Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck #8) - Emilia Finn Page 0,17

around.”

Anger spikes through my blood. “He’s the felon, Bry. Will is. He’s the one who couldn’t stick around.”

“So you wanted her to choose you over her brother? You? A dude she knew for a week, over the guy who was literally her only family, her guardian? That’s what you’re telling me?”

“Yes! She should have chosen me. Because if roles were reversed, and I had to choose between her and Bean—”

“Oh good.” Bry lays his head back and laughs. “We’re moving past philosophy, and diving straight into lies now, huh? This should be fun.” He smiles at the ceiling, and ignores the huff of impatience Zelda exhales. “Do you honestly believe that girl you knew left and took your baby? Search deep inside your heart, Jamie. Remember back to that girl, and think about it. Would she do that?”

“I don’t… No… I…” I lay back with a sigh. “I miss her,” I admit on a rasped groan. “Four years, and I can’t let it go.”

Victoria

The News Always Breaks a Damn Heart

I walk in our front door after work at the club on a Thursday night, and drop my bag on a small, semi-circular table pushed up against the wall. The table has three legs, and is rickety even at the best of times, but having me drop my bag on it each day tests its strength to breaking point.

“Will?”

I swipe a hand over my brow, sweaty from the humidity in the air, and make my way into the kitchen to find him sitting at the counter with a manila folder and its contents spread out around him.

“Will…?”

“Bubbles.” He looks up and smiles for just a moment, then goes back to studying his paperwork. “How was work? The kids play nice today?”

“Ha.” I move past him and swing the fridge open to find a jug of suuuuuper weak sweetened tea on the shelf. It’s not weak because we like it that way. It’s weak because, around here, we dilute everything with water to make it last longer. “They were great. This one kid, Charlotte, she’s gonna be the next Cher, I’m certain of it.”

“Mm? A high school dropout with five last names?”

“No, doofus. A star who likes to dance and sing. She’s five, so the high school thing is still up for debate, but she’s got the work ethic of a farm horse, the drive of Cher, and there are even rumors about her being dyslexic, so there’s that.”

“You know a concerning number of things about Cher.” Finally, he takes his attention away from the files and really smiles for me. “Fan?”

I scoff. “Who isn’t? Even putting aside the fact she’s a living legend, she also got to sing with Christina Aguilera… and hell, for that alone, I’d do her.”

“You’d do Cher?”

“Yeah. Well, I’d do Christina.” I grab two glasses from the cupboard and start pouring. “But if Christina said that Cher had to be involved, I wouldn’t cry about it.”

“You’re weird. But also…” He flicks to another page and laughs. “Same.

“Gross.” I set his glass down by his elbow, toss the pitcher back into the fridge, then I stop by my brother with my own drink, and read over his shoulder. “Whatcha looking at?”

“Nate Hardy. Fighter. Handyman. Dockworker. Petty criminal. Twenty-three years old at time of death.”

“Disappearance,” I correct him. “Twenty-three at the time of his disappearance. There’s a difference, and you need to remember that. It’ll be important in court if the cops get close again.”

“He’s a dockworker I met once on the job,” Will continues. “And I met him once on a fight circuit. We fought, I won, and so when the cops strap me to a lie detector and ask if I’ve ever hurt this dude, I can’t say no.”

“First of all, do they do those lie detector tests anymore?” I reach into our bowl of fruit and select a mandarin. Peeling it open, I continue to scan the documents over Will’s shoulder. “Like, Ben Stiller and Robert DeNiro-style interrogations, or do they do it some other way?”

“Bubbles?” Will turns to me with an odd expression. “How the fuck should I know? I make it a point not to step inside cop shops.”

“True, I guess. Anywho, should you ever get caught and they ask you, you just explain the truth. Yes, you met the guy once. You fought – competitively – you won, you went your separate ways. You didn’t see him again until he showed up at the docks for work, you shook hands, declared a truce,