You walk into the private game room, and it doesn't look like the others. The interior was more of a dried-blood-on-the-concrete colour to you, maybe a little darker. There's black furnishings, but there's also the smallest hints of orange throughout the room. You could see it. Dane walks over to the card table; you stand in front of the door with your hands in your pockets.
"I hate to admit it, but I'm impressed," you say, looking around slowly.
"If I had a dollar every time I heard that," he replies, pulling a deck from his side of the dealer's table. "Oh wait."
You look to the corner of your eyes towards him, and he has a smug smile on his face. His mouth lifts up slightly on his left side, and you could barely see the white teeth between his lips. That was a shit-eater's smile; that was the kind of smile that could charm and rob you all in one go. Good thing you were smart enough to never bet against him.
There was a black sofa and a smaller table directly across from where Dane was. You make your way over towards your brother and sit down in the swivel bar stool. You start twisting your lower body side to side as you stare down at the green table top. Ugly.
"Havin' fun?" Dane asks, shuffling the deck lazily.
"Yeah, I guess. This is hideous though." You poke the green surface and peer up to Dane. "C'mon, show me some of your tricks."
"I'm not in that kind of business," he says. You roll your eyes. "Plus, I'm no magician."
"Smart ass," you grumble, drawing your hand back. "Let's play something. Deal me a set."
"Blackjack or Baccarat?"
"Baccarat."
"Blackjack it is then."
"The hell did you ask me for?"
There's that smile again, even you were starting to distrust it. He starts to shuffle like the pro he is and deals out some cards. You stare at the face up Queen and wonder if you should take your chances without looking. Nah, you weren't that stupid. You slap your hand over the cards and draw them close, folding them up to look at the face down card.
"So what's all this about?" you begin, glancing up to the dealer. "When'd you take up smoking?"
He's moving the cards together between his hands. The cards fall between his opening and closing palms expertly. Even though he's holding his hands at an angle, none of the cards dare to stray from his grasp. He raises a brow, staring down at you before he sighs. There's no immediate response, but he deals himself two cards and places both hands on the surface.
After a pause, he points towards your cards with his free hand. "What's your verdict?"
You lift up the cards again and stare them down for a moment. "Hit me."
He flips you a card.
"Took it up when I was sixteen," he begins. "School was stressing me out, but it was just a kid thing—just some tests, just some girls. Stuff that doesn't really matter now, but then it seemed to be everything, you know."
"Yeah, but it's still pretty stupid."
"Got me through hard times." He snorts. "What's this: honesty hours with the Striders?"
He taps a finger on the green table face. He knows what he has; you figure he's just waiting on you.
"Hit me," you say with an upnod and a quirk of your fingers.
He throws another card.
"Sis found out and kicked my ass over it. Said I was too young and she didn't want me fuckin' up my lungs, but that just made me do it more. Then it got to the point where she got tired of yelling and soon I was buyin' up illegally every other week." He shrugs and taps the table again before dragging his hand over his cards. "Nothing to worry about."
"Can't lose you to cancer or some shit, man. That shit's not pretty."
"You're telling me."
You flip your cards over. A Queen, a two, a five and a three. Lucky, you. Dane takes up his topmost card and flips over the face down with it. Two Kings. Without a word, he swipes your cards and gathers them with his own. He shoves the six over to the side, and you stare at them curiously. Taken out easily and not a change on his face.
"What d'you care for? It's not like you to reach out a helping hand," he says as he deals out another set.
You stare down at the top card—Ace of Hearts—and then glance up to him.
"C'mon. I'm not a soulless prick."
He tips his head down and looks at you over the top of his shades.
You flip him off and roll your eyes. "Let me rephrase: even I feel the twinge of guilt and pain and shit. I'm a real boy after all." You sit up and shrug, flipping your right hand over as you did. "Besides, when one of us gets into some emotional business, it's best to figure out what's going on, right?"
"Yeah, I guess," he says like he doesn't believe you.
He takes a look at the cards he dealt to you, and his right hand goes to work. You see the digits moving, fingers tapping against the pad of his thumb before they stop suddenly. It was almost robotic. He stops suddenly, and he bites on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Huh," is all that comes out of him before his hand relaxes. You tap the table twice. You've seen it in the movies but wasn't sure if that was how it worked. He deals you another card, and you let out a short chuckle, feeling like a proud little kid suddenly.
"You gonna tell me what you're gonna do about Bro and Sis' thing?" you ask as you lower yourself down to the table.
You look to your brother, and you're sure he can see your red eyes over the lens. With a sigh, he raises a hand up and rubs his face, shrugging up a shoulder. The next three words make you frown deeply because you don't like hearing them out of his mouth—that mouth on a face that was basically yours. You've been there. You've said those three words too.
"I don't know."