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It’d been two weeks since Aspen had left me at the hospital. Throwing the contract in my face in what was no doubt a defense mechanism after the scene her parents had caused.
I’d tried to talk to her several times since, but every time she insisted she needed space.
And while I respected that, it hurt like hell.
She even blocked the transfer of the money she was owed per our contract when I tried to send it. She texted, saying she didn’t want it.
Everyone in the hand folded except for Doyle, and I nodded to myself, more than happy to battle against him. If there was anyone who deserved the anger boiling in my gut, it was this asshole.
Asher delt the flop, giving me the nut straight. With the flush draw too. I had a strong as hell hand, but I wasn't about to show Doyle that, so I checked.
Doyle shook his head, throwing in a bet that I quickly matched.
Asher dealt the turn.
I checked again, wanting to give Doyle all the rope to hang himself.
“You know,” he said. “I've watched that clip of you knocking that guy out over a dozen times. It gets funnier every time. It’s all anyone is talking about.”
“You're crossing a line, Doyle,” Ethan said in a warning tone.
Doyle laughed. “How am I crossing a line when I'm just stating facts?”
Weston parted his lips like he was about to get in on defending me, but I raised a hand to my friends. I knew what he was doing, and it was working.
“I'm already pissed off,” I said. “But you knew that already didn't you, Doyle? You want to keep pushing me? That's fine. Put your money where your mouth is.”
I didn't give a shit anymore. Not after everything that had happened in the last two weeks. Not after realizing that I’d somehow found the love of my life and lost her in the span of an hour.
“If you're so confident, why don'tyouput your money where your mouth is?” Doyle threw that back at me, and I rolled my eyes. “Put the Calgary team on the line. Or are you still too chickenshit?”
“Are you trying to get thrown out of the game?” Asher asked Doyle.
He huffed at him. “You can't throw me out. The only way to get me out of this game is if I lose my seat or I die. It's all written up in that delightful little contract/NDA that you guys mademe sign at the beginning of this. Deal with it. If McClaren can't handle the bet, he should get out of this hand.”
“I can handle the bet just fine,” I said. “If you want Calgary on the line, put your own team up for grabs.” I figured that should be enough to get him to calm the fuck down. The NHL Bangor team was one of the only legit establishments he had in his pocket.
“Fine,” Doyle said, scribbling something down on a blank chip. “Bangor may suck, but at least we have the number one draft pick. That should be more than enough to stand against your Calgary team, if you have the balls to call.”
“Don't bet your team, Crossland,” Weston said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, it's not worth it,” Ethan said.
“Doyle is just trying to rile you,” Asher added.
I looked at Gareth, who silently told me to take him to the cleaners if I had the goods. Which I did.
I grabbed one of my own blank chips and wrote the Calgary team on it. A tiny piece of me screamed that this was a stupid idea, and that I should have learned my lesson betting things that I wasn't willing to lose.
But after everything?
I'd already lost the one thing I couldn't live without, and I would have traded my father's car if it would help me earn Aspen back.
I tossed in the chip, and Asher let out a heavy sigh as he dealt the last card on the river.
There was only one card that could beat me, and I highly doubted Doyle had it. I wrote down another bet for one of my favorite yachts.
Doyle instantly called, laughing as he declared he had a straight.
