by Jolie Day
“What’s wrong, Mom?” she murmured, her eyes closing on their own accord.
“Your father’s been shot!” Brooke’s eyes popped back open just as the lights in her room turned on, blinding her for a moment.
“What?” she exclaimed. “When? Where?” She stumbled out of bed and made her way toward her mother. Claire Abernathy’s face was wet with tears and she pulled Brooke into her arms as she sobbed.
“H-he was working undercover again,” she sniffled. “He never even told me where he was going!” Brooke held her mother tightly and rubbed her back.
“There, there,” she said.
“It’s alright, Mommy. He’ll be alright. Pop’s tough.” But even as she said the words, Brooke’s own eyes filled with tears and her heart became heavy. Her father had been shot before—multiple times—but it had never filled her mother with this much worry.
It had to be a bad hit.
“Where is he?” Brooke asked, praying that her mother would say he was on his way home with just a few stitches and a bandage on his arm. He had more scars on his body than Brooke could even count. He used to tell her the stories that went with each one, but instead of being shot by bullets, he was attacked by dragons.
“But don’t worry, baby girl,” he would say, when she cowered under her blankets and stuffed animals, “Daddy will keep you safe from all the dragons.” And she would believe him. Each time he came home with a new ‘dragon-related injury’ he would wink and she would giggle and draw pictures of the beast that he had recently bested to put up on her wall in her bedroom.
Looking over her mother’s shoulder, Brooke could see the pictures still there. She still added to them every time her father was shot, hoping that one day she wouldn’t have to, anymore—and only for good reasons.
“He’s in surgery,” Claire finally answered, her voice thick with tears. “His partner just called and told me. He got hit in the spine Brooke,” she sniffled. “They think he might be paralyzed.”
That had Brooke tensing, her nails digging into the soft cotton of her mother’s night robe. Her father had always been a hero to her, carrying her around on strong shoulders, playing soccer with her at the park, and running after waves at the beach. The prospect of him being paralyzed…well, she didn’t even want to think about that.
Instead, she pulled away from her mother and grabbed her own robe, tugging it on and slipping on a pair of flip flops. She took her mother’s hand and tugged her out of the room and down to the hall, grabbing their house keys and placing them into her pocket.
At street level, she hailed a cab. Her mother was practically catatonic next to her, all the way to the hospital.
*****
Present day…
There were plenty of things Brooke knew she had to be thankful for; the neighborhood she lived in, the schools she’d been able to go to all her life, even her own health. And her father had made her tack on the fact that he was only a paraplegic and not a quadriplegic, as they had originally feared he would be. The bullet had hit low enough on his spine, however, that he still had some feeling in his legs—just not enough to walk.
She caught him trying sometimes, though. When he thought she wasn’t looking, he would attempt to push himself up from the wheelchair and take a few steps toward the couch or the dining table.
He would always fail.
Brooke had to fight the urge to help him, sometimes. Her father was a proud man and would insist that he could do anything an able-bodied person could do. If she—or her mother—offered to help him reach a high shelf or carry something so he could wheel himself somewhere, he became irate. Even when he fell out of his chair a few times, he had struggled for several minutes before allowing his wife to help him back into it.
It finally became too much for Claire to deal with and, when Brooke was seventeen, she divorced Brooke’s father, inviting Brooke to go along with her.
“It’s your decision, sweetheart,” Claire had said, “but I just can’t take the abuse anymore.”
Brooke had heard her father’s berating of her mother, but she was still hurt by this sudden abandonment. She refused to leave with Claire and even refused to hug her goodbye. Her mother left, silently, and they hadn’t spoken in nearly seven years.
It had been hard on both Brooke and her father when Claire left, but somehow they had gotten through it. Brooke had finished high school and got a full scholarship to NYU, where she dormed for the entirety of her college career. Her father worked security for a nearby hotel, watching for suspicious activities on the security cameras and making sure that nothing was amiss.
He didn’t necessarily need to work, what with the checks he got from disability and his early pension from the NYPD (as well as a generous settlement doled out to him by the city for his on-the-job injury), but he never really liked sitting at home and doing nothing. At least watching the security cameras gave his life purpose.
Brooke was happy about that.
But she wasn’t as happy about the fact that he had insisted she take the year away from school to work, as well. Brooke’s father insisted that she needed to experience to ‘make it in the real world’ or else she couldn’t possibly live a full life. Brooke didn’t know if she resented him for this or if she resented herself for not fighting harder to stay in school.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” her father asked. “You look positively exhausted.”
“It’s 02:00 a.m.” Brooke reminded him. “You should be in bed, already, too. Don’t you need to be at work by seven for shift change?”
“You know I can’t sleep when you’re out,” her father retorted. “Anything could happen and I wouldn’t even know about it until I got a phone call.”
“I know the feeling,” Brooke murmured under her breath as she made her way toward her bedroom.
“What was that?” her father called after her.
“I’m feeling pooped,” Brooke lied. “I’m heading to bed. Get some sleep, Pop.”
“Will do,” he laughed. “Good night, pumpkin.”
“Night!” Brooke called over her shoulder as she walked into her bedroom and fell back against her door, shutting her eyes tight.
She couldn’t get the face of her attacker out of her mind, no matter how hard she tried.
A few years ago, she might have told her father about the incident and let him and his friends in the NYPD deal with it, but now…
She just didn’t want to see him get hurt again. Or worry.
He always worried. She really didn’t need to give him an actual reason.
Brooke stripped and admired her body in the mirror. She had wide hips and a slightly chubby waist. Her breasts strained against the lace of her favorite bra and her legs were long for somebody with her shorter-than-average stature. They were also as shapely and curved as the rest of her body, but she liked that about herself.
She’d never been one of the skinny girls in school, with the tight-fitting jeans and crop tops, but Brooke didn’t mind that. She turned plenty of heads with her curves and learned how to own them. She’d never been as promiscuous as she probably could have been, but she’d had a boyfriend or two in high school. Even a few hookups in college—though she’d focused far more on her studies than her social life.
She wondered what her new boss might think of her curves, were he to see her without her clothes on. Her cheeks turned bright red at the thought and she turned away from the mirror, peeling off her bra and changing into a pair of soft cotton pajamas.
When she finally slipped into bed, Brooke sighed and closed her eyes, turning her face into her pillow and allowing sleep to take her. Her last thoughts were of a pair of piercing brown eyes and a square jaw.
Chapter Four
Tessa showed up again on Saturday and Brooke was thankful for that. The night before, they’d had her training in dealing at a Texas Hold’em table and she’d been bored out of her mind watching her co-worker, Louis—a man twice her age with half the personality—slowly s
huffle and deal the cards. He had a droning voice that had nearly put her to sleep—especially since she already knew how to play poker—and by the end of her shift, Brooke was worried that she would end up falling asleep at the wheel.
She was thankful that Tessa was there to train her, and watch her deal, at the Five-Hand Poker table, because at least she could keep the other girl awake with her stories and idle chitchat. Besides that, the patrons always seemed to enjoy her company.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Tessa greeted as they sat down. She grabbed the fresh deck from the top of the table and went about shuffling. “How are you?” She got a few grunts and leers from the middle-aged men gathered around the table, but otherwise people were just preoccupied with exchanging their bets for chips and wagering. Tessa glanced sideways at Brooke with a tiny grin. “They’re a quiet bunch,” she said, with a wink. “But they make some pretty big bets.”
Brooke didn’t say anything, but that worried her. The night before had been quiet, but her first one still weighed on her mind. If she didn’t get through her training, her chances of keeping this job were slim to none. So she sucked it up and pasted a smile on her face. She would only be there for a six-hour shift, anyway, and most of it was sitting down.
“You feelin’ okay?” Tessa asked, causing Brooke to jump slightly and blink over at her.
“Hm?” she said. “Uh, yeah. Just tired. Why do casinos have to be open all night?”
“That’s just the time of day people like to gamble, I guess. This place is like a ghost town for most of the day. I swear you could hear a pin drop.” She sighed and turned toward the patrons. “Bets start at five hundred,” she said. Everybody knocked their fists on the table and threw their chips forward to add to the pot. Tessa discarded the first three cards and dealt three each to the four men sitting before them. “Anybody want to raise?”
As the men decided on whether or not to bet, Tessa turned back to Brooke with a knowing smile on her lips.
“So,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper, “I heard you got into a little scuffle with one of my patrons on Thursday night.”
“How’d you hear that?” Brooke asked, raising one eyebrow.
“I have my ways,” Tessa replied, cryptically. “Is it true that Mr. Dunham saved your ass?”
“It might be…” Brooke turned away, trying to act casual.
“Come on, rookie,” Tessa snorted, taking the chips and dealing out the next cards. Everybody checked. “Spill.”
Brooke pressed her lips together for a moment, before sighing. “Fine,” she said. “Well, he didn’t only save my ass once, but actually twice.”
“Ooh,” Tessa cooed, dealing out the last cards. Brooke was impressed by how well she was able to focus on the game and her co-worker’s story at the same time, without messing up anything. “Tell me more.”
“Okay,” Brooke said. “Well, the other night, after you left, I messed up a hand at the blackjack table and one of my patrons got all angry and started accusing me of cheating. He had been losing hands all night and thought that he was entitled to get all of his money back for that one little mistake. He stood and started to threaten me. He was yelling and cursing up a storm, causing a total scene, until a manager came up to us and started to de-escalate the entire situation, you know? Only, it wasn’t a manager, which I figured out pretty fast—it was Mr. Dunham.”
“Of course,” Tessa said, in a knowing voice.
“Then, as I was walking to my car, another patron attacked me.”
“Oh my God,” Tessa gasped, exchanging cards for her patrons. “Are you alright, girl?”
“I’m fine,” Brooke assured her. “He didn’t even touch me before Mr. Dunham got there.”
“I told you that he looked out for us, didn’t I?” Tessa said, grinning. “I’ve been working here since Alenna opened and I’ve seen plenty of evidence of that.” One of the men put down a Full House and the rest of the table groaned, throwing down their hands. Tessa pushed the pot toward him and gathered up the cards, putting them off to the side, in the discard pile.
She dealt out some new hands and took more bets, before turning back to Brooke. “One time,” she said, “when I first started here, this guy comes in, all high and mighty, acting like he owns the place, right? Well, he puts down a hundred-thousand dollars (I know because I counted them out, very carefully) and I exchanged them for chips. Well this dirt bag tells me that I got the amount wrong, after I’ve already given the key back to the manager for the cash box. I tell him that, hell no, I ain’t got nothing wrong. He only had 100k and that’s how much I gave him in chips. And he tries to tell me that he gave me 150, not 100. And he’s yelling at me and making some huge scene, so finally a man that I ain’t never seen comes over and asks if there’s a problem. He had a name tag and he was wearing the casino colors, so I figured he’s a manager or something and I tell him what this guy’s been claiming and I ask for the key so I can prove that this guy is trying to pull one over on us.”
She called for bets and everybody put in the minimum.
“So this guy I think is the manager asks the man how much he put into the safe and the guy tells him 150, even though we both know that ain’t the truth. He’s looking all confident, like he knows there’s nearly a mill in the safe, so there’s almost no way to prove that a hundred and fifty ain’t his. And the manager looks him up and down for a long moment, then says ‘you know there’s a scale on the inside of this safe, right’ and the guy is like ‘no’ and the manager is like ‘yeah, it weighs how much money is in there at any given time and it even keeps track. Now, this safe starts with a specific number of bills in it, just in case of an emergency, but the safe keeps track of how much that changes by doing a weight calculation. Each bill has its own unique weight, you know?’ But this guy obviously doesn’t know, so I can just see him become less and less confident.” Tessa laughed and put down more cards and took the raised bets.
“And so the manager says, ‘I’ll make you a deal, sir. If what you say is accurate and the safe shows that 150k went into it just now, then I will double it to 300k and you’ll have my apologies. But, if you were wrong, then you return all the chips and get nothing. Deal?’ I swear, Brooke, it was the most badass thing that I’ve ever seen. This asshole was speechless. His mouth was gaping open and his eyes were wide with terror. I’ve never seen a man look so close to soilin’ himself. It was great.” She laughed and called for last bets. “Then this manager nods and says ‘I thought so. Why don’t you take your chips and go to a different table? Leave this employee alone.’ And the guy did. He practically had his tail behind his legs, too. Then the man I thought was a manager hands me his business card and says, ‘Page me if you need anything’ before just casually walking away. His card said ‘Anthony Dunham, owner and proprietor,’ and I almost lost it right then and there, I swear.”
“Wow,” Brooke murmured. “That’s incredible.”
“Uh-huh,” Tessa agreed, pushing the pot toward the winner of the hand. “And ours aren’t the only stories like this. Apparently, Mr. Dunham does this a lot. I’ve only witnessed a few of my own personal situations, but he does seriously look out for his employees. Super-chill guy, if you stay on his good side.”
“And if you get on his bad side?” Brooke asked, half-joking.
“I don’t think anybody’s ever lived to tell the tale.”
Something about that excited Brooke. But she made a note to stay on Mr. Dunham’s good side. She wanted to keep this job—and her life—after all.
*****
Halfway through their shift, Brooke heard her name called by a nearby manager and she glanced up to see him just a few feet away, holding a small yellow piece of square paper.
“You’re Brooke Abernathy?” he asked. She nodded. “Mr. Dunham would like to see you for a few minutes. Tell the secretary your name when you get up to his office and she’ll buzz you through.”
She wondered what the boss wanted to talk to her about for on
ly a few minutes.
“Do you think I’m getting fired already?” she whispered to Tessa. “For what happened the other day?”
“Why would you get fired?” Tessa asked. “None of what happened was any of your fault. You can’t control how men react to losing a hand of blackjack. Besides, that’s a yellow slip; not pink. You’re in the clear. The worst that could happen is some light chastisement, but Mr. D is not too rough on the newcomers, you know? Just go up and see what he wants. I’ll be right here when you get back.”
Brooke gave her a grateful smile as she stood and made her way toward the elevator. It was the only way to get to the top floors, except for the emergency staircases that only unlocked in the case of a fire or some other kind of emergent situation. Brooke thought she would have much preferred to take the stairs, though, if only to give herself more time to think about what she wanted to say to Mr. Dunham when she got up there.
By the time the elevator reached his floor, she still had not come up with anything other than ‘sorry, I hope I’ve done nothing wrong’ and the voice in the back of her head (which sounded suspiciously like Tessa Silver) told her that she was being ridiculous. There was no reason for her to be worrying so much about this. Mr. Dunham was not going to punish her, because Brooke had really done absolutely nothing wrong.
Or had she?
The secretary greeted her with a prim smile and Brooke found herself straightening under her scrutinizing gaze. “Can I help you, dear?” she asked.
“I’m here to see Mr. Dunham; my name is Brooke Abernathy,” she informed the older woman. “He’s expecting me.”
The woman looked at Brooke carefully with her steely blue gaze, before nodding and pressing a button on her intercom. “Mr. Dunham?” she inquired.
“Yes, Jeannie?” Mr. Dunham’s staticky voice responded.