Now he and Sam were in the garage and cleaning up the last of the mess, though he was tired, a little hungover, and would have rather been sleeping. Later Sam was going to hang back with Ace and look at houses while Kurt went to church and lunch with Emily.
But for now? Even though they were working in a hot garage, he was enjoying spending time with Sam. So far, they’d discussed his college applications (he’d now sent off four), the interview he’d had yesterday with someone from the Rotary Club (they were considering him for one of their three scholarships), and Sam’s buddy Coleman (who’d recently broken up with his girl).
Actually, Kurt hadn’t said a whole lot. He’d just been listening to the stories, nodding when it was appropriate, and laughing at Coleman’s new take on love.
“Sounds like Coleman’s gonna be okay after all.”
Sam grinned. “Yeah. I keep trying to tell him that he should apply to OU, but he says he doesn’t want to live in Athens.”
“He’ll find his place. Everyone does.”
Sam looked up at him. “I guess that’s true, huh? We ended up being happy here, haven’t we?”
“You know what? Yeah.”
“I’m glad you took me here. Even though Dad is still grumpy with us, I’m glad.”
“Me, too.” Feeling like now was as good as any to say what had been on his mind of late, Kurt put down the towel he’d been wiping the table with.
“Sam, I’m thirty-one years old. I’ve got my own company but I’m not all that. I’ve never been as smart as you. I’ve never been that great an athlete. And half the time? Well, I’m sure I’m saying the wrong thing with Emily, and I like her a lot. But I’ve learned something from being here in Bridgeport. Maybe even from being in this very room.”
Sam stilled.
It was obvious that his little brother was listening hard. Glad that he hadn’t lost his attention yet, Kurt kept talking. “I’ve learned that life is a lot like playing poker.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious. When you get started in a game, you’re stuck with a bunch of different people. Some might be good friends. Some aren’t.” He paused, thinking on it. “Shoot, some might even be people who you’d rather not see again for the rest of your life. But still, you play.”
Seeing that he Sam was staring at him hard now, he continued. “You get chips. Sometimes more than you need. Sometimes they’re never enough. But usually you make do. And you get dealt in.”
“Then you either win or lose,” Sam said.
“Yeah. You do. But it ain’t that easy. Shoot. Sometimes it isn’t even that quick. But before you win or lose a hand, you start talking to the guy beside you. Maybe you talk about his kids or his wife or that last trip he took to the beach. You laugh a little louder than usual. Maybe cuss and swear a bit more than you should. Hours pass.”
Kurt paused, thinking about last night’s game. “Some guys take chances. Others play it real safe. Sometimes people play it smart. Or they get impatient, or they make stupid decisions.” He grinned. “And some players? Well, they place too much emphasis on the wrong stuff. Eventually, everyone goes on home.”
Sam looked at him curiously. “That’s what’s supposed to happen, right?”
“Right.” Kurt nodded. “But here’s the thing. Every single time, after I’ve been sitting in this old garage for a couple of hours, I start to realize something.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“That these nights really aren’t just about cards and chips and bets. Not really.”
“That’s because it’s about winning.”
“No, it ain’t.” Looking at Sam directly in the eye, he said, “These games, this Bridgeport Social Club? It’s about being around friends who matter. It’s about relationships. It’s knowing that for a couple of hours, I did something for me. It’s about knowing that even if I go all in or fold too early—or even if I win it all, what matters is that I did it.”
He stared hard at his little brother. “Do you understand what I’m talking about, Sam? I didn’t stay home. I didn’t stand still and wait for something to happen to me. Even if I lose a couple of bucks, I didn’t sit around and wish for something to happen. I tried to do something. I tried to accomplish something.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Because you took a chance.”
“Yep. Because we took a chance. Because we took a chance coming to Bridgeport.” Clasping him on the back, Kurt continued. “I hope I make a ton of money landscaping office buildings around this town. I hope some school offers you a ton of money to be smart for them. But even if it doesn’t happen, at least we’ll have tried. And that is why I’ll never regret moving here.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Do you really mean that?”
“Yeah. Absolutely. It’s fine with me if you don’t get all the scholarships that you want. It’s okay if you decide you don’t want to go to Harvard or Yale or even Ohio State. What matters is that you’re happy and you’re at peace with your decision.”
“What about you?”
“This conversation isn’t about me, Sam.”
“Sure, it is,” Sam countered. “It’s as much about me as it is about you. What if your business fails and Miss Springer breaks your heart?”
“Well, that’s going to suck.”
Sam’s lips twitched. “I know. But will you wish that we never came out here?”
Kurt thought about it, then shook his head. “Not at all,” he said with complete honesty. “Look at all that’s happened here. You and I got closer. I met Emily. I actually tried to accomplish my dream instead of only sitting in my living room thinking about it. I can’t regret any of that.”
Sam studied him for a long moment. Looked down at his feet. Then, to his surprise, smiled broadly.
Now Kurt felt completely confused. “What’s that smile for?”
“’Cause I may be real smart, but you just taught me something that’s going to get me through the rest of my life.”
“And what was that?” He really had no idea.
“That no matter what happens in our lives, we’ve already done something pretty good, Kurt. No matter what we do, we’re not going to have to worry about failing. When it comes to trying our hands at things that matter? I figure we’ve already won.”
Slapping his kid brother on the back, Kurt felt that ball of worry that had taken place in his chest for the last year fade away. “You’re right, kid. Me and you? We’ve already won.”
CHAPTER 1
FROM LES LARKE’S
TERMS FOR POKER SUCCESS:
All In: When a player bets everything he’s got. Be advised that this can be a risky undertaking. If you lose, there’s nothing left.
The shove came out of nowhere, hitting Meredith Hunt hard on her shoulder and knocking her down onto the paved walking path. Feeling both shocked and confused, she threw out her hands in a weak attempt to break her fall. But instead of helping the situation, a sharp, fierce pain reverberated along her right hand. Pebbles tore into her other palm, her knees, and parts of her thighs. She felt dizzy. Stunned. Half in shock.
What the heck had just happened?
Panic overtook her as she realized that whoever had just rammed her to the ground had taken off with her backpack.
Just like that, a dozen images of what was stashed in there flitted through her head. Her wallet. Her phone. Her keys. Her address. The idea of any of that coming into a stranger’s hands was enough to make her jump to her feet.
Well, she would’ve jumped—or simply sat up—if she hadn’t been feeling so dizzy.
“Hey. Hey, are you all right?”
Opening one eye, she realized a man was kneeling next to her. He had short black hair, matching eyes, scruff on his cheeks, and a very concerned expression.
“I think so,” she muttered, horrified to realize that she sounded
gritty and hoarse. Like she was barely hanging on. Which, unfortunately, pretty much summed up exactly how she was doing.
The guy’s expression grew more concerned. “I saw some punk push you down. Looks like you hit the ground hard, too.”
Hating that she was still sprawled out in front of him, she stretched a leg experimentally. “I need to get up.”
“Hold on. What hurts, darlin’?” he murmured. Actually, he drawled. Though Meredith knew better than to be taken in by a southern drawl and a cast-off endearment, she felt herself responding to him. “I’m not sure,” she murmured. Good Lord! Even to her own ears she sounded like a wannabe damsel in distress. She really needed to get a hold of herself.
But instead of being turned off, the man looked even more concerned. He leaned closer. Slipped a hand under her head. “Is your neck okay?” he asked, staring at her intently. “Can you move your head?”
She nodded experimentally. “I’m all right. My head kind of hurts, but I’m sure it’s fine. I’ve got a hard one.” At least, that’s what her mother had always told her.
After studying her a moment longer, he took a knee. “Ma’am, I’m going to take your elbow, okay? We need to get you sitting up.”
Ma’am? She swallowed. Did she really look that old?
“Dad, what are you doing—” A voice called out. “Oh my gosh. Miss Hunt?”
Surprised, Meredith focused on the person just beyond her rescuer. Finn. He was a sophomore at Bridgeport High. One of the kids she helped out when she volunteered in her friend’s class once a week. Finn was fifteen, muscular, almost six foot, and a little on the chunky side. He was built like the football player she’d recently learned he was.
However, in spite of all that brawn, there was still a sweetness to him. His face still had a touch of peach fuzz that most underclassmen boys at the school had. He also had dark brown eyes and dark hair, making him pretty much the spitting image of the man who was still kneeling by her side.
“Hey, Finn,” she said, glad she’d at last found her voice. “Fancy seeing you here.” Inwardly she winced. Had she really just said that?
Finn blinked, then grinned, like she’d really amused him. The man by her side, the one whose hand was now curved protectively around her elbow, looked confused.
No doubt it was not only because the kid knew her but that she spouted such an idiotic phrase while lying on the ground. When she noticed that his free hand was hovering in her general direction, but that it seemed he didn’t want to manhandle her without her permission, she tentatively smiled at him.
That was all he needed to press that hovering hand around her side. A little above her waist. A little below her breast. Not that she should be noticing anything like that. After all, she was a Pilates instructor. She, of all people, knew that positioning other people didn’t always mean anything personal. Sometimes it really was just an offer of assistance.
But still, she was aware of his touch as she moved to a sitting position. She breathed deeply, hoping that a good dose of the crisp January air mixed with the scent of pine would help her get her bearings. But all she smelled was soap and tobacco and peppermint. It shouldn’t have been a good combination. Nor should this man’s underlying scent—the one that signaled he was all man.
She really needed to get herself together. Like, immediately.
“You all right?” he murmured.
“Mm-hmm,” she whispered back, though why she was whispering, she didn’t really know.
Finn peered down at her. “Miss Hunt?”
She summoned what she hoped was a sunny smile. “I’m going to be just fine.”
The man looked from her to the boy in confusion. “Looks like y’all know each other.”
“I help out in one of his classes,” she replied. “Finn, well, he’s currently my favorite sophomore.”
Blushing, Finn ducked his head as he dropped to one knee next to his dad. “You tell everyone that.”
“Maybe. But right now it’s true.” Looking at his dad, she attempted to act like the situation was normal, even though she was on the ground in the middle of the bike trail. “Hi. I’m Meredith Hunt.”
“You work at the high school?”
“Work? No, not really. I’m just a volunteer.”
“She helps out in Miss Springer’s classroom, Dad,” Finn explained before turning back to her. “Miss Hunt, are you really gonna be all right? That guy who shoved you was really big.”
“It sure felt like it.” Remembering the reason for the shove, she groaned. “He stole my backpack.”
Finn frowned. “I thought that was what he did. Sorry I wasn’t close enough to tackle him.”
Even imagining Finn getting tangled up with the man who’d shoved her made her tense up. “I’m glad you weren’t any closer! You could have been hurt. No backpack is worth that.” She shifted, ready to get to her feet and figure out what to do next.
“Hey, take it slow,” Finn’s dad said softly, that thick drawl accentuating every word. “You’re bleeding pretty good.”
She looked down at her bare legs. In spite of it being January, she’d decided to wear shorts to run. The sun and fifty-degree temperature were too welcoming to ignore. But now, seeing the scrapes, she was coming to regret that decision. They did look kind of bad, but there wasn’t that much blood. “My knees will be fine.”
“I was talking about your hand, Meredith.”
She watched him pull out a worn, soft bandanna from his jeans and press it on her hand. Right then and there a sharp, slicing pain entered her wound. She sucked in a sharp breath.
Finn’s dad curved a palm around her shoulder. “Easy, now. It’s deep. You need stitches.” Still looking at her hand, he frowned. “It’s swelling, too. You might need an X-ray.”
Shifting, Meredith looked down at the bandanna, which was quickly turning red. “Gosh. You’re right. I guess I better go—” Her memory suddenly returned, bringing with it the knowledge that everything she’d been carrying had been stolen. “Actually, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t have my license or keys.” Or her insurance card. Or any money. Or her phone.
Crap!
Panicked, she struggled to her feet. “I need to—”
Resting both hands on her arms, Finn’s dad held her steady. “Hold on, now,” he drawled. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“You don’t understand. My phone was in there with my wallet.” Which, for once, was full. Plus it had all her credit cards.
Crap again!
Oblivious to the minor meltdown she was having in front of them, Finn said, “Dad’s right, Miss Hunt. You need to be careful. Sorry, but you look pretty bad.”
She felt pretty bad, too. Though she was feeling fuzzy, she had recovered enough to start making sense of the situation. “Do you think that guy might have only taken the cash then ditched my bag or something?”
“It’s worth a try. Finn, go look up ahead. Maybe go a couple of hundred yards or so. What color is the pack, Meredith?”
“Teal blue.”
“I’m on it.” But just before he turned away, he looked back at her. “You gonna be okay?”
Everything inside of her turned to mush. Just mush. In the three weeks since he’d arrived at the school, Finn Vance had been kind of hard to read.
At first she’d thought it was simply because he was the new kid. That would be hard for anyone. But then she heard from one of the coaches she worked with that Finn was destined to be a starter on the varsity team in the fall. She’d also heard from her friend Emily that he seemed to be struggling in school. Meredith had also noticed that he never looked all that happy when he was in class, either. Always serious.
That serious attitude, combined with his fake diamond earrings, faded jeans, and collection of black concert T-shirts made him definitely stand out in the school.
&nb
sp; But though he also seemed tough, he behaved well and always watched her like he was trying to figure her out. Just last week, when her arms were full of notebooks and she was having trouble managing them all, he’d helped her carry them to her car.
She’d suspected then what he was proving now. Underneath all those muscles, T-shirts, and attitude was a kid who’d been raised to be something of a gentleman. “Finn, I wish every kid in Bridgeport was like you. Thanks.”
The blush that reached the roots of his hair made her smile. When he trotted off, she turned to his father. “I think I can stand up now.”
He nodded, but looked at her steadily. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, in a completely new way. “Careful, now.”
Feeling awkward, she stood up, accepting his hands on her elbow and waist again. Once they were both on their feet, she blinked as she had to lift her head another couple of inches to meet his gaze. “Thank you again. And, um, I guess we should probably introduce ourselves a little better. As I said, I’m Meredith Hunt.”
“And I’m Ace Vance, Finn’s dad.”
His voice was serious, gravelly. Meredith thought that it went well with his eyes, which looked like they saw too much and were ready to take on anyone’s burdens. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. I don’t know what I would have done if you two hadn’t arrived.”
His dark eyes turned stormy. “Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything yet.” Before she could refute that, he visibly scanned her from top to bottom. “We need to get that hand taken care of.”
Looking at the bandanna that was now very soaked, she resigned herself to the fact that he was right. “I guess I better call the police. Maybe they can help me?” Of course, that was going to be kind of hard to do, since she no longer had a phone. Thinking of all she’d lost, the panic started to creep back in. “Could I borrow your phone for a minute? Would you mind?”
“If you need the cops, I’ll call. But give Finn a sec, okay? I think there’s a good chance he might find it nearby. Most muggers are only after cash, not backpacks and keys.”
Imagining the worst, she said, “I hope that mugger isn’t nearby. I’d hate for Finn to get hurt.”
Take a Chance Page 24
