“I mean, it’s the same theory,” Marcie says. “But it started on a basketball game. I was super lucky and hit it big—like I tripled my money on one game. That somehow hooked me. I thought it was easy. I was betting every game every week. I’d lose and then bet more because I had to make that up, and it was only going to take one big one to get me even again. Eventually, I was in so deep that there was no getting even.”
Kinsley puts a hand on her shoulder. “I had no idea.”
“How could you? It’s not like I was physically any different. It was just … bank account different. And that’s why it’s so dangerous. You can’t look at someone and know they’re pissing their money away on a basketball game. It just becomes this addiction, really. You wait for the high that comes with winning. All your problems will go away if you can only hit one more time.” She frowns. “Except you don’t.”
My heart hurts for her. Marcie used to be so confident and walked around like she owned the place. So to see her sitting meekly next to us and having the courage to admit her problems out loud—that means a lot.
“You’re okay now? You don’t have any bookies coming after you or anything, right?” I ask.
She shakes her head, grinning. “No. I’m okay. I mean, I lost everything I had, but thankfully, my parents have been super helpful and understanding. They’re helping me get back on my feet, getting me some help with this gambling beast that I now battle.”
“You’re going to be fine,” I say. “You’re strong, and admitting the problem is half the battle, right?”
“Well, it’s hard not to admit you have a problem when you come home and you’ve been locked out.”
“That’s true.” I smile at her. “Things will be okay.”
She looks at me, then Kinsley.
“So you guys aren’t writing me off then?” Marcie asks.
“Only if you eat all of that queso,” Kinsley jokes as the server sets the appetizers in front of us.
Marcie sits a little taller. “Thanks. You guys are so good to me.”
There really isn’t a choice but to forgive. That’s something that’s been modeled to me for years. Well, since I’ve lived with the Carmichaels. Those brothers of mine have needed constant forgiving over the years. Constant. Marcie and Kinsley are like sisters to me. I’ve treasured their friendship for the past almost year, and I have leaned on them time and time again. That means—second chances. And if I’m very honest, life has taken the best turn because of her situation.
I reach for a cheese stick. “Well, I can’t be mad at you. I don’t know if I ever would’ve landed where I did without a push. Or an eviction. Either way.”
Kinsley laughs. “Oh, do we have a story for you, Marcie.”
My insides tighten as I prepare to say Nate’s name. It feels different now that we’re a couple, now that Ryder knows what happened.
Now that he’s eaten a cherry soaked in my juices.
He’s not just Nate anymore. He’s my Nate. The guy who I go home to. The guy I can call if I have a flat tire—and he will come. The guy who will get me a pudding cup in the middle of the night and not be irritated when I eat it in bed.
There’s something really meaningful in that.
“So” I say, shifting in my seat. “Do you know Nate Hughes?”
“Your boss?”
I nod.
“I stayed with him after the eviction,” I say, setting my cheese stick down on a plate. “And now we’re a couple.”
Marcie looks like I just told her the Earth is flat.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“She means she’s living there, sleeping in his bed, making dinner with his kid. That’s what she means,” Kinsley says.
“Paige. Are you serious?” Marcie asks.
“Yeah. Why? Why are you looking at me like that?”
She lifts a brow and takes a chip out of the basket. “No reason besides the fact that it’s you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, borderline offended.
Kinsley sits back in the booth, her eyes wide.
“I’m sorry, Paige. I didn’t mean it like that,” Marcie says. “I’m just saying … I’ve known you for, what, a year? Close to it? And you’ve always been so anti-this.”
My hackles raise even though I know she’s not being mean. I lean against the table.
“Maybe because I didn’t know that it could be like this,” I say. “I’ve never had a nice guy before—someone who takes care of me. That loves me.”
“Loves you?” Kinsley says. “Okay. That’s progress I didn’t know.”
I fire her a look to hush and then focus back on Marcie.
“We’re taking it slow,” I say, defensive. “He understands what I’ve been through and how I feel about long-term commitment.”
“Does he, though? Because you’re living there, making dinner with his kid, and he loves you. That doesn’t sound slow or like a fling that might end tomorrow.” She dips her chip in the queso. “I’m happy for you. You know I am. I’m just shocked. That’s all.”