It’s 1:45am, on a Friday – no, Saturday – morning. I’m cuddled up on the couch with my best friend, glass of wine poured, waffles on the coffee table. She’s about to hit play on our favourite movie –Wicked, of course. And I feel like everything is going to be okay.
“Hey, Ella?”
“Yeah babe?”
“If you want, tonightyoucan be Elphie,” I offer, passing her glass to her.
“Annabeth. My sweet, delusional Annabeth. I willalwaysbe Glinda.I mean, have youseenmy hair?” She says proudly through a laugh.
Twenty-Seven
Dallas
My boots are dusty and covered in mud as I kick them off at the door. It’s almost dark out by the time I finally make my way home from the evening rounds. My back hurts, I’m exhausted, and I’m itching for a coffee and a cigarette. To be honest, after the last few days, I think I might opt for a whisky over a coffee. Billie has gone to the Carter’s for a sleepover – a suggestion from River that was immediately welcomed by the kids.
The door creaks again, giving way to Colson, and Annabeth. I turn in my chair, extending my arms to Annabeth. She slides into my embrace, her body moulding into mine. I slip my hands around her hips, pulling her in closer until her hat rests under my chin.
“You smell,awful. Where have you been?” I ask her, crinkling nose.
The door creaks open for the third time, and Ella comes waltzing in. I really need to ask Colt what the hell is going on there. I can only assume she’s here on his request, considering Annabeth has barely left the farm in weeks. Colt’s laugh bellows through the enclosed space, the hearty sound ricocheting off the tiled walls. “We had to blow off some steam, old boy!”
Ella and I frown in unison, and because both of us know the two people standing before us as well as we do, we have clearly come tothe same conclusion. ‘Blowing off steam,’ could quite literally, be anything.
Annabeth peers up at me from beneath the brim of her hat, her green eyes fluttering innocently. I donottrust that look. “And what exactly does ‘blowing off steam’ entail, Firefly?”
“Come with us,” she replies, taking my hand. As we pass Ella, Annabeth grabs her best friend’s hand as well, leading us out into the night, Colt following behind.
The four of us walk across the yard and out into the paddock towards the old barn, which is mostly used for feed storage now. Our boots scuff against the dirt as we continue down the fence line and into the stockyard.
“Where are we going?” Ella asks, her voice disrupting the silence.
“Not much further,” Colt replies, not answering the question.
Annabeth stops, the weird conga-line that is the rest of us following suit. “Okay, close your eyes,” she tells us.
I can’t see Ella well in this light, but the rustling sounds of the barn door opening tells me that she’s also closed her eyes. I stand here, in the darkness, wondering what the hell these two have been up to. I start retracing how long it’s been since I saw either of them, but I’m interrupted by a gentle tap on my shoulder. My eyes open on cue, and I’m left completely shocked by what I see.
I take a few steps inside the barn, blinking rapidly to make sure I’m not seeing things. I let my gaze drift over the green felt table that now fills half of the barn, sitting on what looks like a cow hide rug. Six vintage style chairs sit around the table, each sporting a unique textured cushion, and funky neon lights now hang from the walls.
“What is this place?” I ask. I don’t know if I’m concerned orimpressed. The fact they pulled this together in a few hours really is incredible.
“This, brother, is The Lion’s Den,” Colt announces.
Annabeth rolls her eyes and sighs. “It is not, shush you. We just figured the barn was going to waste, and since there’s noofficialpoker game now, we thought we’d bring the poker game to us!”
“So, youbuilta poker room in my barn?” I’m still trying to wrap my head around what my eyes are seeing.
“Ourbarn,” Colt chimes in.
I turn to look at Ella, whose wandering off in her own little world staring at the cards and chips stacked neatly against the table. She lifts her head, and our eyes lock for a moment before she says, “Well gang, whose up for a game of poker?”
We all agree, taking our seats at the table. Colt fetches a bottle of whiskey that he stashed behind one of the neon signs and returns with four red solo cups – classy. Annabeth is the self-appointed dealer, carefully going over the rules before proceeding to shuffle the deck. Her fingers move with lightning speed and expert precision as she lays each card on the table.
By the time we’re three hands deep, Colt is doing surprisingly well. He said that he had been practising with Annabeth ever since they setup The Lion’s Den, as he so affectionately named it. He isn’t ‘up,’ but he’s folded and raised when needed, and seems to be holding his own. I take a sip of my drink, laying my cards face down on the table and watch as my brother flicks a single chip between his fingers before adding it to the humble stack of chips in front of him. He doesn’t meet my gaze, doesn’t take his eyes off the chips as he leans forward and slides the entire stack towards the dealer.
“All. In.”
Coffee beckons me from the kitchen. I think I’m starting to enjoy having Ella around, not that I’m going to admit that in a hurry. I meander into the kitchen, preparing to greet our new house guests, but to my surprise, it’s Colt.
