Double Blind
Page 35
Ethan slowed to a full stop. I can’t do this.
Randy caught the look on his face and brushed a kiss across Ethan’s lips. “You’re always a high ace to me. No matter what happens. Just keep moving, Slick, and you’ll be fine.” He kissed him again, and then he was gone with the rest of them.
It was just Ethan and Crabtree.
And the cards.
Crabtree smiled, carnivorous and deadly, the man who could cut your heart right out of your chest and not so much as break a sweat. He’d give Ethan no quarter.
The problem was, Ethan knew he could never beat a man like this, not now and not ever. So he did the only thing he could do, what Randy, and even Crabtree, had taught him to do.
He bluffed.
He rubbed at his throat and looked around, feigning nervousness. It wasn’t difficult.
“Need something to drink, boy?” Crabtree’s tone suggested he’d be happy to offer hemlock.
Ethan nodded to the full water bottle beside him. “No. It’s my hands. They’re too dry from the cards.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket which was hanging over the back of his chair and pretended to fumble until he was sure he could withdraw the object without his hands shaking like crazy. Uncapping the bottle, he squirted a small amount of the fragrant liquid on his hands.
He smoothed it around then recapped the bottle before setting it on the table so the CRABTREE & EVELYN label faced the gangster.
Crabtree continued to shuffle the cards. “My mother loved that brand. Her favorite was Evelyn Rose. That was where she got my name. And, of course, where I got the inspiration for the one I gave myself.”
Ethan’s gaze flickered to the cameras.
“They’re on a feedback loop, and they will be until I say otherwise. No one’s watching us right now. No one can hear us. I suppose I should point out no one will be allowed in. No one.” He put the cards down. “So. What do we do now, Mr. Ellison?”
Ethan thought he might have a heart attack right then and there. “I thought we were going to play cards. Has that changed?”
Crabtree chuckled. “I like you, Ethan.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ethan said, and he fucking meant it.
“I like your style, that you’re confident but not cocky. I like how you seem to understand the stakes, the true stakes, but you don’t let them intimidate you—not for long. I like that you have heart, that you take risks, and when they don’t pan out, you pick yourself up and try again.”
His smile faded, and he aimed a fat finger in warning at Ethan.
“But your self-doubt is going to kill you, if you don’t get it under control. You can’t rely on Randy to bolster you. You’ll lose him, but not in a big dramatic moment like your little pansy from American Fork. It’ll wear off piece by piece, and he’ll do it for you every time, shaving off parts of himself until there’s nothing left, not for him to live on, not for you to shore yourself up with. Get yourself under control, or you’re going to be an even bigger fuckup than I was. You understand me, Ellison?”
Ethan felt oddly calm. “I understand you, Mr. Carter.”
Crabtree glanced at the camera, made a motion with his finger then began to shuffle again. “Shall we play?”
He dealt the cards, two each.
Ethan left his on the table and watched Crabtree, who didn’t look at his either.
“What would you do with this casino, Mr. Ellison, if you could afford to buy it?”
“I’d run it. I’d continue the theme of harking back to the glory days of Vegas, but I’d only continue doing that if it continued working. I would do a lot of research too. That’s how I always operate with investments. I’m thorough. I’m meticulous. And I’m careful, as I’m sure you already know. If I were to err, it would be on the side of caution—unless, like this, the whole of the casino was on the line.”
Crabtree kept his face unreadable. “And why would you do that?”
Even without a tell from his opponent, Ethan relaxed. “Because I’ve come to love it, not as a business but as a place. Herod’s gave me back my heart, possibly my soul. Being here, playing here, and working here has taught me more about life and the risks we take—that we need to take—than anything else I’ve done. If Herod’s were mine, I would take the risks I needed to keep it. I wouldn’t be anyone’s man. I wouldn’t be anyone’s front. I would abide by the law. I would pay my taxes and, if I were doing well, I would invest in the community. Because I would make Las Vegas my home. That’s what I would do, sir, if I could afford to buy this casino.”
“And if you won,” Crabtree added dryly.
“Yes.”
Ethan waited.
Crabtree tapped his finger on the felt for a few more seconds. “What about the name? Would you change it?”
Ethan looked appalled. “Absolutely not. For heaven’s sake, half the value of a place is in the branding, and I’ve just killed myself for a month stamping Herod’s across the psyche of everyone I could reach.”
Crabtree smiled, a bright, beaming grin, and Ethan felt like a veil lifted. The gangster, the trickster, the gruff old bastard and every one of his veneers fell away, and Ethan just saw a man to whom life had not always been fair. He saw a man who had tried to adjust the odds of life and lost a little more than he’d won even so. He saw a man who had bet on black and lost, a man who had retreated from the pain of it. A man who had tried to hide from that pain, had tried to mask it, but like Randy and Ethan, had never quite been able to hide completely.
Crabtree was an ace too. He was an ace, low so long he never thought he’d ever get up again. An ace, waiting for someone to give him a reason to rise.
Then it was gone. But it had been there, and Ethan had seen it. He knew he would never forget that Evelyn Crabtree Carter, not ever. Ethan wasn’t playing just for himself, but for Randy, and Crabtree too.
Maybe he was playing for all the aces in the world, for every man and woman whom life had hit too hard, who needed one moment of wonder to believe again.
“Enough of this chatter.” Crabtree peeked at his cards and tossed in his ante. “Let’s play.”
Ethan skimmed the ante off his stack as well and threw the chips gently into the center of the table. Crabtree had acted out of turn, but with the two of them, it hardly mattered for the blinds. The real game began now, and Ethan was the first to act. He could call, he could raise, or he could fold.
Without looking at his cards, Ethan pushed the whole lot of his million-plus dollars in chips into the center of the table.
He would never beat Crabtree in regular play. He might get lucky for a while, but he would never get enough of an advantage to truly come out ahead. And Crabtree wasn’t going to give it to him, because he wanted to test him, to beat him up. He wanted to win the pot himself and then put conditions on it so he could maintain control—because he was going to give the casino to Ethan anyway. He couldn’t own it, but if Crabtree was the one who gave the casino to Ethan, he would always be in charge. He would work hard to keep this advantage. Ethan did not, in any way, shape, or form, have the best of it by playing a regular game.
This move changed everything.
With Ethan all-in, Crabtree had two choices—he could fold or call. If he called, he would have to go all-in too, because Ethan had more chips than he did. Crabtree would win if he had the better hand—but Ethan would win if he didn’t.
What mattered now was Crabtree did not have the best of it anymore. He couldn’t read Ethan, because Ethan hadn’t looked at his cards. There were endless variables yet, with the flop not down and with no one else in play. The only certainty was Crabtree’s own hand. It had better be good, and he had better be lucky, if he called. If he folded, Ethan would only gain the ante. Not much would change.
Of course, if Crabtree folded this time, Ethan would do the same thing over again. And again. One way or another, this game was going to be left up to fate.
Ethan didn’t care what Randy said. Fate owed him big.
2 of spades, 10 of spades, 4 of clubs, 9 of spades, 6 of spades. Possible straight, possible flush. Several possible pairs, but no full houses, no four of a kind.
Ethan looked up at Crabtree and waited.
The gangster turned over his cards: king of clubs, queen of clubs. Crabtree had high card.
Ethan flipped over his cards: 2 and a 3, offsuit.
He had a pair. Of 2s, but it was still a pair. And a pair beat high card.
He’d won.
Ethan stared out at the huge, huge pile of chips. Then he laughed. And laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
RANDY ENJOYED WATCHING Billy and Ethan tussle over the sale of the casino.
The scene took place in Billy’s office, which Randy enjoyed knowing would shortly be Ethan’s. While Ethan spoke heatedly of deficits and improvements necessary and Billy essentially rolled over slowly under the intensity of Slick full steam, Randy sank into the sofa, dug the toes of his boots into the plush rug and began to catalog all the places and positions in which he was going to fuck the new owner. And, of course, be fucked in return.
Mitch showed up as Billy and Ethan finished up negotiations, holding a large box, and once Sam got done mobbing him, Mitch showed them what was inside—chips. Heavy, fucking beautiful casino chips of pristine color and satisfying weight, each one stamped, quite simply, with Herod’s.
“I’ve been sitting on these bastards for a week.” Mitch cast an irritated look at Crabtree. “The trailer is full of them, and new dice and cards too. I could’ve been home a long time ago, but he wouldn’t let me come back.”
Sam was pissed. “Why would he make you do that?”
“Because he said you needed some time without me to spread your wings.” Mitch sighed. “And he was right. Sunshine, I don’t know what you’ve been doing, but keep it up, and tell me if I get in the way of it again.”
Sam’s lips curved in a wicked smile. “I want my own bike. And by bike I mean motorcycle, not a ten-speed. I’m buying it with my own money, with my first paycheck. Something small and practical. But I want one.”
Mitch drew Sam into his lap and kissed him. “Whatever you want, baby. Whatever you want.”
Ethan, joining them at last, picked up a rack of chips, withdrew a hundred-dollar token and turned it idly in his fingers. “What’s this?”
“My gift to the new owner of Herod’s Poker Room and Casino.” Crabtree lounged in the chair across from Randy, his pose casual, but he was nervous. It was hard, after all, to give your baby away, even when you knew the man taking her from you was perfect.
Ethan turned the chip over a few more times. “That was thoughtful, sir. Thank you.” He tucked the chip into his pocket and glanced at his watch. “I think the concert is about to start, Sam. I’d hate for you to miss any of it.”
They all went to watch together, sitting right in the front row, and Randy hardly saw anything on stage because he was too busy watching Sam. He watched, too, the way Mitch held his husband close, glad to be with him, and Randy enjoyed how right it was to see the two of them together, partnered, whole and happy.
When the performance stopped and Ethan took the stage, Randy knew what was coming, and he accepted his role in the lost bet with grace, or as much grace as he could manage in a pink feather boa, sequined underwear he pulled up over his jeans, a fuzzy yellow vest that made no sense at all, and the biggest fucking hat he’d ever seen. Actually, all things considered, it was a lot of fun. He danced like a fool on stage next to a pop princess who really was as kind and gracious and absolutely beautiful as Sam had billed her to be.
Then he was done, and he settled in to watch the rest of the show with Ethan.
Halfway through, Ethan led him out of the theater to the craps table.
“I want you to play with me.” Ethan handed him a tray of chips. “I want you to play against the house, against fate, and I want you to have a good time while you do it.”
Randy took the tray and grimaced down at the table. “That’s a tall order.”
He tried, though, for Slick, and he had to admit, it wasn’t all bad. He did have to work not to tense up every time he rolled, bracing himself for the seven. He hated betting the Field or Hardways, and he refused point-blank to make a proposition bet. Still, it bit like hell when he rolled a seven at last. But he got over it, and yeah, it had been fun.
He’d even come out a little ahead, overall. That wasn’t so bad.
“Your turn, Slick,” he said, and stepped aside.
Ethan took his place at the end of the table, but it was weird because he seemed nervous. Probably residual nerves from the game and everything else. Randy thought it was sweet, and he ran a finger down his lover’s arm, a quiet, soothing gesture. It didn’t do much good, though.
Then fuck if Mitch and Sam didn’t show up on the other side of the table, Sam eager, Mitch with a wicked grin.
Something was up.
“You’re missing your show, Peaches,” Randy said carefully, watching Sam’s face.
“I need to be at this show right now.” He nudged Ethan. “Go on. What are you waiting for?”
“I slowed down.” Ethan was almost green now. “I have to stop doing that.”
He threw.
Except what fell wasn’t dice. Randy stared, his whole world going round and round as he stared down at the pair of shining gold rings.
Ethan looked ready to hurl, but he put on a bluff that probably fooled everybody else. “I didn’t buy these with Crabtree’s money, or anything from the casino. I did some investment work for Sam, and he gave me the money for them in trade. So these come from me, not from this.” He turned to Randy again, full of terror, and love, and hope. “Would—would you marry me?”
Randy’s heart soared. “You do know they call it Domestic Partnership for us gay boys, here in Nevada.”
“I’m calling it a marriage.” Ethan nudged Randy’s boot with his sleek black loafer. “Come on, Ace. Stop dicking around and tell me yes or no.”
“I am never going to stop dicking around. Especially with you.”
The crowd gathered around them broke into snickers.
Randy looped his arms around Ethan’s neck. “Yeah, Slick. I want a marriage with you. And a partnership, and whatever fucking else you want. I want you, Ethan Ellison.”
“Well, you’ve got me, Randy Jansen.”
Randy beamed, a grin running all the way down to his toes, cracking his heart open as the crowd cheered and whistled. He pressed his mouth to Ethan’s and kissed him, opening all the way, letting the man he loved into his heart—all the way in, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, and all of that shit.
Forever.
About the Author
Heidi Cullinan has always enjoyed a good love story, provided it has a happy ending. Proud to be from the first Midwestern state with full marriage equality, Heidi is a vocal advocate for LGBT rights. She writes positive-outcome romances for LGBT characters struggling against insurmountable odds because she believes there’s no such thing as too much happy ever after. When Heidi isn’t writing, she enjoys cooking, reading, playing with her cats, and watching anime, with or without her family. Find out more about Heidi at heidicullinan.com.
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MORE BOOKS IN THE SPECIAL DELIVERY SERIES COMING SOON
SPECIAL DELIVERY
Sam knows he’ll never find the excitement he craves in Middleton, Iowa. Then Sam meets Mitch, an independent, long-haul trucker. When Mitch offers to take him on a road trip west, Sam jumps at
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HOOCH AND CAKE
All Sam and Mitch want to do is get married, but between their busy schedules and the judgment of a small town, it’s not as easy as it should be. Then their best friend Randy shows up, and the wedding that almost wasn’t is about to become the wedding Iowa never even dreamed to see.
THE TWELVE DAYS OF RANDY
Randy and Ethan are ready to enjoy their first Christmas at home together, but when Crabtree ropes Randy into wily holiday antics, Ethan feels left out in the cold. When Herod’s new owner discovers his husband only plays at being an imp to hide a Christmas spirit bigger and tackier than Las Vegas, Ethan vows to find a way to have his cake and eat it too. Especially if Randy’s the one jumping out of the middle.
TOUGH LOVE
Chenco Ortiz harbors fierce dreams of being a drag star on a glittering stage, but when leatherman Steve Vance introduces him to the intoxicating world of sadomasochism, he finds strength in body and mind he’s never dreamed to seek—strength enough maybe to save his tortured Papi too.
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