Page 21 of Whiskey & Wreckage

“You have PI powers. You probably have a secret sonar system in your brain.”

He chuckles, low and rough. “Or maybe you’re just bad at hiding things.”

I stick my tongue out at him. “You’re going down, Ashcroft.”

But I’m the one going down. In flames. He’s weirdly good at this, and I’ve never felt more personally attacked by a board game.

“You’re good at everything, huh?” I say after he wins again. “What’s that like?”

He shrugs. “I’ve had a lot of practice. Running a business… doing what I do. You learn to read people. Patterns. Weaknesses.”

“So you saw mine instantly?”

“Not weaknesses,” he says, voice quieter now. “Just... layers.”

We sit in silence for a second. Then he asks, “What about you? You always this scrappy?”

I huff a laugh. “Honestly? Yeah. I didn’t have much of a choice.”

And before I can second-guess it, I’m telling him everything.

“My dad died when I was seven. Heart attack. Out of nowhere. My mom… didn’t cope well. At all. She kind of collapsed into herself. Stopped being… everything. So I stepped up. Took care of the house. My little sister, Lily. Helped with billswhen I was old enough. Worked all through high school, got a scholarship, kept going.”

I shrug, like it’s nothing. But it’s not.

Thomas doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches me with those eyes that feel like they see everything.

“That’s a lot,” he says softly. “For a kid.”

“Yeah, well. Somebody had to do it.”

“And no one did it for you.”

I blink. That’s… yeah. That’s exactly it.

“I guess I got used to being the one who fixes things,” I murmur. “Even if I was breaking in the process.”

He doesn’t speak. He just shifts a little closer, close enough that our knees bump. His hand brushes mine on the floor, not quite holding it, but not not holding it either.

“You don’t have to fix anything tonight,” he says. “Just be here. Eat your pizza. Kick my ass in round three.”

A smile pulls at my lips. “You wish.”

He smiles back, and something flickers behind his eyes. Something real. Something kind.

And I realize that maybe this isn’t just a break from the chaos.

Maybe it’s the beginning of something else entirely.

We play three rounds of Battle Ship.

I lose every. Single. One.

By the end of it, I’m half-laughing, half-fake-sulking, and Thomas looks entirely too pleased with himself for a man who just dominated a children’s board game. I narrow my eyes as I pack the pieces away, sliding the box back into the closet.

“You’re officially banned from future game nights,” I grumble, brushing my hands off.

He grins. “You’re just mad I’m a strategic genius.”

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