Game of Hearts (Stacked Deck Book 3)

by Emilia Finn

  “So speak.” I grab Mac’s thick arm and spin him to face me. “Speak. What do you want? You were smiling.” Bring that boy back, I silently beg. “What were you smiling about?”

  “Are you done here?” He looks over my shoulder, to Rudy no doubt. Then back into my eyes. “Are you done?”

  “Depends. I can be done, if the reason you wanna talk is important. Perhaps you’ve reconsidered your stance on what we discussed yesterday.”

  “I have not,” he growls. “I will not.”

  I turn away. “Then I’m pretty busy right now. Please leave, and take Eric with you. No offense, Cap.” I peek back around, offer a shy smile. “Guns make me nervous. I can’t dance, seeing that thing on your thigh, so maybe you could get Mac out of my sight, and since you’ll be going with him, it’s a win-win for me.”

  “I got it.” The former federal agent, retired now and working in security, walks into the large, echoing room, and makes his way toward his wife’s son. “Let’s go, crazy. You heard her.”

  “I’m not leaving!” Incensed, Mac swings back around and swipes an arm around my stomach. He picks me up like I’m a football, and ignores my grunts and even the fists I swing at his kidneys as he moves.

  Rudy watches on in shock, but I can’t honestly say this is the first time Mac has thrown a tantrum; it’s also not the first time he’s carried me somewhere when I refused to do as he asked, but in my heart, I’m not even a little bit scared as Mac crosses to the mirrors, snatches up my training bag, and heads toward the door.

  “See you at dinner,” he says to Eric. “Tell my mom about this, and I’ll gut you. Soph…” He stops beside her. “Stop pointing a fucking gun at me. Those things hurt.” Then, finally, swinging around at the doorway, barely avoiding smacking my head against the frame, he looks at Rudy and sneers, “And you’re dismissed. Don’t fuckin’ come back here again.”

  Rudy’s eyes go to Soph, as though to ask what he should do.

  “Let them go.” She waves him off. “She’s safe.”

  “Come back tomorrow,” I shout to him from the hall. “Don’t quit on me!”

  Chocolate brownie ice cream with little mint drops for that extra kick on the third or fourth bite – that’s what I find myself doing ten minutes after Mac’s epic tantrum. He took me outside of the studio, tossed me into the car I’ve been crushing on since the moment he acquired it, drove us to Dixie’s Ice Cream Parlor on Main Street, and here I am, eating ice cream and forgetting why I’m supposed to be mad at him.

  “I’m sorry I went crazy.”

  Wait, there it is. Now I remember.

  Mac eats his single scoop of strawberry swirl, while I go to town on my triple scoop.

  “I’m sorry I made a scene,” he continues. “I’m not sorry for laying your friend out.”

  “It was an unfair fight.” I glower. “He’s a dancer, and you’re a jerk.”

  “He had his hands on you!”

  We sit in a red and white booth in the corner furthest from Dixie’s front counter and the poor high schooler that works it for two-bucks an hour.

  Quieting, Mac drops the little plastic spoon back into the cup and leans across the table. “He had his hands on you. I said you can dance. I didn’t even make a big deal about the club dancing, since no one touches you. But then I walk in today, you’re cozy with the dude on the floor, then he touches you.” He sits back and folds his arms. “He went too far.”

  “Too far? Too far for what? You refuse to be with me. So what line is he crossing exactly?”

  “They don’t touch you,” he growls. “Hard rule.”

  “But you won’t touch me either?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “So for the rest of my life, I remain untouched? Unloved? All alone.”

  “For the rest of my life,” he corrects. “After that, you can do as you please, because I won’t have to live with that knowledge.”

  “I have no clue why I tolerate you.” I shove my ice cream forward and stand. “I’m going home. Don’t follow me.”

  “No, wait.” He grabs my wrist as I try to pass. Yanks me to a stop so his shoulder touches my belly and my thighs almost rest against his ribs. He pulls my arm toward him, closing his eyes as though to think, and rests his brow near my elbow. “Don’t leave,” he whispers. “Please don’t leave.” He opens his eyes and stares up into mine. “I came looking for you today, because I had good news. I had news I wanted to share, and I only want to share my things with you. But everything keeps being diverted. First, douchebag at the studio, then Soph and Eric. Just…” He rolls his forehead on my arm. “Just eat ice cream with me and let me tell you before the excitement wears off.”

  “What thing?” For the first time in my life, instead of walking back to my seat, I simply… drop into his lap. It surprises us both. Sends bolts of electricity racing through my blood, and I swear, it sparks between my body and his as I remove my hand from his grasp, only to bring it up and brush hair off his brow. “Just tell me already.”

  “You need to get out of my lap,” he groans. “Jesus, Lucy. You need to move.”

  “No, I don’t think I’m gonna.” I double down, grind closer, and nearly die when he grows beneath my ass. “Shit, Mac…” My throat turns bone dry. My tongue. My lips. All dry.

  “You don’t see what you do to me?” he croaks out. “It’s not about whether I want you. I already told you I do. But you still insist on pushing me.”

  “Someone’s gotta push,” I toss back defiantly. “It would seem you plan to die before touching me. And frankly, that’s not going to work for me. In or out, sink or swim. Touch me,” I whisper, “or free me.” I pause. Let my eyes flicker between his, and wish I was brave enough to kiss him. His lips are right there, right below mine. They’re open, inviting.

  And terrifying.

  “Tell me your news.”

  “Get out of my lap. Go back and eat your ice cream.”

  “Tell me your news first,” I argue. “Then we can eat and celebrate. Quick, before the chocolate melts.”

  His chest has been expanded since he walked into the studio. Adrenaline-filled, blood pumping, angry. That lasted throughout the drive over here. It remained while we ordered ice cream, then sat down. Finally, he exhales a heady breath that gives way to that smile he wore earlier.

  It’s the boy, the daring one, the wild, spontaneous, crazy one who didn’t know to be bitter at the world yet. And though it should terrify me, since it often precedes an accident that’ll land him dead or permanently injured, I can’t find the fear. I’d rather he be the boy, the happy boy who takes risks, than the man who can’t see past the unfairness of the world.

  “Iowa signed up for Stacked Deck,” he finally says. “His form came in today, with the buy-in, with the medical certificate that proves he’s healthy.” He grins. “He’s in.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  Caught up in his own news, caught in the moment, Mac doesn’t even realize his hands drop to my hips and begin massaging. But I notice – holy shit, do I notice.

  “It’s great,” he says. “I don’t want to fight if he’s not there. I could, and I would have, because I need the money. But I wasn’t excited about it.”

  “And now you are?”

  He nods. Grins. Makes me want to weep for the smile I’ve missed so much. “There’s no point winning if he’s not there. It would be like winning a fight against the dicky dancer. It’s not fair to them, and though the money will feel good, the trophy won’t. I’m not a man that gets to pick and choose his wins, so I would have taken it and ran anyway, but now Iowa is in, so when they give me my money and belt, it’ll be because I beat the best.”

  “That is good news, then.” I draw my bottom lip between my teeth and consider. “Six weeks out. Five weeks till weigh-in.” I run a hand along his shoulder. “You ready?”

  He stares into my eyes and nods. “I’m ready. I can’t get lazy between now and then, I’ve gotta continue to
train hard leading in, but I’m ready.”

  “Are you excited?”

  He nods again. It’s giddy and almost childlike, but it’s there. “I’ve been riding a funk since last year. I didn’t even know it was weighing me down, but—”

  “I knew,” I murmur.

  He pauses. Swallows. “What?”

  I lift a brow. “I’ve known you half of my life. I know your moods, I know every damn thing about you. I know you’ve been down since last year, but do you listen to me when I say so?”

  His eyes dance with the playfulness reminiscent of our teenage years.

  God, I’ve missed it.

  “I don’t listen to people,” he admits. “Mostly ‘Old Town Road’ plays in my head while I hit things.”

  “You’re an ass,” I laugh… while his hands inch toward my ass.

  Is this the secret? I wonder.

  The bitter, angry version of him can’t be with me. But the fun, carefree guy is a little looser with his stance. For as long as he has hope and something to work toward, he’s not bitter. And when he’s not bitter, we have a chance.

  “I’m excited for you, Mac.” I reach up and brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes. “Truly.”

  “Train me.” I’m certain he meant to ask, but his words come out as a demand. “Train me, Lucy. Like always. Get me ready for the biggest fight of my life.”

  Rudy’s words play through my mind. About how I put my goals on hold for someone else. How I brush my dreams off in favor of everyone else’s. Stacked Deck is Smalls’ thing. And beating Iowa is Mac’s.

  But dance is just… it’s not important enough to hurt them.

  I nod. “Sure, I’ll train you. Six days a week, from now until then.”

  “Really?” His eyes widen, and those dimples – those sinful fucking dimples – flash and wink.

  I’m not putting my dreams on hold for his, I argue with myself. Because the one thing I dream of more than dance… is this man. This one right in front of me. This one that smiles like he’s twelve again, and about to go steal a car.

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Have I ever minded?” I cup his neck for just a second. Imagine leaning forward and kissing his plump lips. But he catches on to our proximity pretty quickly and leans away.

  Another day, I promise myself.

  “Eat your dessert.” I climb out of his lap and turn toward my seat. “It’s the last one you’ll get until Christmas.”

  “Harsh.” And yet, he picks up his spoon and digs a large chunk of the melting delicacy. “I’m so fuckin’ excited, I might vibrate through the roof.”

  “Don’t do that,” I laugh. I begin poking at my ice cream. “Save your energy for training. I go back to school tomorrow, but you have to work anyway, so we’ll train in the evenings. Go for a run in the mornings, I want you to give me at least five miles each morning. I’ll run too, we can log in at the same time. Race the clocks. After that, you work. I’ll also plan your diet when I get home tonight. You’ll go shopping, eat what I tell you to eat. I’ll drive back after school each day, and then we’ll train.”

  “Are you…” he hesitates. “You’re not too busy for me? You have school, and your own training. You have your family, and—”

  “I have to train anyway, so I may as well do it with you. I have to eat well anyway, so if I’m working on one diet, I may as well do two. And I can do my homework in between.”

  And yet, dance isn’t mentioned. Not once.

  “I’m excited that you’re excited.” I reach across the table and pat his hand. “I’m mostly excited that you might stop being a grump all the damn time.”

  He scowls and looks back to his ice cream. “I’m not always a grump.”

  “Uh huh.”

  Lucy

  Routine

  “Bean?” Daddy’s booming voice makes me jump on my way out the door.

  He steps into the foyer of our home, loops a large hand around my forearm, and swings me around so fast that my feet lift off the ground for a second, and I come flying back around only to crash into his chest with an oomph.

  “Shit.” I giggle and press a hand to my chest to slow the way it races so painfully fast. “You scared me.”

  “Where the hell are you going?” His chocolate eyes flash with a mixture of curiosity and playfulness.

  Biology aside, it makes me happy that Jimmy Kincaid has dark brown eyes, just like mine. His hair is dark, his limbs are long. He and I share no blood, and yet, no one ever questions our relationship, because we look alike anyway.

  I know not belonging has always been something that has played on Smalls’ mind. At least I look like a Kincaid, like my brother. But Smalls is the Kincaid opposite – she’s light to their dark. Blonde, blue-eyed, porcelain skin, while her sisters got the Kincaid genes. So whenever we were out as a group growing up, especially when Daddy and Uncle Aiden would take us out, everyone looked like a Kincaid except Evie. She was the lighthouse standing amongst us all. She was the most beautiful, the most striking and noticeable. Which is something I’ve had to live with – the fact I blend into the background whenever she’s near – but in exchange, she’s had to battle being different.

  We both got those short straws. We both had our dragons to slay.

  But as I stare into Kincaid eyes now, I smile, because he’s always made me feel like I belong.

  “Hey, Daddy.” I step toward him, when he expects me to back away, and wrap my arms around his stomach with so much strength that he grunts. But then he does that thing I love the most. He presses his lips to the top of my hair, exhales, and bathes my scalp with hot air. “I’m sorry I’m always so busy.”

  “You’re home every single day,” he murmurs. “And yet, I feel like I never see you.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I have so much going on, so many balls to juggle.” I take a step back. “Everything will be easier after Christmas. I get to drop school soon, which means no more travel. No more homework. I get to be home, back in the gym, where I can go back to training more than an hour a day a few days a week.”

  “You’ve been in the gym way more than that lately.”

  “I know. Stacked Deck is coming, so we have to prepare. Smalls has got me running around doing some admin for that, then add in my training, Mac’s training, plus studying for my finals, and I don’t have much time for home.” I frown. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “It’s okay.” He pulls me back into the warm cocoon of his arms, and presses a kiss to my brow. “You’re home tonight, right?”

  I nod. “No classes tomorrow, so I’m not traveling back until Monday morning.”

  “Save me a seat at breakfast?” His hands slide along my arms, only to stop at my hands and squeeze. “Don’t go to Smalls’ tomorrow. Or better yet, tell her to come here. I need time with my girls.”

  “Okay. I promise. I’ll save a seat and pour your coffee for tomorrow.”

  “Perfect.” He releases me, but only so he can close his hand around mine and escort me out of the house. “Where are you going right now?”

  “I’m heading to see Sophia. I want to squeeze in a minute there, then I’m booked with Mac at the gym after that. I’m working on increasing his weights. He has room to move in the weight divisions, so there’s no reason he can’t gain a few pounds.”

  Daddy frowns. “The more weight he carries, the harder his heart has to work.”

  I scowl and reject the lash of worry that slices across my heart. “I’ve got it, Daddy. I’m not telling him to gain a hundred pounds at the drive-thru. It’s healthy weight. You gotta trust me on this. I…” I hesitate. “I’m not eleven anymore. When I’m not here, on this estate or in the gym, I’m actually considered a grown woman who’s almost completed her degree. I even wrote a paper on heart function in conjunction to fighting and weight training.” I squeeze his hand and wish, more than anything else, that my family could truly see me. “I got this, okay?”

  With a soft chuckle on his breath, he walks me
all the way to my car and waits as I slide in. “Of course you wrote a paper centered around Mac’s heart. You’re smarter than I ever was, honey. I’m sorry I questioned you.”

  “It’s okay.” I pull my seatbelt around me and clip it. “I’ll never do anything that puts him at risk. I’ve worked too damn hard for this. There’s no way I’m gonna let it go bad now.”

  “Ya know…” He closes the door and crouches down at the window when I open it. Freezing air slides in on the breeze as his eyes flicker across my face. “It’s sweet that you go to school and learn this stuff for him. It’s beautiful that you care so deeply.”

  “He’s my best friend.” I brush his words off. “It’s just the way it is.”

  “Yeah, well…” His exhale brushes over my cheek. “I just want to make sure that while you’re busy taking care of everyone else, that you take care of you too. Someday, you’ll go to sleep and wake up forty years old. Fuck knows that’s how it feels for me. I was twenty once, and I swear it was only last year. Now my baby is grown, she’s about to graduate college with a degree I can’t even fathom. You’ve literally learned and trained in how to save lives, honey. And that humbles me, but it scares me too. You wanted to go pro, and Stacked Deck means you can do that, but you’re so busy doing a million other things, I’m scared you’re going to forget to make yourself happy.”

  I smile for him. Reach out the window and hold his hand. And yet, a stupid effing flying arabesque plays through my mind. “Fighting is important to me. I work on getting better every single day. So don’t worry, okay? I look busy with Mac and Smalls and all the rest of that, but I haven’t taken my eye off that Stacked Deck belt. I’d better go.” I draw my hand away from his and switch my car on. “The time slot I have with Soph is pretty tight, so…”

  “Maybe that’s something you could pause for a while?” His words are low, soft, as he considers and remains clueless to the pain they cause me. “I know it’s fun and all, I know you enjoy it, but dance just seems like an added chore on your to-do list right now, doesn’t it? When I was your age, when we were building up to a fight and increasing our gym hours, we had to strip away the extras. Anything that wasn’t helpful in achieving our dream—”