A cocktail waitress brought them watered-down drinks as they sat at the slot machines and fed them tokens and came within a few dollars of losing every cent they’d set aside to gamble with, which wasn’t much. But she considered it money well spent, and she could tell by the smile on his face that he did too. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. She’d needed it, and she hadn’t even known. She allowed herself to feel young and dauntless, just for a little while. She looked at Evan sitting on the short stool next to her, casually putting their last few tokens into the machine. “Thanks for tonight,” she said.
He looked over, and her breath halted. He was so gorgeous, and he looked so happy too. So . . . carefree. The lights behind him flashed and blinked, creating a colorful halo, startling her. She’d gotten a small glimpse of his unreserved happiness when he’d been flying a kite with Callie, but it hadn’t looked like this. Because he hadn’t been fully uninhibited then. It was as if he’d been testing his fatherhood status, overcome by the shock of it, nervous perhaps, about what the future looked like.
Maybe before they’d been locked in those cages, unlike Noelle, he’d often been carefree. He’d come from a wealthy family with status, he’d been popular all his life, guys had wanted to be him, and girls had swarmed him in school. Yes, she supposed he’d lived many happy days, but she’d never been a party to it, not like she was now, and she felt frozen in the ray of his joy. Beautiful. His eyes softened as he stared at her. “My pleasure,” he said.
He pulled the lever, and they lost the last bit of their money, both doubling over and laughing. She wasn’t sure what was funny exactly. It just was. Maybe it was that their luck had apparently run out. She was okay with that, though, if running out of luck in this instance meant they weren’t going to be tycoons. Once, they’d received all the luck they needed just when they needed it, and that’s why they were here now, laughing in the face of loss. Because they could. What a wonderful thing to lose and be able to say no big deal.
They walked through the casino, people-watching. Noelle’s thoughts swirled, the lights and the sounds and the competing noise causing her to go deeper into her own mind. Everywhere gamblers were betting. Some winning, most not. What was the draw that so many had to taking a risk, by pulling a lever, or tossing a pair of dice, or laying down a hand of cards? Was it that brief moment of soaring hope that was so addictive, even if it was almost guaranteed to crash?
They walked on, Noelle’s mind continuing to wander. Words and phrases Tallulah Marsh had said kept popping forward, and she swore she could see them, written in a glittery pink the same as the woman’s outfit, flashing like the rhinestones on her lashes. It was like someone knew me.
Who? Who had known her? And hadn’t Noelle felt the same?
A slot machine on her right caught her attention, the cartoon animals grinning wildly. A bear, a moose, a rabbit.
Little rabbit.
He’d called her little rabbit because she’d called herself that first. She reached for the conversation from the room she’d spent eight years trying to forget. She was floating somewhere between here and there, the surrounding chaos making her feel like she was in a dream. Her hand in Evan’s as he led her along. Safe.
The man with the very slight accent—or maybe accents—had given her the graphite from the pencil. She was certain that’s why he’d made the request that he had. Not because he’d wanted a picture drawn by her. That was subterfuge. He’d known she would understand its possibility. He’d emphasized the word break, which had made her remember it. And then he’d uttered, You’re so hot. And it’d seemed odd because it was. He’d been offering her clues. Break. Pencil. Hot. Fire. Oh.
She stumbled slightly, catching herself. “Hey, are you okay?” Evan asked, stopping and turning toward her.
“Yes. I’m fine. Can we go back to the room?”
“Yeah. Of course. We’re basically penniless anyway.” He laughed. He didn’t care. He was a PI who lived in a nondescript apartment after he’d been surrounded by luxury, and all that had obviously meant nothing to him because he’d given it up to pursue his own dream, a career where he brought justice to others but one that might never result in great wealth.
She thought back to that conversation they’d had so long ago in the café in San Francisco when he’d told her he wasn’t happy at Stanford. He’d felt himself heading toward the exact life his father led and said that it felt like a death sentence. And so he’d changed paths, despite the fact that it must have been difficult. Evan had never taken the more predictable route because it was easier and expected of him. He’d forged his own way. He valued things far beyond money and power. His life was the proof of that.