Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck Book 8)

by Emilia Finn

  Shaking my head, I turn and nudge the door open until our eyes meet. “Your secret is that you are The Chosen One?”

  “I’ve spent my whole life trying to live a normal existence,” she murmurs. “Telling people I’m a witch just isn’t conducive to normalcy.”

  “Well…” I turn and study my bedroom. The large timber bed, the timber dressing table. A flatscreen TV on the wall, and the picture frames that surround it. “The bit about you and normal being incompatible is true. You comfy in there?”

  “Ya know, I actually kinda am. And it smells nice in here. It smells like you.”

  I turn back in time to catch her smile before she adds, “Wanna talk to me about this?” She pokes her hand out of the closet, and passes a wrinkled photo I never got around to putting in a frame.

  My eyes shoot back to my bed where I’m certain I left it before hopping on a plane and going in search of her, then I look back to the image in my hand and sigh. “I can’t decide if I love this photo or hate it,” I admit. “It’s bothered me every single day since I got it.”

  “Why do you hate it?” Quinn slowly crawls out of the closet, only to stop beside me and lean back against the wall so we sit shoulder to shoulder. “It’s kinda cute. And from an easier time.” Then she snorts. “If you’d told me back then that I’d call that an easier time, I would have called you a liar. It all seemed so complicated back then, but now…” She shrugs. “I probably should have enjoyed the innocence of first love a little more.”

  “This is the picture my aunt took in the gym.”

  She leans closer and rests her head on my shoulder. “I know. I was there, I remember it.”

  “Literally seconds after this picture was taken, you said you were scared of me, then you ran away.”

  She happily sighs and wraps her right arm around my left. It hurts me, but that’s us, isn’t it? Me hurting because of her.

  “Yeah, I ran,” she admits. “After that, you came looking for me. You brought me hot chocolate and cheeseburgers. And then we danced to our own song.”

  “And that’s why I love it. This photo has haunted me for years, because I love the memories of the dancing and stuff. But I hate remembering the look in your eyes when you said you were scared.”

  I rest my head back against the wall and close my eyes. Because she’s right here, cuddling into my side, whispering and smiling with me.

  But seconds ago, she was plotting her escape with her brother.

  She’s sitting with me, because this is her reality right now. But she’s my fish, constantly swimming in the opposite direction. The second she gets the chance, she’s going to run, and she’ll claim it’s for my own good.

  “I don’t think you have to hate this picture,” she murmurs. “I wasn’t afraid of you.”

  I open my eyes.

  “I was never afraid of you, because even then, even without knowing you, I knew you would protect me. Will knew it too, which is why he didn’t kill you the first time you called me an oxymoron.”

  “You said you were afraid.” I frown.

  She gives a gentle nod and leans heavier against me. “I was afraid of the things you made me feel. I was afraid of falling in love, and then having to leave. Which…” She exhales. “Is exactly what happened.”

  She reaches out for the image and studies our faces. “It’s only been four years since this was taken, but I swear we look decades younger. It’s hard to explain, because we don’t look much different, but…” She sighs. “I don’t know. There’s something there.”

  “Innocence,” I reply. “Just like you said. The innocence of first love. I was chasing a girl that made my heart fizz, and at that point, I had no clue what was truly in your heart.”

  “And now?” she asks. “What do you think now?”

  I reflect on that for a minute. My answers range from ‘I think it’s a shame you can’t love me the way I love you’ to ‘I wish Will would fuck off, and take his problems with him.’ None of this is Quinn’s problem. Not really. She’s a free woman, she can be whoever she wants to be. Wherever. With whomever. But she chooses Will, and to choose Will means to choose a life of running and hiding.

  All of these thoughts flitter through my mind in a nanosecond, but in the end, I settle on, “I think what we had was really special. And although it guts me that that is gone, I don’t think I would go back and not approach you if I knew.”

  “You wouldn’t?” She sits up and looks into my eyes. “Even knowing the bullshit you would go through simply by knowing me, you wouldn’t change it?”

  “No,” I exhale. “Because I really loved our time together. And maybe it was short, but some people go their whole lives without feeling that at all. So I’m gonna be thankful that I got a taste, even if it was only for a little while.”

  We sit in silence for a moment. Loaded, tense, painful silence, that ends only when Quinn pushes to her feet – and hurts my shoulder in the process.

  “I’m hungry. Can I cook something in your kitchen?”

  “Yeah.” I drop my head back against the wall and close my eyes. “My home, your home. Help yourself.”

  Quinn

  Romance Stinks Sometimes

  The next day, with nothing better to do with my time, I leave a note on the thumb of a six-foot-tall, plastic, ice-cream-shaped statue that stands in the laundry room of Jamie’s home.

  Walking into town. Not running away. Not gonna get myself killed. Call me if you can’t find me.

  xx Q

  p.s. I knew you stole the statue! I knew it!

  p.p.s. Giselle likes me more than she likes you.

  Then I pull on a pair of sneakers, comfortably dig my right hand into the pocket of my denim shorts, and hug my other arm to my chest, as ordered by my copious searches on the internet. I walk into town with Giselle prancing along right beside me, and head toward the dance studio I discovered by accident five years ago.

  It takes only half an hour after leaving Jamie’s house to orient myself and find the right building, but this time, instead of snow on the ground and biting cold on the breeze, the summer sun beats down and cruelly burns the back of my neck.

  It’s only eight in the morning, but when I test the front door to see if it’s locked, it opens easily, and a shot of cold air grabs me and beckons me in. I glance down at Giselle for just a moment, but I’ve seen another dog in here a million times before via YouTube, and since they’re from the same litter, I figure it’s okay.

  “Come on, Giselle.”

  I hold on to her sparkling collar, though I couldn’t control her even if I tried, and head into the hallway that I’ve walked twice before in my life. Once, when Soph was loading me up with dance clothes so I could be on her stage for a day, and the second time, for Lucy’s showcase.

  I slow at the glass cabinet by the front desk, and study the Ellie Solomon Dance Academy clothes – sweatpants, hats, bags, leotards. The very bottom shelf boasts a pair of worn and flogged pointe shoes.

  My heart throbs from the sight.

  Maybe they’re Soph’s. And if they are, maybe it’s not a smart choice to leave the front door unlocked while they’re sitting right there. Maybe to someone like Jamie or even Soph’s husband, those shoes hold no value. But to someone like me, especially someone like me with fast fingers, they’re a temptation that I find almost debilitating to walk away from.

  “Hey?”

  I jump away from the cabinet with a squeak, and press a hand to my heart when none other than Soph’s husband stands at the hallway entry.

  Jay leans against the wall in a black muscle tank and army green cargo shorts with what seems like extra pockets. He folds his arms, and studies me with a smile. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Um…” I hold on to Giselle now, not because I’m afraid of being booted out of the studio, but because I need a little of home. A little safety. A little bit of a hug, when my eyes stray up to Jay’s forehead, and stop on the very defined circular scar.
/>
  The one time that Soph’s plans almost ended in tragedy.

  “That… um…” I reach up to my own forehead. “That scar?”

  “I’m really self-conscious about it,” he says seriously. “I’ve been known to cry when the baby ballerinas tease me about it.”

  “Oh…” I drop my hand again. “Really? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to p—”

  Pushing off the wall, he only chuckles and meanders my way. “I’m kidding, Quinn.” He stops three feet away. “May I call you Quinn?”

  “Um… sure.”

  “This scar,” he reaches up. “I’m not self-conscious about it. In fact, it’s kinda badass. How many men can say they’ve been popped in the head and lived to tell the tale?”

  “Er… well… just you?”

  He snorts. “Maybe not just me. But there aren’t many of us.” He nods toward the glass case behind me. “You need something? I can hook you up. I know the owner.”

  When I smile, his grin notches up in response.

  “I was just snooping,” I admit. “I feel weird sitting in Jamie’s house; not quite a guest, and not quite at home, so I figured I’d take Giselle for a walk. I wandered in this direction, and…” I huff. “Fine, I wanted to see Soph and Lucy dance. But it’s still early, so they’re probably not—”

  “They’re here.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re in studio one, working on something they’ve been choreographing for the better part of a year.”

  “With the kids?”

  He shakes his head and grins. “Just the two of them. Have you ever seen them dance together? I swear, it’s the highlight of my day.”

  “Perv.”

  He scoffs and turns to lead me into the hall. “I perv on one of them, for sure. But she knows it. The other one, she’s like my kid and my sister at the same time. I don’t perv, but I sure as shit watch them. It’s like…” He sighs. “Together, they have this magic.”

  “I know what you mean,” I murmur. “I think the same. I’ve spent four years watching them host classes together online, and I log in every damn day purely because their chemistry while dancing is insane.”

  “In here,” he whispers as we approach a door, and the sound of heavy bass pounds against the covered windows.

  I peek at the windows, at the sliver of space at the bottom of the door, and all the while, my heart yearns to see them.

  “You can go in,” Jay reads my mind. “They won’t get mad or anything.”

  “I would get mad about people interrupting my flow.”

  He cracks the door open and smiles boyishly. “You already said it; their chemistry means nothing can screw with their flow. Once they start, they don’t stop until the music stops, and even then, they get pissed at the song for ending too soon. Go in.” He presses a hand to the small of my back and pushes me forward. “It’s okay.”

  “Can you come in with me?” I turn back and fight his prodding push. “That way, if we get in trouble, I can blame it on you.”

  He snorts and shakes his head. But he strides through the door like he’s not afraid of dying.

  Turning back while the women dance on the opposite side of the room, he waves me in, and waits for Giselle to strut forward – I’m surprised she doesn’t wear diamond-encrusted heels at this point. Once I’m in, he closes the door with a silent snick, and leads me along the wall until he simply lowers down and pulls me down beside him.

  I watch Soph and Lucy more than I watch my own step. I sit clumsily, and bite off my hiss when I bump my shoulder by accident.

  “You okay?” Jay whispers.

  I hear his words, I even feel his hand on my arm, but my eyes are glued to Lucy’s back as she lifts Soph and tosses her like this was a cheer routine and not ballet.

  “Quinn?” Jay presses. “You good?”

  “Yeah. Shh.”

  I sit forward and study the girls as Soph transitions into a leap with her legs wide, and her arms high. She drops to her feet and pops straight back up to her toes. A mere second later, Lucy switches places with her. They lift, Sophia throws, and Lucy flies.

  “It’s like gravity doesn’t apply to them,” I murmur, accepting Giselle’s heavy head when she lays down and plops her chin on my lap. “Like,” I spare a glance for the man beside me. “They toss like they have no clue the ground is right there, dragging them down.”

  “I don’t think the ground is dragging them down,” he whispers back. “Like you said, gravity doesn’t apply to them.”

  “I wish I could do that.”

  I nibble on my bottom lip when Lucy turns once, twice, three times. Each time, she checks the wall to her left where they’ve taped a picture of a smiling Mac holding a belt high above his head. I didn’t notice it at first, or the other pictures taped around the room, but as Lucy’s smile grows, I see what they’ve done. Mac – a victorious Mac – is Lucy’s checkpoint. On the opposite wall, a picture of two little girls in their very own tutus leads me to believe that’s Soph’s checkpoint.

  Her daughters.

  There’s nothing on the mirrors behind them, but on a hunch, I lean forward and turn to check the wall at my back, only to startle and frown at the very same image I found on Jamie’s bed yesterday afternoon.

  Jamie’s arm wrapped around my shoulders. His lips on my temple, and despite my words just moments later telling him that I was scared, in this picture, for that one single snapshot in time, I’m smiling.

  Confused with my discovery, I turn back to the women and watch as they move into something else – I still don’t know all the names of the steps. I didn’t attend a fancy dance school, and I didn’t have the time or patience to learn another language. I wanted the moves, the gracefulness, the ability. Not the words.

  Lucy flick, flick, flicks her toes and makes her way across their space, and right beside her, Sophia does the same. They spin when they reach the end, and mid-turn, Lucy reaches out, and Sophia takes her hands. Lucy’s back leg goes up, it points to the sky at an almost perfect hundred and eighty degree angle, and then they spin, but it’s jarring to my mind.

  The routine, for the first time since I sat down, becomes jarring.

  I furrow my brow. “Why didn’t she scissor her legs, and like…”

  I turn to Jay when he remains silent. He watches me with a grin.

  “She could have scissored, and then spun,” I insist. “Or even better, she could have grabbed Soph’s hands and lifted up.”

  Jay merely watches me. His eyes dance, and his lips twitch. But he says nothing.

  Frustrated, I turn back to the women, and watch as they repeat the move. Again, my stomach dips.

  I shake my head. “It’s wrong.”

  Jay’s shoulders bounce in my peripherals, but he doesn’t make a single peep.

  “Shit.” Lucy steps away from Soph, panting, huffing for air, and presses her hands to her hips. “It’s a second out.” She does the move she did a moment ago, but without the music. “See how it works here? It’s perfect, but then you put it on that riff, and…” She shrugs, and grunts away her frustration. “It doesn’t translate to our song.”

  Bringing her hands up to her sweaty face, she rubs, and groans as though it were eight p.m., and not a.m. She looks exhausted, like she’s been going all day. “Do you think we have the wrong song? Could that be the issue? We’ve been working on this for so long, but we keep fucking up that step.”

  “I don’t fuck it up.” Soph steps away and grabs a water bottle from beneath the picture of her daughters. “That’s you, sister. That’s your step. I’m doing my thing over there.” She points toward her mark. It’s not an actual mark on the floor. But it’s exactly where she was standing a moment ago. “This is on you, Goosey. Fix your shit.”

  “Screw you.” Lucy rolls her eyes and looks to the ceiling. “Please don’t tell me we have the wrong song. I’m gonna lose my shit if we have to start again.”

  “You should tell them,” Jay taunts on a whisper. “Tell them to do the
scissor thing. I wanna see you make them look dumb.”

  “Not a chance,” I murmur. “This ain’t my routine. Besides.” I adopt an air of bitch and climb back to my feet. “I thought you were helping my brother?” I challenge the room.

  Soph and Lucy turn to me as one.

  I could almost swear I’ve startled them, even though Jay and I weren’t hiding at all.

  Lucy studies me with kind eyes, but Soph squints a little, and tilts her head to the side. “Huh?”

  I cast a hand around the room and flatten my lips. “You’re supposed to be helping my brother. But instead, you’re in here, screwing around with a dance.”

  It’s like she doesn’t understand my words. Or she just can’t process them fast enough.

  Her brows remain furrowed, her hands go to her hips, and in a tutu and pointe shoes, she takes a few steps closer. “Come again?”

  “You’re supposed to be helping my brother,” I repeat with zero patience. “You’re supposed to be this evil genius, some criminal mastermind, hacker extraordinaire. Everyone boasts about what you can do, though they do it quietly. So now my brother’s life is in your hands, but you’re here, dancing with Lucy, and you can’t even tell that your move is wrong.”

  Soph’s eyes scour my body. My legs. My shoulder. She moves forward a few more steps, and in my peripherals, I note that Lucy steps back, and Jay scoots far enough to my right to avoid the splash zone.

  Stopping just six feet away, Soph narrows her eyes a little more, like that’ll help her hear better. “Once more for those of us who are slow.”

  “Ugh! I can’t believe I trusted you with my brother’s life.” A wash of panic ripples through my stomach as I turn away. Go to him, call him, go back into hiding.

  But then I come to a screeching stop and spin back to find Sophia’s hand wrapped around my wrist. “Hey! Let me go.”

  “You started this,” she argues. “You were feeling brave a second ago. So now you finish it. What has your brother got to do with this?” She glances back at Lucy. “I don’t see the connection.”