctioned off, hosted by yours truly.
I also make a mental note to send a keg or two to the event’s organizers. I’m no cook, but I’m happy to provide adult beverages.
Sawyer grins. “I got a suit. Just promise me you won’t get any bodily fluids on it, all right?”