AXEL
ONE MONTH LATER
For two decades, I played the devil’s game.
The bets were placed. The wheel kept spinning. But the numbers weren’t mine.
Plans and flames. Smoke and ash. Losses and wins.
I was the walking example of Akrotiri and Pompeii, preserved on the day my world erupted. Loved by a fabulous family and tortured by old ghosts. Frozen in the fire.
Not even the house edge saved me. Nothing did.
Until those killer green eyes landed on me.
“Next one represents …” Maddox trails off, scribbling his prediction for the song on a napkin:Tessa and me.
The whole family is at Café L’Ambroisie for the dueling pianos show. This is our most casual restaurant, open to the public and members alike. The atmosphere is classic New Orleans with a burnt orange and industrial wood ceiling, aged brick walls, polished concrete floor, turquoise and brass accents. It’s eclectic, always packed, and a lot of fun. We’ve been practically inseparable since Zara and I returned—all of ushealing from the stress of our time apart—and this is a great place to unwind while still on the property.
We’re testing Cash’s theory that the pianists have some sort of voodoo magic where the songs have eerie relevance to whatever is happening in our booth. Ryker fully backs him. Remy is convinced. Maddox and I call bullshit. Jax refuses to pick a side because it would be unfair to the magic—whatever the fuck that means. And the girls are amused in that way that conveys how they’ll talk about how ridiculous we are later. According to Maddox, that’s fine because they’ll rave about how sexy we are too.
That is the sanest rationale we’re dealing with tonight.
Case in point: Since there could be a bug in the booth for the sole purpose of fooling us with off-putting musical selections, thereby rendering speaking too risky, we’re writing our predictions down. Of course, we also switched from our traditional owners’ table to a round booth on the other side of the stage.
It’s a testament to how well life is going these days that this is our most pressing matter. While I’d usually tell them how asinine it is, I’m going with it because Zara has a belly full of Creole cooking, a smile on her face, and she knows this is where she belongs.
Cash began with something that would apply to Ryker and Mercy since Ryker was his ally. The celebration when “Brown Eyed Girl” was played was relentless. And, yes, Mercy has brown eyes, but so do most people in the restaurant. She was the one who pointed that out.
Remy picked the next one, and since the five-year-old had a one-track mind about his dessert, he said, “Ice cream.”
The musicians belted out “Escape (The Piña Colada Song)” a minute later. The table was divided regarding relevance because the test was tainted since Remy had spoken the prompt.
Logic.
So, as the opening notes of “Dancing Queen” begin, Cash whoops. “How about that?”
Zara plucks a cherry out of her marasca fizz and shakes her head, in full-on goading mode. “I don’t see the correlation. Tessa isn’t known for dancing.”
“The girl in the song is also seventeen,” Tessa tacks on, adding fuel. “And I am not.”
Cash shoos that away. “Only the title has to apply.”
“Rules keep getting looser, brother.” Jax must be willing to take a side if it irritates Cash.
But Maddox hedges, struggling with where to land. “She is a fucking queen.” After Mercy swats at him, he quickly amends that statement. “Freaking queen.” Then, with a wink at his wife, he adjusts again. “Or a freaky one.”
Ryker rolls his dice—the ones he has engraved with his lucky numbers, ensuring he never loses. “And no one dances more than Maddox.”
“Uncle Maddox dances bunches,” Remy submits between bites of his ice cream.
Mercy kisses Remy’s head but sighs at the rest of us, as if she can’t handle one more word of this. “You can’t convince me. It’s confirmation bias.” She reaches over her son and taps her husband’s forehead. “You are looking for reasons to make what you already believe true.”
“Fine.” Cash shoves a napkin and pen across the table to her. “You pick the next one.”
A smug expression veils her face as she scrawls her test:What it feels like to have a baby.
Cash appears immediately scorned, his hand flying out in protest. “You picked something that none of us can relate to. That’s cheating.”
