I force myself to look at Mom instead. She’s glowing—glowing—and the sound of her laugh mixes with Harper’s in a way that makes my chest ache. This is the family she’s always deserved. The family she’s always wanted.
Then Harper laughs again when she outsmarts her dad and gets the pot of pennies. It’s not sarcastic or guarded. It’s easy andjoyful.It rearranges her whole face as much as it does her dad’s, smoothing out the lines I didn’t realize are always so tight.
For a second, I see the girl she might’ve been before the lies and the abandonment and whatever other hell she’s lived through.
She could be that girl again. At least here in these walls. Safe with us.
I send that thought out to whoever might be listening like a prayer against everything waiting to go wrong. This moment right here is so perfect. Mom’s humming as she deals cards. Silas is relaxed and actually laughing, and for once Harper’s not looking for a fight.
If I could justhold this together… if I can keep my hands and my thoughts clean, maybe I could convince Harper to stay after all.
“Your tell is showing, Boy Scout,” Harper murmurs, catching me mid-stare. Her voice is low and husky. It does things to my insides.
I shift, trying not to look like I’m sweating. “I’m not showing anything.”
Her smile turns razor sharp, wicked and devastating. “Oh, sweetheart. You might as well be playing with your cards face up.”
The endearment lands like a body shot. I feel it in my gut. In my spine. In places I shouldn’t be feeling anything when we’re three feet away from my mom.
I try to focus on the rules of the game. I’ve always been good at rules. Rules are predictable—unlike Harper, who’s playing on instinct and chaos and somehowstillbeating me.
Rule #837: don’t notice how beautiful your stepsister is when she bends low with mischief glinting in those dangerous eyes of hers.
As soon as the game was announced, I thought,Awesome. All those years of poker theory and probability calculations are finally going to pay off. Except every time I’ve had a decent hand tonight, Harper’s folded before I could capitalize on it. She’s called every bluff before I even get the words out.
It’s like she’s hardwired to see through meand my polished prep school bullshit. Straight into the parts I don’t let anyone glimpse.
By the time it’s down to just the two of us, the pile of pennies glinting in the center of the table looks ridiculous. Like treasure piled up in a dragon’s cave.
Harper twisted her hair into a messy bun half an hour ago, and I try not to get distracted by her bare neck as she studies her cards with an unreadable expression. She’s not just beautiful, she’sdangerous.Not because she’s reckless—but because sheknowsthe effect she has on those around her.
“All in,” she says, her voice just above a whisper. Then she pushes her whole stack to the center.
I watch the pennies slide—trying to count them as they move, trying to calculate odds, trying to maintain control over something I can’t actually control. One, two, skip three, start over. One, two, three, four?—
My pulse spikes.
My hand? A pair of tens. Not great, but not nothing.
I study her face, looking for a tell—anything to latch onto—but she’s still as stone. Calm and gorgeous. Watching me from beneath those dark lashes like she already knows how this ends.
I hesitate. Shehasto be bluffing.
She won with an ace high last hand, and the odds of her pulling two incredible hands back-to-back are insane. But her body language doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t waver. It’s that same confidence she carries through life.
I fold.
And immediately regret it as I watch her pull all the pennies from the pot toward her stash.
“New hand,” she chirps, smug like shewasbluffing, and I try not to growl under my breath as Mom deals again.
I pick up my cards. Two queens. Two sixes.
My brain immediately lights up like a Christmas tree. This is it. This isthe one. A full house is just a heartbeat away.
Keep it cool.
The first two community cards hit the table: a queen. A jack.