Page 5 of Gambler's Fallacy

My eyes glaze over the words.

Havoc leans closer to the sign. “Why is the text so small? Don’t they want people to read this?”

I’d chosen the art museum because I thought looking at pictures would be different and easy, but the museum pamphlet had a whole thing aboutart movementsandsymbolismand long words I don’t recognize. I can’t tell what the pictures are, so I fail at even the basic act of looking at the paintings.

But what use would someone like me ever have for art?

Havoc glances back at the painting, a small furrow in his brow. “I guess I don’t need a sign, though.”

Vortex snorts. “I do.” It’s his turn to squint at the sign. “Blah blah blah, it represents freedom and power.” He shakes his head, and he looks at me for a moment. He puts his arm around me, and I realizethat somewhere along the way, he’s picked up on the fact that I’m not going to be an art connoisseur any time soon.

He doesn’t ask me what I think, instead leading me on to the next painting. It’s more of the same, and I don’t understand how any of these are supposed to representfreedomor anything like that.

I definitely don’t like the ones painted with green, though the red is too garish, too.

It reminds me of Raymond’s body.

I press myself closer to Vortex, and I wonder if I could disappear into him. He’s probably twice as wide as me, and he’s six inches taller than my measly 5’8”. My head brushes against his scruffy chin.

If I’d been born big like him and Havoc, would I have been trapped in that room?

Havoc trails behind us, lingering on some of the paintings. “Man. I wish I could do this kind of thing.”

Vortex gives him a look. “It can’t be that hard. It’s just some random paint splatters.”

“Sure. Like you know how to pick the right colors, and the right brushes, and how they interact, and you can get all that emotion with those right brush strokes so when a person stares at it, they can feel…” Havoc trails off when he realizes neither Vortex nor I understand what he’s talking about. “Never mind. I never got into painting. Supplies were too expensive.”

“Maybe you should,” I suggest. “You have a passion for it.”

Discomfort makes me want to suggest that we bail on this place and head to an art store or something, but he’s enjoying this and I don’t want to ruin it for him.

Besides, that would mean heading back to the Roi de Pique sooner than I’d expected, and despite my general paranoia, it’s nice to be out.

I think.

“I think I’ll save up for more important things first.” Havoc sighs. “You two really don’t feel anything when you look at these pieces?”

Vortex shakes his head without a second thought.

I’m less eager to disappoint Havoc, and I bite my bottom lip before reluctantly doing the same. “It’s just… colors. I don’t know. Who decides which squiggles end up in a museum?”

“Whoever owns the museum,” Havoc answers glibly. “I mean, I don’t know about art history or anything, but I like these. There’s something visceral about them, like I can tell just what the artist was feeling?—”

The loud ring of a phone interrupts Havoc’s explanation. The sound echoes in the mostly empty art hall, making Vortex grimace. “Sorry. Can’t risk missing a call from the boss,” he explains.

He pulls it out and lets out an irritated sigh when he sees the screen, though.

“I need to take this,” he says, stepping away from me and robbing me of his warmth. His voice is low as he asks the person on the phone, “Is this important?”

I can’t hear what the other person is saying, but I carefully watch Vortex’s expression. I have no idea who he’s talking to, but I know it’s not Caleb from his reaction alone. He’d have been quicker to answer and sounded less… resigned.

“Okay. Okay, yes,” he says. “Jesus, no, I’m not going to…” He glances at me and Havoc, lips pursing. “It’s fine. I’m just busy right now.” He listens, then says, “No, I’m never too busy for you.”

He has my full attention now. I don’t know who he’s talking to, but unwelcome jealousy creeps up inside of me. I’m not really one to judge, considering I have all three of them, but I’d thought I’d had them to myself.

Vortex steps farther away from me, lowering his voice so I can’t tell what he’s saying.

“Who the fuck is that?” Havoc murmurs to me. He squeezes the back of my neck. “Has he ever taken a call like that?”

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