Dec nods.
“What are you doing?” I’m huffing, struggling to breathe.
“When a bet gets this high, sometimes they clue in the higher-ups. Jed came over and gave me the courtesy of letting me know Jason’s betting a high-five-figure amount.”
I know I heard that wrong.
“Daddy doesn’t have high five figures.”
“He does now.” Declan nudges his head toward the table. “He’s got about eighty grand there, with odds 9 to 1 as he bets on a tie.”
“English, please.”
“Your father is betting eighty thousand dollars on a 9 to 1 bet. If he loses, all eighty grand is gone. If he wins, the resort pays him seven hundred and twenty thousand dollars or so.” Dec glances at the dealer, who gives him a courteous nod. Or a sly signal.
“WHAT?” Mom screams, appearing behind us. “Is this what you were doing while I was getting everyone from the airport?”
So much for keeping this secret. Dad is stone-faced, ignoring all of us.
“Where in the hell did Jason get eighty THOUSAND dollars?” she hisses.
Declan recoils from her. “I have no idea.”
“I gambled my way up,” Dad says from across the table. His eyes meet mine. “I took your seventeen-thousand-dollar wedding fund, honey, and just kept playing hands.”
“And now it’s up to eighty?” Dec lets out a low whistle. “Good work.”
“Thanks.”
“JASON!” Mom shouts, her voice a sob. “That’s a huge amount of money! Take it off that number right now!”
He ignores her.
“Marie,” Declan tries to explain. “It’s not a bet on a number. It’s—”
Mom tries to get closer to the table. All Declan has to do is glance at two guys who look like they starred in Breaking Bad and they close in, forming a wall of muscle between Mom and the table.
“You can’t do this!” she cries out.
“Watch us, lady.” Whoever said that smirks. The twist of his lip makes my mouth go dry with fear.
“Declan, you have to stop him,” I plead, my legs aching as I try to stand, squished in the growing crowd around the table.
“Why?”
“Because he can’t jeopardize that kind of money! Eighty thousand dollars will pay off my parents’ house! It’s a huge amount, and he can’t lose it.”
“Sure he can.”
“No, he can’t!”
“He can, Shannon. It’s likely. The odds are way worse than 9 to 1.”
“But if he loses it...” I lean against him, all hope of rationality gone.
“If he loses it, it’ll be of his own free will, a man making a decision to risk it all on the tiniest chance he can make it big. I’m not about to short circuit that.”
“How does this work?” I ask in a blind panic.
“He’s betting on a tie. That means he’s betting that his cards and the dealer’s cards will be a tie. The same number.” He starts to explain more but gets a look from the dealer that makes him shut up.
I cannot believe that my father is standing in the High Limit room at Litraeon, betting eighty thousand dollars on a game that is about to induce a heart attack in me.
The dealer deals two cards to Dad and all the other players, and two cards to himself. Other players are stationed on either side of Dad, who is number six at the table—the table is full, with fourteen people playing. I don’t know much about baccarat, but I know this: Dad’s probably the only one betting on a tie.
The cards begin to be revealed. Anyone with a hand that is over nine points is out. Anyone with a hand at nine points wins. No one has nine points.
Dad has a five of diamonds and a three of clubs.
The dealer shows his cards.
A pair of red fours.
The table goes nuts.
“Hot damn!” yells one of the players. “The crazy dude got it right!” He walks over to Dad and rubs his head for good luck.
Dad’s shoulders sag with relief, his chest puffing up with pride. James is next to me, muttering expletives under his breath, while Declan claps and nods with approval. People are quietly cheering for Dad, clapping him on the back, and the game at the table closer to the main casino breaks, people wandering in to see what’s just happened.
“He just took the house for more than seven hundred thou and you’re clapping?” James admonishes Declan.
“He found his power, Dad.”
James frowns, while Mom rushes over to my father and hugs him, jumping up and down like she’s being shocked when she touches the ground.
“SEVEN HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS!” Mom screams, hugging and kissing Dad.
Declan weaves his way around the table and shakes Dad’s hand. Dad’s staring at the stack of chips just as James pushes through and stands next to him, flanked by two guards.
“Actually,” the dealer says with a big grin, “you keep your eighty-grand bet, so it’s closer to eight hundred thousand.”
Mom’s eyes explode.
“Congratulations, Jason. That was quite some run,” James says. They pump hands and Dad blinks, over and over. People around us are rubbing his shoulder, making supportive comments, and a ton of phones point our way, snapping pictures as the guards try to stop them.
Dad just stands in a daze.
“We’re rich!” Mom says, starting to hyperventilate.
The next few seconds tick by in an unreal set of still images. Dad looks down at his hand, clasped in James’ own, then up at me. His face is slack, serious and intense. His eyes move to take in Declan, his body not following his own gaze. He looks at the chips. The table. The vested table worker. The hands again.