For that, for the continuation of that, for as long as was humanly possible, he discovered, he was willing to do almost anything.

He kept her close as her breathing steadied. He stroked her hair, watched her face, knew her thoughts were winding around, and wondered where she was inside her head. “Knock knock,” he said, gently tapping on her temple. “What’s going on in there?”

She pushed him to his back, shifting against him so she could prop her chin on her hand, which was laying on his chest. He thought perhaps all conversations between them should take place just like this.

She smiled at him, looking so content, so relaxed. But her thoughts were already on to other things. Not that he could blame her. She was facing rather critical circumstances. He was just happy she was more willing now to talk to him, with him, about it.

“You’re really wonderful, you know. Stepping in like you are, to help me save my place.”

He didn’t stop stroking her hair as it soothed them both. He wished she wasn’t so hard on herself, about accepting help, especially his help, but he didn’t know much more about her past than how her last relationship ended. And that it had also been tangled up in her business career at the time. He was getting that it had to have been complicated and that there was probably even more, deeper below the surface. But those were all layers he wanted to know, too. She was imperfect. So was he. So he’d give her whatever time it took for her to work it out. But he’d also let her know that he wasn’t her past. He was, at the very least, her present. And he wasn’t going anywhere while they saw this through. “But?” he queried when she didn’t continue right away.

“I know it’s your call, your business…but, be honest with me, would you have returned to playing poker if not for this generous offer of yours?”

“I don’t mind playing poker.” Which, he realized, saying it, was the truth. “I don’t plan on playing professionally any longer, but for charity, and helping out a town in need, I don’t mind playing. I like the game itself.” Also true. “It’s endlessly fascinating to me, in fact.”

“Why? What about it appeals to you?”

He knew she wasn’t asking the obvious question, or expecting the obvious answer, which was usually some variety of “because I’m good at it” or “because it made me rich.”

“It makes me think. I like the randomness of it, and the specificity. There are only so many of each kind in each deck, only so many hands you can draw, and yet add in the mental element and the emotional element, and it’s not just about doing the math or playing the percentages. You’re also playing the people sitting around the table, who don’t have to be winners to rob you of the pot. I like the mathematical challenge; I like the mental challenge. But mostly I like the people challenge. And how the outcome is never obvious.”

“Interesting.” She smiled, like she’d figured something out about him she hadn’t already known.

He smiled back. “Interesting how?”

“You never mentioned the risk. Or the high you could get from pushing all that money around, the thrill of winning.”

“That’s never been why I played.”

She nudged him with her chin. “Easy to say for the guy with all the chips.”

“You don’t just get those handed to you, you know.”

“True. So, you’re not a risk junkie. Thrill seeker?”

“No. Risk is simply a factor of playing the game. One element, like all the rest, to be looked at, analyzed, and played accordingly. You can either seek to minimize the risk or exploit it. Everyone at the table is facing the same odds you are. You can play that angle, too.”

“So, it’s all angles, math, people, perception.”

“Yes.”

“And winning,” she said, her grin daring him to disagree.

“It was a handy by-product of my fascination, yes.”

“You sound so…clinical about it. Assuming you’ve had above-average success, I guess I’d have assumed you’d be more passionate.”

“About the game itself, I have been. Maybe not so much of late. But keeping a clear head-clinical if you will-is key. At least for me. Lose your head; lose your wallet. And your heart. I never wanted to be in a position where a game had the power to break my heart.”

“So…what happened to change that? Did you burn out or decide to get out before it did break your heart?”

“I love the game of poker, just not the rest of what comes with it. However, it’s given me pretty much everything I have, outside of family and friends that is. And it’s provided for them as well. So I have to respect it, respect that.”

“But?”

“But, it’s not what I pictured myself doing, or being. Not long term. It just sort of happened, and at a time when the income was needed and the help for others was needed. Then, it sort of took on a life of its own. And, I guess, to some degree, I felt kind of responsible for keeping it going, even when I was well past needing it for myself any longer.”

“So, why not walk away? At some point, you’re not obligated to help anyone else, right? It can’t always be about putting everyone’s needs above your own. What you want and need has value, too. The people you care about would respect that, want that even. And if they don’t, well that’s something to think about, isn’t it? But even worse would be if you don’t-” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, something struck her. Her expression shuttered almost immediately, as if long used to the protective measure, but not before a stark look of pain had flashed through her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

She blinked and looked at him. “Nothing,” she said too quickly.

He brushed a soft thumb across her cheekbone. “Not nothing,” he said quietly.

She held his gaze then. “I’m not used to anyone being so in tune with me. It’s…flattering. But also a little disconcerting.”

“I’d offer to look less deeply, but you compel me, Kirby. And I can’t help what I see.”

“What do you think you see?”

“Tell me what just ran through your mind, when you said at some point I shouldn’t feel obligated any longer. It wasn’t about my helping you out now.” He didn’t make it a question.

She shook her head. “Though maybe it should. I-it just, thinking about the position you were in made me think about my own past.”

“Patrick?”

“More me, actually. Who I was with him, who I was before him. I just realized something about myself. Maybe you and I are both a little alike. At the time, I certainly wouldn’t have said that I was doing everything because of some misplaced sense of obligation to Patrick. But…” She blew out a short breath. “Now, looking back, I have to wonder.” She lifted her gaze to his again. “I was with him for over eleven years, Brett. The last eight, almost nine of those we lived together.”

“A rather substantial chunk of your adult life.”

“Almost all of it, certainly up to that point.”

“The same with me, only my significant other was my job.”

“I was very career oriented, too, and all that time I saw the two of us, Patrick and I, as a team, united toward the same career goals. Albeit his were far more expansive than mine, but when it came to the resort, we were a united front.”

“And?”

“You know, you finally came to your own realization that your relationship with your career was not a fulfilling one, that this wasn’t enough, or possibly all there could be for you.”

“Is that what just struck you, that maybe you’d have never figured that out for yourself if you hadn’t discovered that Patrick wasn’t as united with you and your joint goals as you thought?”

“Partly, yes. I don’t know that I would have,” she said. “If I ever did, it certainly would have taken me much, much longer, before the dissatisfaction set in. If it ever did.”

“You can’t beat yourself up if your goals were clearly stated and you were doing everything in good faith, believing-rightly-that your partner was being truthful with you about sharing those goals. It’s not about being blind or stupid, or even self-unaware, when someone you absolutely believe you can trust takes advantage of that.”