Maybe Quinn didn't see everything Zoe did for her, but he had. He saw the look in Zoe’s eyes when something good happened for Quinn, like she'd just won the lottery and they were splitting the prize. And then there were the bad days. Those were far worse to witness. However crushed Quinn was, Zoe's heartache was always the same, or sometimes even worse.
Still, that didn't change the facts of Quinn's life. Maybe Zoe was willing to live for her sister, but it was madness to expect Quinn to do the same. She needed joy and spontaneity and passion, and the more Zoe insisted her sister didn't need it, the more Ian wanted to ask her if she'd ever felt those things herself, if she'd ever loosened her commanding grip on life long enough to get swept up in love.
But then, he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.
Eventually, the glimmering casino towers rose in the distance, and they crossed the bridge into the city. As they approached, Zoe typed the address of the apartment into her phone, and they followed the instructions to the boardwalk, not far from one of the most run-down casinos on the strip.
When they pulled up, Zoe hopped from the car without a word then smoothed her hands over the form-fitting yoga pants. She was still wearing the crazy shoes Quinn had gotten for her, and Ian mentally scolded himself for not stopping.
"There's a mall not far from here,” Zoe said. “I'm going to go grab a pair of flats, and I'll meet you back here. The code to the apartment is 21225. Got it?"
He nodded then waited as she disappeared onto the boardwalk. When at last she was out of view, he snuck to the back of his truck and grabbed his toolbox. Popping the hood, he stared down at the car and tried to decide where the best place might be to begin his sabotage.
Three
Tennis shoes in one hand, Zoe trudged back to the old apartment with the familiar edge of dread she always felt when she was there. She knew she'd have to go inside the place to change, but the idea of seeing the dingy, peeling red walls and the tiny kitchen made her heart scream like a crab dropped in boiling water.
Briefly, she'd considered changing her shoes in the mall while she was there, but every second she spent avoiding the apartment was another moment she was pulling herself away from the truth of where Quinn was and whether she might be here.
Sucking in a deep breath, she opened the back door—which was, of course, perpetually unlocked—and greeted the familiar smell of stale menthol cigarettes and cheap booze. The green carpet under her feet was splotched with stains she definitely didn't want to know the origins of, and she avoided looking at the cracked plaster walls and flickering fluorescent lights as she made her way up one flight of steps, then another, until she was finally at the door she remembered all too well.
After the funeral, she and Quinn had kept telling each other they were going to come and clean the place out, that they'd sell the place back to the landlord and move forward. But it had been over a year now since their father had died, and nobody had crossed this threshold since the EMTs who'd come to wheel him away.
Swallowing hard, she pressed the familiar code into the door then turned the knob and closed her eyes. She didn't have to look at the place to see it. She knew every detail by heart. In the center of the room would be the king-sized bed she, Quinn, and their father had shared. In the corner, there would be the kitchenette, probably still stocked with canned ham, tuna fish, tomato soup, and canned pasta sauce. Then there was the dining room table on which would sit an ashtray and a pack of playing cards.
Of all the things to hate about this place, it was the cards she loathed the most.
Opening her eyes, she focused in on them, studying the intricate red pattern on the back of the cards that she knew so well. Whenever dad was down on his luck, he'd try to get his fix by playing with Quinn and her. At first, he'd say he wanted to teach them how to be card sharks like he was. He'd sit them down and laugh for a while, teaching them about the river and the flop, but then things would progress, the liquor would come out, time would go by. He'd lose a hand then two.
Zoe winced. There was no need to remember that all now. Now, she just needed to focus on Quinn.
She glanced around, but there was really no way of telling whether Quinn had been here or if her father had simply left the place a mess when he'd gone. The bed things were rumpled, a half-empty pint of whiskey sat on the nightstand, and the cards were neatly stacked. The ashtray was still dirty.
With a little edge of self-hatred, grief took over her heart, squeezing it hard until she felt like she could hardly breathe. She took another step toward the cards, her hand outstretched to touch one, to turn it over. The ace of hearts stared back at her.
"Zoe?" A man’s voice sounded from behind her and she swiveled around, her cheeks scorching as if Ian had caught her in the middle of something shameful. Which, in a way, he had.
"Yeah?" She cleared her throat.
"You might want to change your shoes and come downstairs. I've got some bad news."
She sat on the bed and took her shoes from the box, kicking off the hideous platform heels Quinn had foisted on her.
"Damn, this place was—?" He started, but Zoe cut him off.
"My father's apartment. We spent summers here," she offered, rolling on her socks. There was no need to include that, when the chips were down, they spent the school year here, too. There was certainly no reason to tell him that those were still not the worst of her memories.
No, those were the nights she starved, the nights she'd pretended she'd already eaten so Quinn wouldn't have to go to bed with an empty stomach. So Quinn would never know the extent of their suffering.
Ian's voice broke through her thoughts. "Wow. Quinn told me he had a place here, but…"
"He wasn't much for decorating." She pulled on her sneakers and bounced back to her feet. "Now, what is it you wanted to show me?"
"Probably better to see it yourself." Ian led her down the stairs and back into the parking lot then gestured toward the truck.
He was right, the image of the thing did all the talking necessary. Or, rather, the smoke pouring from the hood did.
"What the hell happened?" She rushed toward it then gripped the top and pushed the hood up farther with her hands.
"Careful," Ian said. "I'm not sure. I called a mechanic, but he said he wouldn't be able to take a look until tomorrow evening. It looks like we're stuck here for the night."
"For the night? Oh no, no, no." She shook her head, staring down into the abyss of unintelligible car parts and willing them to fix themselves. How many times had she sworn to herself she'd never come back here? And to be stuck for an entire night…
"No." She crossed her hands over her chest. "I knew we should have taken my car."
She wanted to stamp her foot, to throw herself on the ground and scream. "There has to be another mechanic."
"I tried all the ones that came up in my online search. They're all closed now."
"And you don't have Triple A for this hunk of junk?" Her words came out in a screech. She stared up at the dingy apartment, feeling like the depressed aura of the place might consume her.
"Look, there's nothing we can do, so I'm thinking we should make the best of this."
"Make the best of it? Are you joking?" she spluttered.
"Well, I don't know about you, but there are buffets everywhere around these parts, and I certainly wouldn't mind a free drink or two. What do you say?"
"You mean go into the casino?" A rush of horror swept over her at the thought. Of course, the last time she'd been here, she wasn't old enough to walk the casino floor, but that didn't mean she didn't know what it was like inside the place. The smell of cigarettes, the dinging and whirring of the machines—it was like a death march, the sounds of a past she was all too willing to forget.
"Yeah." Ian shrugged. "You must be hungry."
"I…" She blinked. "No, I'm not going in there."
But, as if in answer to her words, her stomach grumbled so loudly that she was sure he'd heard it.
Hoping to divert his attention, she said, "How in the hell can you be so calm and cool about this? Your car is a junk pile right now and we're stuck in Atlantic City."
Ian shrugged again. "Like I said, there's nothing we can do. At least not about that. If you want to eat, however, there are plenty of options." He lifted his eyebrows. "You're going to have to eat regardless, so you might just have to give in."
She pinched her nose between her thumb and forefinger then closed her eyes. "You know what? Fine. But we're going in there to eat and right back out. I'm not getting caught up in there."
Ian raised his hands in mock innocence. "Whatever you say. Now come on, the bus is already on the way."
As she watched him jog across the street, she knew one thing for sure—this had all been a complete and total mistake.
The bus to the casino was swarming with little old ladies in sequined hats and even tinier old men with walkers and canes.
"Oh no," Zoe murmured under her breath. "I didn't check the time."
"What's wrong with that?" Ian asked.
"Looks like it's time for the feeding frenzy." She nudged her head toward the ocean of red hats in the back of the bus. “It's probably between five and five thirty which means all the old people are taking a break from gambling in order to swarm the buffets."
Ian laughed. "That's not a thing."
"You want to bet? There is a clear distinction between when people of different ages go to the buffet, and right now is prime grandma time. You've got to hit the sweet spots. Ten fifteen, for example—you get the whole breakfast buffet, which is cheap, but then they switch over to lunch while you're there. Double meal for half the price."
"That is the cheapest thing I've ever heard," he said.
She shrugged. "I think you mean the most ingenious. But it doesn't matter. We're trapped tonight."
"Well, we don't have to go right away."
"We do." She nodded. "See, it all depends on the casino, too. You go to one of the newer ones, there's more young people and, since we're in luck, the newest one here also has the best buffet."
"Exactly how many times have you been to these buffets?"
Zoe leveled an irritated gaze at him. "Do you really want me to answer that? Just trust me."
At the next stop, a few of the older women shuffled off the bus and Zoe gave them an approving nod. "Oldest casino on the strip. See, they know the deal."
"I doubt they're checking when the building was constructed before they decide where to eat dinner."
"They don't have to. They know it in their blood."
The bus rolled on, and Zoe pointed out a few more landmarks of the city, not least of which were the strip clubs and liquor stores she used to go to find her father. With each, she had a funny story—getting free prime rib at the place called The Slap and Tickle or the place where she and Quinn had scored their first underage alcohol purchase. But with each of them, Ian felt the slightest bit sadder.
Quinn had mentioned their time here, of course, but it wasn't until he heard the stories and Zoe’s bone-deep knowledge of this town that Ian realized what life must have been like for them. And, at the end of it, they would have to go back to their old apartment that smelled like stale cigarettes and desperation.
It seemed like the sort of thing that would sink into a person's soul, no matter how easygoing Zoe seemed to be about the whole thing.
Where he saw glittering, flashing lights and fun, tantalizing games, she saw the very things that had robbed her of a normal childhood. It was understandable that Quinn wouldn't have come here, and the more he got to know about their surroundings, the more he realized what kind of sacrifice it had been for Zoe to come back here to begin with.
More than anything, he wished there was some way to change it. If he could just wipe all the memories away, she could see this place as the tourist destination it was supposed to be, but he wouldn't know where to begin or how to start.
"All right, almost there," Zoe said. The bus rolled over a bridge and wound around a few more corners before stopping in front of a giant golden building with multicolored lights.
"Best buffet in the city." Zoe gave the place an approving nod then stood and motioned for Ian to join her.
They exited the bus and stepped through the revolving doors, and then Zoe was off again, navigating the place like it was her own home.
Which, he supposed, it sort of had been.
"I've got to apologize. I don't know this place as well as some of the other ones. It didn't show up until I was in my late teens, but"—she shrugged—"you can't beat the sushi."
They came to an escalator and she stepped on quickly, allowing him to follow her yet again. "So, before we get in there, let's lay a few ground rules."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Right, so the sushi is great, but they want you to fill up on carbs. Crab and shrimp are amazing, so is the carving station. It's Saturday, so that means there's prime rib and turkey. Get the prime rib because the turkey is sometimes dry."
He nodded, and she continued to rattle off instructions until his head swam with information.
"Got it?" she asked, and he nodded again.
"Oh, and one last thing. How many pockets do you have?"
"What?"
"How many pockets do you have?” She asked the question like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My purse isn't very big."
"What does that have to do—?"
"It's an old trick Quinn and I used to do. Back then, it was because sometimes there wasn't a lot of food in the house, but I'm thinking we're going to be hungry tomorrow and we've already lost a lot of time. So, you know, if you can stuff some rolls or cookies in your pockets for the road, that's probably a good idea."
He laughed. "I'm not doing that."
"Why not?"
"Because we live in a world where drive-thrus exist. Let's not go crazy, here."
She rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself, but I'm not the one who's going to be dreaming about the chocolate chip cookies tomorrow."
After standing in line behind what seemed like a never-ending stream of old ladies—Zoe was quick to give Ian an "I told you so" glare—they headed inside and loaded their plates. To his surprise, just about everything Zoe had told him was true. The sushi was incredible, and the turkey was dry. The prime rib was delicious, and so was the shrimp.
"You really know your stuff," he told her when she sauntered back to their table with a plate loaded with desserts. "What's all this?" he asked, pointing at the platter.
"Well, the desserts are really hit or miss. Quinn and I used to get one plate with the works to tell which were worth eating. It's the only wasteful thing we do here."
"Well, let's try it, then."
For a moment, she looked taken aback, but then she scooted the plate into the middle of the table.
Ian stabbed a vanilla cupcake and shoveled it into his mouth. "Perfect," he said.
She tried it then rolled her eyes. "You are a dessert charlatan."
"What do you mean?" he laughed.
"This is fine, but it's not worth your limited stomach space. Let's try this." She cut into something that looked like a perfect ball of ice cream coated in strawberry syrup.
Closing her eyes, she savored the bite. Then her tongue darted out to grab the last morsels. "This is good. Cheesecake."
He wrinkled his nose. "Not for me. Never been a cheesecake guy."
Her eyes widened. "I always knew there was something wrong with you."
He laughed and together they went through the rest of the plate, chiding each others’ tastes until there was nothing left to try.
Through it all, he found himself smiling, laughing at her little digs and her expert-level of awareness. Suddenly, he realized he'd never seen Zoe like this. He'd always seen her around her sister, defensive and irritated, but never really in her element. Never enjoying herself. It was charming and new and… intriguing. As she took another bite of cheesecake,
he found himself staring at her lips, watching her tongue dart out again to savor every last bit of her dessert.
A surge of awareness shot through him at the sight of her tongue, and he cleared his throat.
"All right," he said. "Looks like it's time to hit the casino floor."
Four
As they glided down the escalator, Zoe pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at the time. It was barely seven o'clock, and they still had the entire evening to kill. Thinking hard, she tried to remember how close the nearest low-rate movie theater was, but she was sure it had probably closed down by now, just like everything else in this good-for-nothing town.
"So, what's your poison?" Ian asked. The clang and clatter of machines grew louder as they made their way toward the casino floor.
"What do you mean?" Zoe asked.
"I mean, are you a blackjack girl? You seem like the poker type. Serious." He nodded.
She gaped at him. "Oh no, I've never played."
"Never? In all the times you've come here?"
"Exactly. Who would?" She shook her head, remembering all the times when, even after her twenty-first birthday, she'd refused to follow her father onto the red-and-gold-patterned casino carpeting.
"Come on. You have to try it sometime," he said then stepped from the escalator and motioned to the floor. A thin cloud of smoke hovered over the machines, the newest ones dinging and glittery in the foreground of the room as always.
In her mind, she could hear her father's husky, cigarette-raspy voice. "You never play those. You want the ones in the back. The old suckers—the older the better. That's where the real money is."
Except the real money was never anywhere in this place. The real money was for the people who owned it, the people who had her college fund and the money she might have used on a prom dress if she'd ever gotten to go.
"I don't think so. Let's go to a mall or find a movie," she suggested, but he elbowed her gently.
Ride: Hearts Wild Series Page 3