When I get back to my room, I flip on the television and find the tournament. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Kip’s face floods the screen, a clamor of microphones in his face as they ask him how he feels.
“I’m not really sure how I feel just yet,” he says, laughing. It’s a charming laugh that I’m sure is melting panties across the country right now. “I just…” He pauses, biting down on his bottom lip and looking up for a second to compose himself. “I just want to dedicate this to my father, Oliver Jackson Sr. Thank you for sacrificing your dream so that I could have mine. I didn’t win this tournament today. You did. I love you.”
The announcers go on and on about Kip’s dad and his condition and I wonder how they found out. Did Kip reveal it in one of his pre-tournament interviews? Had they been talking about it while we were at the final table? Regardless, this will make for one of the best headlines in the tournament’s history.
FISH TAKES HOME GRAND PRIZE, HONORS FATHER WITH WIN.
I smile, wiping at my eyes and inhaling a deep, shaky breath. It’s all over now, and even though I feel slightly deflated, I mostly just feel lucky. Lucky to have won the money to even enter the tournament, lucky to have made it as far as I did, lucky to have the prize money to pay off the rest of school, and most of all, lucky to have known Kip.
Even if I never see him again, if I never feel him again, I was loved and touched by him in a way that I’ll never forget. His eyes, his hands, his lips will linger on me long after tonight. And for me, that’s enough.
I click off the TV and make my way to the bathroom, turning on the bath faucet and drawing it as hot as I can stand. I remove my hoodie, laughing when I see my drenched tank top underneath. I peel it off and throw it to the floor, sliding my jeans down to join it. I’m just about to step into the water when I hear my phone ping in the other room. Sighing, I sink down into the tub and let the steaming water warm my cool skin still slick from sweat.
The calls are already starting, and I’m just not ready to face them yet. Will people be proud of me? Disappointed? Confused? Let down? I sink lower into the tub and shake my head. Who cares? If I’ve learned anything about myself this semester, it’s that I care entirely too much what other people think. I know why I did what I did, and that’s all that matters.
I soak in the tub for what feels like at least an hour before finally climbing out and wrapping myself in a soft robe. Brushing my hair, I walk back into the main room and grab my phone, curiosity getting the best of me. There’s a missed call from my parents’ house, three missed texts from Jess, and about a dozen social media notifications. But I don’t really look at them, not closely, because my attention is focused on the one other text in my inbox.
From Kip.
- Meet me at the Bellagio. 11:30. -
I thought I was nervous before the tournament, but that’s nothing compared to the way I feel right now. My palms are slick with sweat, my heart is racing and sometimes it just stops altogether, and my bottom lip is swollen from the pressure of my teeth. Standing beside the large fountain in front of the Bellagio on what should be the best night of my life, this isn’t the way I should feel. But I can’t help it.
I am fucking nervous.
There are moments in our lives, little tiny specks of time, when everything changes. Moments when everything we thought mattered turn out to be the last things we care about, replaced entirely by something, or someone, we never saw coming.
The last thing Skyler owes me is to show up here tonight, but I’m praying she will anyway. After the tournament ended, everything happened so fast. There were cameras in my face and questions being screamed at me. I went from having just shy of a thousand dollars in my bank account to getting directions on how to claim my prize money of almost a million dollars. Everything changed.
Everything except my feelings for Skyler.
I know she let me win. My father, on the other hand, doesn’t. He couldn’t be more proud of me, and watching a tear slide down his worn face when I spoke to him on video chat less than an hour ago almost killed me. If Skyler doesn’t show up tonight, she’ll finish the job. Though the pressure of winning the tournament is lifted, I feel weighed down even more by the crushing reality that I may have lost the most important person in my life in the process.
Checking my watch, I cringe when I see it’s eleven minutes past the time I asked her to meet me. Even though she’s probably not coming, I can’t find it in my heart to leave just yet. I lean against the concrete railing that circles the fountain and keep scanning the growing crowd of people. The last fountain show is at midnight, and with each passing minute, the space around me grows smaller and smaller.
It’s a perfect night – warm, with a cool breeze sweeping in every now and then. The sky is clear, the Vegas lights bright, and the buzz of excitement that always lives on the strip is at full force. I always envisioned walking through Vegas with Skyler, being tourists together. I thought we would ride in the Gondolas at the Venetian, zip line down Fremont street, win or lose a shit ton of money by betting our lucky number on every Roulette table we passed. That’s how it would have been if I would have called things off with my father, but when I found out he was sick, every plan I had changed.
And now I’m here with my heart in my hand hoping like hell the girl I sacrificed to make my dad’s dream come true will give me a chance to tell her why I still deserve her.
When I know that I don’t.
What do I actually expect?
If Skyler does show up, I’ll be lucky if she lets me get a word in edgewise. I hurt her, I know that, but I also know that I love her. And for whatever reason, she let me win tonight. I’m not sure what that says. Does that mean she just wants to be done with me? Does it mean she feels sorry for me? Does it mean her priorities changed? Fuck! I don’t know. And the hardest thing to realize is I might not get my answers.
I catch a glimpse of long, flowing brown hair and icy blue eyes through a break in the crowd and my breath hitches. Standing up straighter, I wipe my palms on my dark jeans and swallow as Skyler makes her way closer, her eyes never leaving mine. When she’s standing just a few feet in front of me, her hair blowing gently in the cool breeze rolling in from the desert, I have no idea what to do. I asked her to come, I prayed that she would, but now that she’s here, my words are stuck in my throat.
“Hi,” she almost whispers.
“Hi.”
She tucks the blowing strands behind her ear and chews the inside of her lip. It’s then that I realize she’s nervous, too. “Congratulations,” she offers, smiling a little.
“Thanks.” I return the smile, but it feels forced and fake.
For a long moment, we just stand there, words hanging between us but neither of us making the move to reach out and grab them. Shifting, I tuck my hands in my pockets and stand up straighter. “Skyler, why did you do it?”
“Do what?”
I level my face. “Don’t make me say it. You know what.”
She shrugs. “Maybe I was trying to have more faith in our lucky number.”
“You knew before he even dealt those fours in the flop that I had a pocket pair. Don’t act like you didn’t. Why did you let me win?”
She sighs, crossing her arms across her small frame. “Because, Kip. I knew you wanted this for your dad and frankly you deserved it.”