Page 181 of Double or Nothing

I stand and take my mug to the sink. Time to recollect my own stance and get the poker face back in position.

“All I’m saying is that you’ve both got a great hand,” I tell her. “A winning hand, most likely. You’re simply too bloody terrified to play it.”

Alice says nothing.

The coffee machine hums behind me.

“Go back to bed,” I tell her. “Go back to Bryce while you still can.”

“Are you coming? Are you joining us?”

The question is quiet.

Dangerous.

I keep my back to her while I rinse out my mug, dithering on purpose.

“Maybe. In a minute.”

Another silence.

Then the stool moves against the floor.

Alice’s footsteps cross the kitchen. In my direction. She stands behind me, close enough that I hear her breathing.

“You have cards too, Jack. You’re one of the main players at the table in all of this, whether you like it or not. Because even if I’m out of the game, Bryce isn’t. You might get the opportunity that I don’t. So don’t fuck it up. Don’t cut him out because you’re too pissed off to admit you’ve got a high stakes heart sitting right in your hand.”

She leaves before I can turn around.

I listen to her cross the apartment and disappear into the bedroom, back to Bryce.

The kitchen falls silent. Lonely.

You have cards too, Jack.

I stare down at the mug in my hand.

Alice is wrong about me. I know I have cards, and plenty of them, just not the ones she thinks I have. I’ll play the game for Bryce and Alice, because they don’t have enough faith in their own hands to win the round. I’ll stare down the enemies across the table, and beat them with a grin on my face.

But as for me, and my own place in all this?

This isn’t my game. It never could be, not when it comes to playing hearts.

When it comes to my life, I’m not just the joker. I’m the Jack of fucking heartbreakers, too.

I’ll know exactly when it’s time to fold.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

BRYCE

Iwake up feeling like hell.

For several seconds, I lie perfectly still and stare at the ceiling, trying to work out which part of my misery is physical and which part has Christopher Otley’s name stamped all over it.

Despite my sore ass, it’s most definitely the latter.

We have eight days now. Eight.