AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’re already doing that. You make me calmer.” He tucks the flower into my hair on top of my ear. It feels like an apology of sorts. “My beautiful, Evie. Ready?”
“Yes.” We reach the door that mysteriously opens before he even knocks.
A pretty young woman smiles at us. “Mr. McAlister?”
“Dylan McAlister. And Ms. Berlinger.”
“Great,” she says. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Sixteen hours pass. Monetarily Dylan’s up and down – winning some, losing more. The stacks of chips in front of him dwindle. I’m chatting with one of the hostesses in a far corner of the room, not even watching the table when an empathic reaction rolls in, striking with a cold fury like I’ve been stabbed in the chest with a fat icicle. My gut twists. My heart hurts. And I know the game is over for him. I break out in a sweat and sink in a pit of crappy sensations.
“You okay?” the hostess asks. “You look a little green.”
“I’m good. Just tired.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a few seconds and pinch the thick acupuncture point on the fleshy web between my thumb and forefinger, the stabby sensation rooting me to reality.
‘This isn’t your quicksand,’ Queasy says. ‘Don’t drown in it.’
I’m not sure I want to shut this empathic hit down. It connects me to Dylan and if I hold on tight I might find a pony under this pile. It would be nice to do that before the skin crawls off my bones.
‘Everything’s a teachable moment,’ Hope says.
‘How so?’ I ask.
‘Identify the feelings. Name them,’ she says. ‘That way you own the pain, it doesn’t own you.’
If I get a grip on these emotions maybe I can mitigate the damage they’re wreaking inside me, and help Dylan as well.
Three. Two. One.
I sink into the empathic layer and the world spinning out of control around me slows down. The twists in my gut soften, untangle and in the murkiness I identify the sensation: desperation.
Dylan’s desperation.
Weird. As soon as I name it the feeling within me dissipates only to be replaced by the next wave. A bitter taste of bile blossoms in my mouth. I pull back, grow space, and identify it. The sensation is shame.
Dylan’s shame.
Wow. I might be able to do something with this.
This time the poker marathon lasts twenty hours instead of twenty-three. Dylan folds at the end, hustled by a guy my age who made a fortune in a social media company. I catch myself the second before I cringe in regret and keep a poker face.
The players tip the help and the event organizer. Folks use the bathrooms, gather their stuff, and wander out of the bungalow. Dylan and I walk back down the cedar-chip pathway toward the main building and the parking lot. It’s late afternoon, not as hot as the day before, and a gentle breeze rustles the greenery. I’m wiped – for both of us. I’d lay money that sex is off the table but my heart still sinks when he confirms it.
“I’ll order you a car, or you can train it back to the city,” Dylan says, slipping an envelope inside my purse. “I can drop you at the station.”
Anxiety bubbles and I finger my necklace. Here we are again. What if this is the last time I see him? “Are you blowing out of town?”
He shakes his head. “I couldn’t get a direct flight. I’m staying a day to recoup.”
Hope pinches me. ‘Opportunity knocks…’
I square my shoulders. “What are you doing between now and then?”
“Sleeping. Talking to my mom. Doing something that involves nature. I miss nature. These games just keep going and going and eventually you forget to get outside and move. The great outdoors is literally a stone’s throw away from where I’ve been holed up in a room breathing crappy recycled air but I forget about that because I’m going over the game in my head, or thinking about the next one.”
“Do you over-think everything?” I bend down and pluck a daisy from a fat, happy cluster.
“Yes. For the most part, I do.”
