But I couldn’t read Kip’s bluffs. He played his game on me and I fell for his every trick, thinking I had a handle on him when I didn’t even come close to touching him at all. And my poker face is gone, destroyed by the notion that maybe it’s okay to be myself and not hide behind it all the time. And maybe it’s those two truths that made me hold so strongly to my third rule – folding. I gave up on Kip, on us, on everything. For once, I walked away from a hand I maybe could have won if I would have stuck around. Kip Jackson has completely turned me on my ass, and now I’m not exactly sure who I am.

But I think I’m on my way to finding out.

When my hands move to my chips and I start slowly pushing them forward, Kip’s eyes flick down before catching mine again, realization settling in. He shakes his head slightly, but it only makes me move the chips forward faster. With a shaky breath, I say the words I’ve known all along.

“All in.”

And I know just as well as Kip does how this will end. Black fours are my death sentence in poker. Call it superstition, but I know it to be true. I won’t win this hand, and I know that, and Kip does, too. His eye are wide with panic and I know he doesn’t understand, but maybe one day I can explain it to him.

I know what this means to him, to his father. Second place will be more than enough to pay off school and set my family up for a while. And truth be told, even if it wasn’t, I would still be making this same move.

Sometimes we have to step back and ask ourselves what matters most. It’s so easy to get caught up in the titles, the money, the dreams and goals that we’re not even sure are our own anymore. But I know without a doubt that what matters most to me right now in this moment is Kip. And what matters most to him is his father. So we’re going to win this thing. Together. For Kip’s dad.

When Kip calls, he still has a small stack of chips, but I’m completely in. If I lose this hand, I’m out and Kip will win. We both stand and even though my eyes are fixed on the cards, I feel Kip’s burning the skin of my neck. One by one, the dealer slowly reveals the turn and the river, neither of which help my case. I had a pair of Kings when I went all in, but with three fours on the table and one in Kip’s hand, he beats me with a four of a kind. Four fours. And even though I knew what I was doing, I can’t help but feel a surge of pain in my chest when I realize I’ve lost.

The room explodes in cheers and I can just hear the announcers going on and on about how a fish won the tournament. I know that back at Palm South, the entire school is probably staring at their screens and wondering what the hell happened.

Game over.

A swarm of reporters crowd us as the half-naked women stand behind Kip with the cash and the dealer slips the ring on his finger. His eyes find mine across the crowd and I smile, shrugging a little, but before he can make his way over, I shake hands with the man handing me information on claiming my prize and then I leave. I turn toward the elevators and I just go. I don’t turn back, I don’t wait to hear him speak to the media or to shake his hand and take pictures. I just slip away, silently, letting the mixture of emotions wreck my soul as they flow through me.

When I get back to my room, I flip on the television and find the tournament. I don’t even realize I’m crying until Kip’s face floods the screen, a clamor of microphones in his face as they ask him how he feels.

“I’m not really sure how I feel just yet,” he says, laughing. It’s a charming laugh that I’m sure is melting panties across the country right now. “I just…” He pauses, biting down on his bottom lip and looking up for a second to compose himself. “I just want to dedicate this to my father, Oliver Jackson Sr. Thank you for sacrificing your dream so that I could have mine. I didn’t win this tournament today. You did. I love you.”

The announcers go on and on about Kip’s dad and his condition and I wonder how they found out. Did Kip reveal it in one of his pre-tournament interviews? Had they been talking about it while we were at the final table? Regardless, this will make for one of the best headlines in the tournament’s history.

FISH TAKES HOME GRAND PRIZE, HONORS FATHER WITH WIN.

I smile, wiping at my eyes and inhaling a deep, shaky breath. It’s all over now, and even though I feel slightly deflated, I mostly just feel lucky. Lucky to have won the money to even enter the tournament, lucky to have made it as far as I did, lucky to have the prize money to pay off the rest of school, and most of all, lucky to have known Kip.

Even if I never see him again, if I never feel him again, I was loved and touched by him in a way that I’ll never forget. His eyes, his hands, his lips will linger on me long after tonight. And for me, that’s enough.

I click off the TV and make my way to the bathroom, turning on the bath faucet and drawing it as hot as I can stand. I remove my hoodie, laughing when I see my drenched tank top underneath. I peel it off and throw it to the floor, sliding my jeans down to join it. I’m just about to step into the water when I hear my phone ping in the other room. Sighing, I sink down into the tub and let the steaming water warm my cool skin still slick from sweat.

The calls are already starting, and I’m just not ready to face them yet. Will people be proud of me? Disappointed? Confused? Let down? I sink lower into the tub and shake my head. Who cares? If I’ve learned anything about myself this semester, it’s that I care entirely too much what other people think. I know why I did what I did, and that’s all that matters.

I soak in the tub for what feels like at least an hour before finally climbing out and wrapping myself in a soft robe. Brushing my hair, I walk back into the main room and grab my phone, curiosity getting the best of me. There’s a missed call from my parents’ house, three missed texts from Jess, and about a dozen social media notifications. But I don’t really look at them, not closely, because my attention is focused on the one other text in my inbox.

From Kip.

- Meet me at the Bellagio. 11:30. -

I thought I was nervous before the tournament, but that’s nothing compared to the way I feel right now. My palms are slick with sweat, my heart is racing and sometimes it just stops altogether, and my bottom lip is swollen from the pressure of my teeth. Standing beside the large fountain in front of the Bellagio on what should be the best night of my life, this isn’t the way I should feel. But I can’t help it.

I am fucking nervous.

There are moments in our lives, little tiny specks of time, when everything changes. Moments when everything we thought mattered turn out to be the last things we care about, replaced entirely by something, or someone, we never saw coming.

The last thing Skyler owes me is to show up here tonight, but I’m praying she will anyway. After the tournament ended, everything happened so fast. There were cameras in my face and questions being screamed at me. I went from having just shy of a thousand dollars in my bank account to getting directions on how to claim my prize money of almost a million dollars. Everything changed.

Everything except my feelings for Skyler.

I know she let me win. My father, on the other hand, doesn’t. He couldn’t be more proud of me, and watching a tear slide down his worn face when I spoke to him on video chat less than an hour ago almost killed me. If Skyler doesn’t show up tonight, she’ll finish the job. Though the pressure of winning the tournament is lifted, I feel weighed down even more by the crushing reality that I may have lost the most important person in my life in the process.