Game of Hearts (Stacked Deck Book 3)

by Emilia Finn

  Ben groans as he maneuvers on the grass. He places one leg ahead of his body, then leans over it to stretch out his muscles. “Fuck. My glutes are killing me.”

  Your sister’s glutes were in my hands two hours ago. “That sucks. We’ll go slower on the way back.”

  He remains bent over his leg. Studies me with serious eyes that look nothing like his half-sister’s – Thank fuck. “You’re buggin’ me with that weird-ass attitude.”

  “You bug me all the time, so…” I shrug. “Whatevs. Why’s Smalls not running today?”

  “She’s workin’ Stacked Deck stuff. Time’s getting away again, so she’s working on the draw. Only six weeks until fight night, so we need it sorted.”

  “Iowa sign up yet?”

  He studies the lake and gives a small scoff. “Nope. Not as far as I know.”

  “He’s gotta be there.” I pick blades of cold grass and spin them between my fingers. “No point fighting if he ain’t there.”

  “That’s pride talking.” He leans back, switches legs. “Do you want the win, or the money?”

  I want your sister. I want her so fucking much, I’m going to set the world on fire to get her. “Both,” I answer in monotone. “Need the money for bills. Would rather win it from him.” I want to show her I can win. Against him. “I wanna take it from his fuckin’ hands and prove to myself that I’m not a loser. It’ll feel sweeter that way.”

  Ben shakes his head and releases the pose over his leg. “Pride. I can’t believe it’s me saying this, because I’m a pretty proud dude, but sometimes you gotta let things go, ya know? It’s just a fight. You’re back again this year, you’re fit, uninjured. Who cares if he’s there? Just fight whoever you’re given on the draw. Take your cash, be happy.”

  “Good pep talk.” My tone remains bland. “That fixed everything. I can’t believe I was sweating it. Oh wait.” I turn to him. “I wasn’t.”

  Chuckling, he lays back on the cool grass and sighs. “You due for your period or something? You’re grumpy.”

  No sleep, no money, and a metric fucking ton of sexual frustration will do that to a guy.

  “Something you wanna talk about?” He taps my arm when I continue to stare at the water’s smooth surface. “Mac? Seriously. You okay?”

  I shrug. “I’m not not okay. Just thinking.”

  “What about? We can talk it out, ya know. I know we’re busier nowadays, what with Stacked Deck and stuff, but I’m still right here.”

  “No point talkin’.” I toss the blade of grass I had, select another. “Nothing new is going on. It’s just…” I pause. “My life.”

  “Money?” he asks, not teasing, and not without patience. “Something happen?”

  “Nah. I’m just getting older.” I lay back on the grass and rest a hand on my chest. “Ya know when we’re kids, and we can say ‘when I’m older, I’m gonna do this and that and get famous’?” I turn my head. Meet his eyes. “It’s always easy to make those faraway plans, because they’re so distant from our actual reality. Less pressure to get it done right now.”

  “I guess.” His words come out on a grunt. “I follow you.”

  “So I was pretty optimistic, ya know? Get older, win some fights, get rich, and everything would be all better. I even thought the same last year, when Smalls announced the tournament. I figured it was as good a chance as any, so I threw myself into it. I swear, I intended to win that fucking thing.” I pause. Draw in a long breath, and turn back to study the sky. “You get what I’m saying, right?”

  He shrugs in my peripherals. “I’m following you. Optimism. Win a tournament.”

  “Mm. But see, now I’m older. I’m that age where everything was supposed to be sorted. I can’t keep planning for later anymore, because it’s later now. But I’m no closer to my goals than I was when I was fourteen. If anything, it all feels so much further away, and no matter how hard I run, I can’t catch up.”

  Silence hangs over us for a minute. Two minutes. Three, before Ben turns to study my face in profile. “You looking to chat, or just for someone to listen?”

  “We can chat if you want. Not sure there’s any fixing this, but I’d do anything to find a solution, so…” I wave a hand toward the sky. “Speak.”

  He chuckles. “Perhaps…” Clears his throat. “Perhaps you need to reevaluate your goals. Not everyone gets to be rich and famous. Most folks are just…” He shrugs. “Comfortable and happy, ya know? Why is that not enough?”

  “Easy for you to say, I suppose. You’ve got the titles, you’ve got a fat bank account, and you have no health crisis hanging over your head.”

  He nods. Considers. Rests his hands behind his head to get more comfortable. “This is true. I got lucky. I got the chance at a title. I won it. I saved my pennies.”

  “Not lucky.” I frown. “I hate that people call success luck. It was hard work. You worked fucking hard to get what you got, but just because I had bad luck doesn’t mean you got lucky. You earned it.” I pause. “I guess I’m just pissed because I earned it too. I busted my ass to get the fame and cash, but I swear, there’s some bitter harpy following me around, ready to smack me every time something looks like it’s going well.”

  “What do you want, Mac? What do you want the most?”

  I think about that. Think about the future.

  “I want security. I want to know that everything will be okay. I can’t get happy, I can’t get comfortable, because the fear of the next thing happening, whatever that thing is, is gonna be expensive. They took my heart. They busted my leg. My head. The next is likely total paralysis, right?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “Anyone else saying that, and it would just be brushed off as silly. But me…” I shake my head. “It’s just the next step, right? It feels as certain as taxes, which, by the way, also hurt me.”

  “You’re afraid of getting hurt again?” He turns to study my eyes. “But there’s no medical crisis sitting on you right now?”

  I shake my head. “I’m technically, according to my team, as healthy as any other man. Healthier, because of our training.”

  “So this fear… it’s hypothetical, right?”

  “Mm. It’s not logical, but nothing ever seems to be when it comes to me. The universe created me, but only so it could poke at me. Only so it could hurt me.”

  “I could be hit by a car on the way home this morning.” He waits for my eyes. For my frown. “Right? We’ll leave here in a bit, we’ll run home. Somewhere around Main Street, we’ll split off. You’ll run back to yours, and I’ll run to mine. Maybe on the dirt road, I get collected by some prick not paying attention. Break my neck. Quadriplegic.”

  I scowl. “You’re being dumb.”

  “What? It’s just as likely to happen to me as it is to you. But I’m still living my life. I’m still planning to marry my girl. And if I end up in a scooter and unable to wipe my own ass, I’m still gonna hope she’s there with me.”

  “Liar.” I roll my eyes and turn back to study the lake. “You end up like that, you’re gonna drive her away. You’ll pick at her so much, annoy her until she wants to kill you. You’ll run her out of that house so fast that she’ll leave scorch marks on the floor.”

  “Well… maybe that’s true.” He laughs. “But still, I’m not gonna pause my life and wait for the car to hit me. I’m gonna live until I’m dead. I’m gonna love until I can’t. I’m gonna do whatever I can to make her happy, because when it’s all said and done, I don’t want her to say it wasn’t worth it.”

  “You have money in the bank,” I shoot back. “You can make her happy. You can do whatever you want and not have to count coins.”

  “No.” He turns to me. “I didn’t mean make her happy with baubles and shit. I just meant… ya know? Her brain. Her heart. Her body when we’re in private. None of that costs money.”

  A flash of Lucy’s tanned skin under club lights plays through my mind. Of men tossing cash at her. And since it’s on my mind, I stretch my leg out
straight and snatch the phone from my pocket.

  Opening to the text chat, I find the last one I sent her – asking her out to breakfast, which she never answered – then I begin typing. Why were you dancing last night? Why for money?

  “Mac?”

  “Yeah.” I hit send and toss my phone down, face-up, in case she replies. “Does the fact that Smalls has all that money in the bank bother you? I mean, you got enough to last, because of your titles and shit. But compared to hers, it’s just… not much, right?”

  He presses a hand to his stomach. “This is true. I have cash, but compared to what she has in the bank because of her piece of shit kingpin daddy… I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me.”

  I narrow my eyes and glare at his smug grin. “Shut up.”

  “He’s just a poor boy, from a poor family!”

  “Shut up.”

  “Galileo!”

  I snatch my phone and push to my feet. “I hate you.”

  “Stop!” He grabs the back of my shirt and tugs me back to the grass with a laugh. “I’m sorry. It was right there.”

  “You’re an asshole. And you have the room to be stupid, because you have money in the bank.”

  His laughter silences, and his sparkling eyes turn to something more along the lines of exasperation. “Ya know what? Let’s just say it in plain English, instead of wasting time on code. You want Bean. You’re scared of getting hurt, because you know she’ll stick around and nurse you back to health. Add in that she’s a Kincaid, which means she’s got money… Am I following you so far?”

  My heart thuds to a stop. Restarts with a heady rhythm. “Um…” I clear my throat. “I… uh…”

  “I’m not gonna hit you for wanting my sister. We’re cool.”

  “You… uh…” If I was wearing a tie, I’d already be tugging it loose. “You knew?”

  “Blair!” He laughs. “Everyone knows. Every single human on this planet knows. Are you serious right now that you think it’s a secret? Because even her daddy knows, so… probably wanna recheck the buckshot holes in your ass. Dude, everyone knows except perhaps her.”

  “Oh nah,” I murmur. “She knows.”

  He finds my situation funny as hell.

  “What did you do?” he demands on a snicker.

  “I… uh… might have followed her to her car recently. Perhaps I shouted it at her, and waxed on about why I can’t have what I want…” I hesitate. “I maybe also bit her.”

  He throws his head back on a howling laugh that makes the birds in nearby trees take flight. “That’ll do it. Jesus FC, Blair. I don’t even know what to do with you.” He pauses. Looks at me with dancing eyes. “You bit her?”

  I lean forward so I can rest my elbows on my knees, then I press the heels of my hands into my eyes until I see stars. “Not my best moment.” I peek from behind my hand. “You’re not mad?”

  “Nah. I mean, she’s my sister, which automatically puts her under my protection for life. But we didn’t grow up together, so I don’t see her the way I see Livi. Bean is just… she’s a girl, yeah? And she’s too pretty for her own good. A man wants to step up and try his luck, then I’ll flatten him if he hurts her. But I don’t get icky thinking about her and a guy the way I do with Liv. It’s hardly logical, I get that. But trust me, this is better for you. If you’d told me you bit Liv, then shit would be way fuckin’ messy.”

  “Smalls’ money doesn’t bother you? Like… at all?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t really think about it. Honestly, I don’t think she does either. She asked me for money just yesterday because she wanted ice cream, somehow forgetting she has billions in the bank. It’s just… there. Mentally, she’s allocated it to Stacked Deck and the women’s shelter her mom founded. In her mind, I don’t think that money belongs to her. So that brings us back to just regular Kincaid money, and not the massive piles of Frankston money. She’s still swimming in it, but those two pools are vastly different depths. The first, I can compete with.”

  “That’s nice for you,” I drawl, “but I don’t have a pool. I don’t have floaties. I don’t even have a swimsuit in this analogy. I have debt. Lots and lots and lots of debt, but the worst part is, that debt is in my mom’s name. She’s in debt because of me.”

  “And yet, your mom was able to move on and marry a man. He’s not broke, Mac. Your mom could have said no, made a big fuss about money because of the imbalance, she could have denied their happiness, all for the sake of money in the bank – or lack thereof. But that’s not what she chose. She chose happiness. You’re not willing to do that?”

  I draw in a heavy breath. Release it on a sigh. “You make it sound so easy. But you don’t live my life. You don’t get up every morning with a jacked-up leg that takes time to loosen up. You don’t take two dozen pills, or stop by the drugstore and spend a whole packet to get more. I’m choosing happiness…”

  “Just not yours?” he questions. “That’s super noble of you.”

  “I hear you mocking me, asshole.”

  He chuckles. “I just don’t know what to tell you. I can’t pretend to know how you feel. I come from a broke, hardworking family. I wasn’t born into money, so I know how you feel in that regard, but titles or not, I was still going for her. She could have her money, and I could have gone into police work – where we know they never earn much – and still, I was going to pursue her. Evie’s net worth was never a thing for me.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about it,” I groan. “I would if I could. If I could wipe it from my memory, I fucking would. But it’s like a massive red sign, flashing between us. It kills me. So my plan to overcome that was to earn my own. I just needed to balance the scales.”

  “Instead, you lost.”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” I grunt.

  “Can I ask you a question?” He grabs my arm and tugs it free of my knees so I turn to him. “Maybe consider it homework.”

  “It’s gonna piss me off, isn’t it?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s just a… what did they call it in school? Like, a thoughtful moment thing. I just wanna give you something to think about as you go about your day.”

  “What?”

  “All that money in the bank,” he begins. “How many diamonds does she wear?”

  I frown. “None.”

  “Branded clothes? Does she wear boutique workout clothes, or is she in Rollin On Gym clothes?”

  “Gym clothes,” I answer with a smile. “She wears Roller and Stacked Deck branding. Always.”

  “Stolen, at that. She steals it from everyone’s laundry baskets, because just like Evie, she’d rather wear her daddy’s shirt.”

  I nod. “True.”

  “She get fancy manicures?”

  I frown. “No. They would break while she’s fighting.”

  “And handbags? She ever cart the fancy kind around?”

  “I’ve never seen her carry a handbag… ever. She just carries her phone.”

  “Mm… and her car? Current year luxury, or old clunker that you – Mac Blair – have fixed the engine on for her? What does she ride around in?”

  “Clunker,” I murmur. “With an engine I’ve fixed.”

  With a grin, he taps my knee and stands. “Sounds to me that, although she has money in the bank, she lives the kind of lifestyle that’s in line with ours. No caviar and diamonds, no glamorous balls or red bottom heels for our Beanie Baby. She has always lived a humble life, so for as long as you continue to fix her engine, then you’re ahead. You’re her protector, her provider, because she could sure as hell buy a new car, but instead, she comes to you. She wants you to fix the one she has. Come on.” He tugs me to my feet and waits while I scoop my phone up. “Walk me home. I’ve freaked myself out with the quadriplegic thing.”

  I push myself into a gentle jog, slow enough to let my leg adjust, and while we move, I think of the humble girl. Of her standard of living.

  Lucy wants pizza, not lobster. And ma
ybe I can’t afford to buy either, but I could learn how to make the base from scratch. I could buy toppings. I could invite her over, and maybe we can make it together.

  “Focus, Blair. You gotta pay attention. I don’t wanna get hit by a car. I want my dick to continue working.”

  “I’m gonna push you in front of a car if you don’t shut up.”

  Lucy

  Step It Up

  Jeans. Suuuuper tight. Check.

  Tight tank top. Check.

  A little extra mascara on my lashes. Check, check, check.

  I don a pair of wedge sandals, fasten the delicate straps around my ankles, and pray my lifetime of core training helps me not trip in these stupid things today.

  I time my movements through my family’s home, and climb into my car when no one is watching. I make sure everyone is away at the gym, because walking out of the house in tall shoes and denim that looks painted on will only end with a grown woman getting her ass grounded.

  I’ve trained today – myself, and a class, since my family is all about making us work for what we have. After the gym, I went to the studio, and put my time in there – working with Rudy, and working alone, because I have a showcase dance that I’d like to one day perform in front of more than Sophia and a mirror. In between that, I’ve made time to study, since I have exams coming up, and graduation… sort of. Hospital placement would technically be next, which is far better than trying to shove a textbook into my ear canal in hopes some of the information sticks.

  Give me a bleeding person, or a broken bone to set any day. Hell, I’m at the point where I might shove Mac off a gantry crane just so I can bust his other leg.

  It would be a multifaceted situation – I’d get more hands-on experience, and I’d get to hurt him because he’s an idiot. Add in the fact that I could play nurse and tend to his wounds, and the idea of leading him toward the steel mill and the gantry crane sounds pretty appealing.

  I’ve ignored his texts the entire day – several texts, because Mac Blair does not like being ignored.