Page 606 of The Winslow Brothers

But our eldest brother Remy nudges his stack of chips forward with a lazy grin. “Doesn’t matter. I’m in.”

Wes sighs, already looking like he regrets showing up. “I swear, playing poker with you guys is like playing with toddlers. No strategy, no logic—just pure fuckery.”

Thatch grins and tosses his chips in. “And yet, you’re here. Again. Admit it, Wes. You love us.”

Wes grumbles, but before he can come up with a retort, several loud knocks come from the door.

Instantly, Thatch’s face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, hell yes! The real fun is about to begin!”

“What are you talking about, T?” Kline questions, fear making his eyebrows crease, but Thatch just waves him off as he hops to his feet.

“Oh, get ready, Special K!” he booms over his shoulder. “We’re going to have some real fun.”

Remy groans. “I swear, if he ordered fucking strippers or some shit, I’ll kill him.”

Jude looks at me, brows raised. “You think we should be worried?”

“Dude.”I crack up. “When it comes to Thatch? We should always be worried. If I weren’t a little tipsy, I’d be ghosting you fuckers already.”

“Fuck,” Wes mutters.

“Boys! Your surprise has arrived,” Thatch announces as he walks back into the room, but he’s not alone and he’s thankfully not with strippers.

Though, the person standing beside him is someone I honestly never thought we’d see again. Ever.

“Holy shit,” Jude mutters.

In all her bohemian, mystical glory, Cleo, the fortune-teller who predicted all our love lives years ago with creepy, eerie accuracy, smiles widely. And then, five years ago, when she got invited to a Winslow Family Dinner as a surprise, she predicted multiple pregnancies.

I’m terrified what her being here now could mean.

“You gotta be shitting me,” Flynn mumbles.

Rem barks out a laugh. “This is actually happening?”

Wes, looking thoroughly unamused, glares at Thatch. “You invited the fucking fortune-teller?”

“Fate psychic, dear,” Cleo corrects smoothly, stepping all the way inside Thatch’s poker den. She makes herself at home, sitting down in the spot that Thatch vacated. She sweeps her long, flowing shawl over one shoulder, and the bracelets on her arm jingle as she sets down a deck of tarot cards on the poker table.

“I thought we could use a little…enlightenment,” Thatch says, rubbing his hands together like a mad scientist. “Besides, we all know Cleo is never wrong.”

Wes sighs so dramatically I think he actually considers walking out. “Why do I let you convince me to do things?”

“Because, deep down, you know you need me. I keep shit exciting, Wes.” Thatch winks.

Remy leans back in his chair, amused. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Cleo settles in, looking around at each of us like she can see straight into our souls. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

“Me first!” Thatch demands, practically pushing Wes out of his chair so he can sit down beside Kline. “Tell me all the good things, Cleo baby.”

She glances at Thatch and then at Kline and then back at Thatch. “Well, this seating arrangement is certainly convenient.”

Kline furrows his brow.

“Am I going to have Kline’s baby?” Thatch questions, and Cleo smirks.

“The two of you,” she says, humming as she flips over two cards. “You’re intertwined like ivy vines on weathered brick. The bond, built on years of growth, may be tested, but these roots run far, far too deep to be pulled free easily.”

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