Page 230 of Vexatious Queen

“Cards? Jesus, Edmundo, you had me counting the weapons in my house and getting ready for the next takeover conversation,” Ethan said, visibly relaxing.

I laughed, setting the bags down on the table.

“From one little text? I do like being me.”

“Until your dead wife comes back to life,” Marcus said. We all looked at him. “Too soon?”

“No…you know, that is exactly the kind of humor we need tonight. You’re also very right,” I said, and chuckled.

The table was cleared within minutes. Bottles and snacks were pulled out of the bags. Whiskey, scotch, and tequila with a red label and a gold symbol that looked like a skull and crossbones. The guy at the store claimed it would either numb us or kill us.

I poured us all a round and was just about to sit when Paul came through the door, he hadn’t even knocked, just let himself in. I stood and walked over to him, staring him in the eyes.

“Ed, I⁠—”

I punched him square in the face, cutting off whatever he was going to say. He went down hard. Marcus, Ethan, and Emmett were silent. No one moved as Paul pushed himself up into a seated position and grabbed his glasses that had gone flying. He touched his jaw, then looked at me with resigned calm.

“I guess I deserved that.”

“You fucking know you did. You knew she was alive and you kept it from me,” I said.

He nodded once. “Yes.”

Taking a deep breath, my fist unclenched, and I held out my hand. Paul grabbed it, and I hauled him to his feet.

Silence had settled thick and heavy, broken only by the clink of glass as someone poured another drink.

“Come on,” I said, and wrapped my arm around his shoulders.

A drink had already been placed at his seat, and Paul took it without protest. Ethan turned on the hockey game in the background, and soon we all had our jackets off, cigars were lit, and we were laughing at jokes so terrible they were funny.

The cards were dealt and shuffled in a steady rhythm, the familiar snap of cardboard against wood cutting through the haze of liquor and old memories. Chips were stacked as blinds were posted, Paul tossed his in without looking, and Emmett was smirking like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.

Paul placed the flop slowly, deliberately being dramatic. It was queen, ten, ten, dangerous. Ethan checked, casually, and I followed, watching Emmett’s knuckles tighten just a fraction around his glass.

Emmett bet anyway, bold as ever. I called, Marcus raised, and just like that, the table leaned in, tension coiling tight as the turn card slapped down—a king. We all went quiet.

Big hands were in play now. The river brought nothing useful, just a low card. When the showdown came, Ethan laid down a full house like it had been inevitable. Emmett swore, Paul laughed, and Marcus grunted his annoyance. I pushed my chips forward without a word, the loss not registering as one, but simply a fun time, win or lose.

“Emmett, remember your freshman year, when you took the football to the face ‘cause you were staring at…shit was her name,” Marcus asked, and Emmett’s face got red.

Marcus snapped his fingers.

“Olivia Stanton. You dropped at her feet and then fucking jumped right back up. Blood was streaming down your face, the refs tried to stop play, fans were throwing up, but you just kept running. I’ve never laughed so hard.”

I snickered. “That was funny. Anyone still call you Nose Guard,” I asked, and smirked as Emmett glared at me.

“No, and don’t fucking start that shit up again,” he growled, as Paul shuffled the next hand.

I looked at Paul. “I remember when Paul here sharked a group of guys from a local gang out of ten grand one night. We ended up running for it as they shot at us. I thought for sure we were dead,” I said, and Paul laughed.

“I would’ve liked to see that,” Marcus said, the others nodding. “Where the hell was I again?”

“With Ester,” I said and smirked as Marcus groaned. “You two were like fucking rabbits. I couldn’t get you to leave the room the whole month you were together.”

“Shit…I barely remember her, how do you remember this stuff,” Marcus asked, and I shrugged.

“It’s a gift,” I said.