Grizz
By the time the wheels hit the runway, Vegas already tempts us with its siren-like beckoning. It’s a sprawl of flashing lights and desert heat, stitched together by big dreams and sin.
We don’t play the Spades until tomorrow night, the last game of our road trip, and tonight is ours to do with what we want.
Our hotel’s attached to one of the biggest casinos on the Strip, a cathedral to excess.
I hate the cloying vanilla-amber scent every luxury chain pumps through the vents, but at least it distracts me from the stale cigarette smoke.
Slot machines chatter in every direction, lights blinking as though they’re Morse code for addiction.
Bells, buzzers, laughter. The rhythmic slap of cards on felt.
A woman in sequins shrieks at a jackpot three tables over from where I’m walking while a dealer’s voice cuts clean through the floor’s noise: “Blackjack pays three to two!”
Tanner whistles low as we step through the scene, his eyes wide. “Gentlemen, welcome to the promised land.”
To the left, a poker table’s half ringed with men in suits who look like they haven’t seen daylight in days. Their faces are stone, except for one guy chewing on a cigar and nursing a bourbon, likely not his first or last today.
To the right, a row of roulette tables spins endlessly—red, black, red again—the sound of the ball rattling in its groove. Cocktail servers weave through the maze of tables in heels too high and smiles too practiced, trays balanced with martinis and highballs.
Deacon’s already peeled off toward the blackjack tables, his signature smirk in place. Two rookies trail behind him, wide-eyed.
Tanner turns to me, grin feral. “We’re in heaven, Grizz. Or hell. But either way, drinks are free.”
“I can’t believe you want to drink after your tequila bender last night,” I mutter.
Tanner came stumbling into our room in Dallas at close to four a.m. and passed out as soon as he hit the mattress.
Of course, he has no recollection of what he said about my dad in front of Daisy and I’m not about to bring it up.
I get that he was well on his way to blackout drunk and meant nothing by it.
Thankfully, I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of my PR babysitter, although she did text me that she was in Vegas and available if I needed her. It sounds like she’s giving me space, but we have tonight off and I wouldn’t put it past her to stalk me to make sure I stay out of trouble.
I glance around at the spinning lights, the laughter, the endless hum of greed and luck colliding. Vegas feels alive in the way danger always does.
Two women in matching sashes that read brIDE TRIBE materialize out of the crowd sporting skimpy dresses, spray tans, and a cloud of pungent body spray that also distracts me from the smoke smell.
They’re both mid-thirties, very clearly from out of town as they exude Midwest energy that’s equal parts sweet and unhinged.
“You boys look like pro athletes,” one of them shouts, eyes round and excited.
Tanner and I exchange a grin. “Very perceptive, sweetheart.”
“Are you football players?” one of them asks, twirling her hair around her finger.
“Hockey,” Tanner replies with a wink, and they both squeal.
The blond wearing a glittery cowboy hat says, “We’re from Missouri! It’s my bachelorette party!”
“Missouri?” Tanner repeats, like it’s the most exotic place he’s ever heard. “Never been, but I bet it’s wild.”
“Oh, it gets wild,” says the bride-to-be, finger pointing in Tanner’s face, her engagement ring catching the light. “We just need some entertainment tonight.”
Tanner places a hand over his heart. “Entertainment’s my middle name.”
I snort. “Pretty sure it’s Anthony.”
“Don’t ruin the magic, McAvoy,” he mutters out of the side of his mouth.
The women giggle, clearly charmed, and one of them drapes an arm over Tanner’s shoulders like they’ve known him for years. They look ready to let him ruin at least half their evening plans. Maybe even their marriages.
“Where are you taking us?” the bride asks, batting her eyelashes, her eyes cutting between me and Tanner.
“Wherever there’s good whiskey,” he fires back, flashing that movie-star grin that’s gotten him into and out of trouble.
I shake my head, watching it unfold. Tanner doesn’t chase calamity, it chases him, wearing heels and a sash. The girls laugh, one snapping a photo with her phone, flash cutting through the haze of neon. Behind them, slot machines scream and clatter and the house keeps smiling.
It’s Vegas and it always wins.
Tanner hooks his arm around both women and throws me a look over his shoulder. “Come on, Grizz! Missouri doesn’t bite—unless you ask nice.”
I grin despite myself. “You go ahead, Casanova. I want a quiet, early night.”
“Suit yourself, Grandpa,” he says, already leading them toward the bar. “Just don’t wait up.”
I watch him disappear into the blur of light and noise, the Missouri girls in tow.
Same old Tanner. Always the showman. Always the storm.
But for me, right now, I need air. And food.
I slip out of the noise and into one of the hotel cafés tucked between the casino floor and the lobby.
The place is half-empty, blessedly free of smoke since the casino is the only place it’s allowed.
There are a couple tourists nursing hangovers with greasy fries, a blackjack dealer on break scrolling his phone, and two older women clearly here on vacation.
I order a sandwich—turkey club, no side—and sink into a booth that’s too bright for the mood I’m in.
While I wait, I scroll aimlessly through my phone. Stats, messages, nothing that sticks. I expected Daisy to have reached out as night descended, but nothing.
I can’t stop replaying last night—that moment outside the Dallas club, Daisy standing there, eyes wide after I snapped. The words I threw at her were raw, ugly, maybe even unfair. But she remained there anyway. She didn’t flinch and more importantly, I saw no pity in her eyes. She just… saw me.
It’s been gnawing at me all day. Why did I share that with Daisy? Most people know when to back off. They learn early that I’ve got walls topped with barbed wire. They get close enough to get burned once, then they keep their distance.
But Daisy Turner? She prods and she pushes when she shouldn’t. And worse—she looks like she actually cares.
That’s the crux of what’s been needling me all day. Not her questions or even the memory of what she dragged up. It’s that look she gave me. It was as though she wasn’t afraid of what she found underneath.
The thought makes me uncomfortable in a way no fight ever has.
The waitress slides my plate in front of me. “Anything else?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m good.”
I wolf down the sandwich in a few bites, more out of restlessness than hunger. The food tastes fine, but I barely register it. My thoughts are too loud, a jumble of Daisy’s voice, my father’s face, the sound of Tanner’s drunk laugh echoing in the back of my skull.
When the plate’s empty, I toss two twenties on the table and climb out of the booth.
The air outside the restaurant is cool as night falls. I shove my hands in my jacket pockets and start walking, anywhere that’s quieter than my head.
The Strip is mayhem disguised as magic, which is the perfect distraction.
Every block is some new imitation of a dream, a city pretending to be another city.
Venice, New York, Rome. It’s all neon and illusion, and somehow it works.
The lights blur together until you can’t tell what’s real and what’s performance.
I walk past a fake pyramid, an indoor jungle, a replica of the Colosseum. People stagger past me with yard-long margaritas, laughing like tomorrow doesn’t exist.
Then I see it.
The Eiffel Tower.
Or at least the Vegas version of it—half-sized, over-lit, trying its best. Still, it stops me in my tracks and I study the steel frame that rises toward the desert sky. I stare for a long moment, hands in my pockets, that strange ache stirring in my chest.
Without really thinking, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts until I land on the name of the one person who would appreciate this.
I hit dial.
She picks up after the second ring, her voice coming off as a long-distance hug. “Grizz?”
“You’ll never believe what I’m standing in front of right now.”
A pause. “What?”
“Where did Mom always dream of going? And why?”
There’s a quiet laugh on the other end, soft and sad. “You’re in Paris, in front of the Eiffel Tower?”
I look up at the neon tower flickering above me. “Halfway correct.”
Eliza laughs. “That’s right… you’re in Vegas to play the Spades.”
“Yeah.”
“She would’ve loved that,” Eliza says finally, sharing with me the grief that remains after losing her. “Remember how she used to talk about the lights? Said she wanted to see the world shine at night.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I remember.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty, it’s full. Of memory. Of everything we don’t say.
“I miss her,” she says quietly.
“Me too.”
I turn away from the tower, watching the tourists take selfies in front of fake Paris, all smiling. You’d think they were in front of the real one. I head back toward the hotel. “How’s Dad?”
Eliza sighs. “Good days and bad,” she says. “You know how it is.”
I nod, though she can’t see it. “Yeah.”
Eliza is older than me by two years and we were as close as two siblings could be growing up.
Where I got all of Dad’s enmity, she mostly got his apathy, as did our mother.
We were a trio, and Eliza and my mom were my guiding lights in the hell my father created. Mom died two years ago of liver cancer.
“Wish I could be there to help out,” I say, always fighting off the guilt that Eliza is strapped with our father and I’m off living my life.
“Liar,” she teases softly. “But you do enough by paying for the part-time care to help me out, which is top-notch.”
Our dad insists on living in his home and Eliza has not been able to talk him out of it.
He’s still functioning and able to take care of his own physical needs.
While he only intermittently recognizes people to deep degrees, he’s able to shower and dress himself, cook meals and stick to a written schedule.
But he does need more supervision than Eliza can handle with her full-time job as a dental hygienist, and so we have a paid companion who stays with him several hours a day to keep an eye on him.
Even with that help, Eliza is still over there every day to make sure he remains safe and to ensure he’s not deteriorating.
My sister is an absolute saint.
“How are you doing?” she asks, voice singsong in that way that tells me she wants to gossip. “Are you staying out of trouble?”
“For the moment,” I assure her. “I can’t promise what that will look like in five minutes.”
“You’re going to get traded if you don’t settle down,” she chides, but that’s as far as her advice will go. She once tried to get into it with me and I quelled her well-intentioned wisdom, much the way I silenced Daisy the other night. Both women are clear; my demons take priority.
“I got a new PR rep Langley is insisting on,” I say, unsure why that popped out. It’s typically information that would be irrelevant to meaningful conversation with my sister since she knows I burn through them pretty quick.
Her attention is piqued. “Oh, do tell. What’s so special about this person that you’d mention… her?”
“Yeah, it’s a her.”
“Aah,” she drawls knowingly. “A girl.”
“Woman,” I correct. “Her name’s Daisy and she’s an investigative journalist who got fired from her last job and used some type of connection to land as my babysitter.”
Eliza is silent for a moment before she says, “I’m understanding the words, but the tone… you don’t sound bitter about it. What does that mean?”
“No fucking clue,” I admit, and then tell my sister an honest truth because she’s the only one who has earned my full trust. “There’s something about her I like.”
“Like?” she asks curiously. “Her methods, her delivery, her zest for life? Or… romantically?”
I snort a laugh. “Not romantic, and to answer your question, I just like her as a person.”
I don’t dare say that I think Daisy is gorgeous and sexy because Eliza would give me shit.
I sure as hell won’t mention that I kissed her in a bar to get her to shut up.
Besides, that’s not the issue. The problem is in her character and the fact I find her genuine is cause for concern.
A woman like that could be a danger to my carefully erected walls.
“Well,” Eliza drawls dramatically, “sounds to me like you should enjoy working with this new PR person. And… if it just so happens to turn into something—”
“Goodbye, Eliza,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t want to hear about such things, especially when I’ve been thinking about that kiss Daisy and I had as much as how smoothly she absorbed the information about my father.
“Okay, fine… Try to get some rest,” she says softly. “And stay out of trouble, Grizz.”
“I’ll do my best.”
We both know that’s a lie.
“Love you,” she adds before hanging up.
The line goes quiet.
I continue toward my hotel, caught in a stream of pedestrians all gawking at the lights shimmering against the desert night sky, artificial and perfect.
Vegas isn’t Paris. It never will be. But for a moment, I can almost hear my mom’s voice, full of wonder, saying Look at it shine.