The Bluff (Graham Brothers, #2)(93)

The subject-change tactic sometimes works with Pat. Today, though, I know he sees right through it. “I came to fetch you,” Pat says.

“For?”

“Black Friday afternoon poker? Come on, Jamie. Don’t tell me you forgot. It’s tradition.”

I absolutely forgot. Squeezing my eyes closed, I mentally count to ten. I get to three. “Just family?”

“Lindy won’t even be there. She’s catching up with her girlfriends. And Jo is getting pedicures with Mari.” Pat’s gaze sharpens. “Why? Who are you trying to avoid?”

“Everyone.”





“Bid’s to you, James,” Collin says, rapping his knuckles on the table. “Where’s your head at today?”

Definitely not here. Not in this game and not in this town. I’ve done my best to lose my chips or, when I’ve got a hand like I do right now—pocket aces—to fold so I don’t stand a chance of winning.

“Fold.” I lay my cards down on the table and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest.

Pat eyes me. “Same.” He slaps his cards down and mirrors my pose. His eyes have a gleam I don’t like. He elbows Chase.

Chase’s eyes dart between the two of us. “Uh, I will also fold?”

“Me too.” Collin pushes his cards away and gives me a long stare.

“You can’t all fold because I fold,” I snap.

“Sure we can,” Pat says, grinning. “We just did.”

Tank sets his cards down and puts his elbows on the table, leaning forward. “Anyone want to explain why I’m about to win the pot with nothing but a five-high hand?”

Chase shifts in his seat. “I don’t know why we’re folding. I just don’t want to get punched.”

“No one is getting punched,” Harper says from her spot on the couch. She sets down her book. “What’s going on?”

I glare at Pat. “Nothing. Get back in the game. All of you.”

My most infuriating brother only grins. His face looks more punchable by the second. “Where you go, I go, brother.”

“Me too,” Collin says. “Where are we going, exactly? Just so I’m clear.”

“Down,” Pat says. “We’re going down.”

“No, we are not going down.” I glare.

“Like it or not, we’re in this together, Jamie,” Pat says.

Tank clears his throat. “Will someone please explain—”

“James is folding.” Pat gives me a pointed look, a smug look. It’s the look that says he’s figured me out.

“I think we can all see that,” Chase says.

“Not this hand,” Pat says. “Or, not just the hand. He’s folding Dark Horse.”

Way to throw me under the bus, then back up and run me over a few more times for good measure, Patrick.

A barrage of questions and exclamations follow, all of which I ignore. Leaning my head forward in my hands, all the noise becomes an indistinct wall of sound.

I’m cocooned inside of it, completely still, untouchable. Only a high-pitched whine fills my ears, the rest of the sun in the room muffled beneath it. I close my eyes and jam the heels of my hands into them.

It’s not until I feel a soft hand on my shoulder and a voice says, “Jamie?” that I snap back into the room.

Harper is standing just behind me, one hand lightly on my shoulder. Miraculously, she seems to have shut everyone else up, but my head is still buzzing, still overfull. Their faces are a blur around the table.

I rub my eyes. “What?”

“Want to take a walk?” Harper asks gently.

“No. I don’t know.” I run a hand through my hair. Yank it through my hair, is more the truth. A few strands come out, and I shake them loose from my fingertips, watching as they fall to the floor.

“Come,” Harper says, lightly tapping my shoulder. When I flinch at her touch, she backs up. “Sit over here with me for a second.”

“I don’t need to—”

“Come and sit.”

At Harper’s fierce tone, both dogs jog over and sit down at her feet. Ignoring the rest of my uncharacteristically silent family, I let Harper somewhat forcibly lead me to Tank’s new chair, a buttery leather one he doesn’t like anyone else to sit in. Right now, though, he doesn’t say a word. I collapse in the chair and meet Harper’s eyes as she kneels in front of me.

“There you are.” She gives me a soft smile and pats my knee before thinking better of it and clasping her hands. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Winnie’s face flashes before my eyes. Not her smirk or the fiery anger from earlier when she left. I see the vulnerability when she woke from the nightmare, remember the way she felt so small in my arms. I rub my eyes again until she disappears.

“I messed up.”

I shove a hand into my pocket, my fingers brushing Winnie’s seed. I press it under my fingernail, and the tiny pinch of pain grounds me, reminding me of what I can’t have. I tried to throw the seed away last night when I got undressed for bed, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Harper gives me a kind smile, one I definitely don’t deserve. “Nothing you did can’t be fixed.”