The Silver Wheel Gambling House is not a social club.

But sometimes, people would treat it like one.

And sometimes, Juan would let them.

“...It was a little rough, ya know? He said right in the email what he wanted and how he wanted it done. Even when I showed him the email, all he said was ‘well that’s not what I meant’. Which, fine, I could expect that from him. But then when I asked him to be more clear next time he turned it around and blamed me for trying to escape responsibility. Sometimes I really hate this job.”

“Mhm. Sounds rough.”

“But he’s not the only problem. I dunno if it’s the weather or the time of year or what, but Patna is way worse than when I was here last time. It’s been so humid I can barely breathe, and the air is bad enough as is with all the pollution. And I tried a little corner store for lunch and I saw what must have been a pack of rats running out of the kitchen. At least seven.”

“Really?”

“I really wanted to leave, but the waiter asked me to stay and I felt awkward.”

Aarav Ray took a sip from the Sex on the Beach he ordered for himself, and bobbed his head in time with “Dream On”, streaming in from the other room. Ratna Ray, his wife, who was seated on the same side of the table and was squeezing his hand with hers, chugged her third glass of authentic Scotch whiskey with the other. The kind brewed in Skye. She wasn’t even so much as tapping her feet, as she didn’t like Aerosmith very much. But she did enjoy the Blacktop Mojo cover, despite being unable to articulate exactly why.

“That’s awful.”

The two had arrived at the same time, but reacted very differently. Aarav Ray assumed it was some happy dream, considering it had been two weeks since he had seen his wife. Ratna Ray, on the other hand, was absolutely convinced she had died and was in some kind of afterlife, and it had taken a considerable amount of reassurance from Juan in the other room to convince her otherwise. And even then, they spent what must have been their first few minutes of the visit locked in a wordless embrace, at Ratna’s insistence.

“Yeah, it was. But it’ll be worth it. I’m on the fast-track to a promotion. In a few more months, I’ll be senior, and from there? Well… maybe an executive position?”

Juan was listening, quietly and politely. He wasn’t smiling, but his lips were permanently curled upwards in a gentle, pleasant sort of way. A resting kind face, if such a thing existed. Despite his lack of participation in the conversation, he had been sitting straight and staying attentive, as was right and proper for a table host at a gambling house.

“But anyway. How’re you? How are the headaches? Seemed pretty nasty last time we spoke.”

“I’m... fine. They’re fine. But I wish we did this in real life more often.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. You know how busy things are, especially this time of year. I’ll make a point to take you out somewhere nice when things slow down. Or… well… I guess I can say this, since our memories will be wiped of this place… but just two days ago I booked us some tickets to Berlin. I’m going to come home early on your birthday and we’ll be going as a surprise.”

She gasped, covering her mouth.

“Really?!”

“Yeah! I know how much you like World War Two history and I hear they have a lot of great museums, so I figured we could see them all, take the tours, visit the monuments… you know, do the whole thing.”

“...Goodness.” She gasped again, putting a hand on her head. “I think I need another whiskey.”

“Haha, what? Aren’t you happy?”

“Yeah. Yeah of course. That’s… really nice. That’s a great gift, thank you.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

He rocked back and forth in his seat, which creaked under his weight. They’d been talking for the past hour (he would guess, anway: there are no clocks in the Silver Wheel) and he’d been carrying about 90% of the conversation. After their unusually long embrace, she had been dazed for the first part, lost in thought in the second, and now distracted in the third. He could understand all of it, considering where they were and how much she was drinking. But something seemed more unusual than usual.

“It’s a perfect gift, Aarav. It really is.”

She wasn’t smiling.

“...are you upset I’m spoiling it?”

She didn’t answer him. The glass was put next to her, and she took her first gulp almost instantly, as if she intended to savor the flavor in her stomach. She paused for a moment, then swallowed the rest, pushing the glass aside.

“Another, please.”

And before her husband could get a word in edgewise, she finally untangled their fingers and leaned away from him, looking down.

“Aarav, I’m… oh, god I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…”

“...what?”

“Aarav, I’m having an affair.”

He looked like a lost, slightly kicked puppy.

“...what?”

“I mean… as long as we’re making confessions we won’t remember. I’m having hot, sweaty, passionate affairs. Every time you’re gone.”

He wasn’t sure what had shocked him more: the confession, or the abrupt, almost casual way it was introduced into the conversation. Or maybe that wasn’t right. Maybe all the silence and distance beforehand was the preamble to the announcement, and he simply wasn’t aware of it until now. But she wasn’t distracted anymore. In fact, more than guilty or ashamed, she looked determined and focused.

The juxtaposition did not help his confusion.

“...what?”

“You can’t be this dumb, Aarav. An affair. I’m fucking other men outside wedlock, behind your back. I wasn’t going to say anything, obviously, but if you’re coming home early there’s about a 50/50 chance you’ll catch me with some guy.”

It’s said that people experience either fight or flight when they encounter danger. Aarav was firmly in the ‘fight’ category, and right now the growing tumor of anger and hatred in his stomach was the biggest danger in the room. After very calmly throwing his half-full glass of Sex on the Beach against the far wall, he took a few deep breaths to combat his urge to do something violent and stupid. Deep breaths. Until he could open his eyes, look at her, and not see a wall of pure red rage.

It was more a hot pink now. Which was a start.

“Why.”

“Isn’t it obvious? You’re always gone. I have needs. I don’t feel special or loved. I want more dick. Just… pick a reason at random it’ll probably be at least kind of true.”

He was still reeling. Emotionally. The wind knocked out of his stomach and leaving him adrift in a confused sea of anger where the sky and the water looked the same. But he could talk. And he needed to address the issue like an adult.

“With who?”

“A few other guys. None that you’d know except Haj.”

“Haj? The asshole from the gym? You complain about him all the time.”

“He’s hung, though.”

That was about his limit for addressing the issue like an adult. Aarav stood up, walked to the bar, and slammed the door shut. His wife didn’t follow. She watched the door. She waited while he stirred in the bar, not alone, but left alone by the normally crude bartender, who seemed to opt out of this particular engagement. She took another chug of her whisky, and didn’t reveal her surprise when her husband barged back out after only a few seconds. Fuming. But lucid.

He sat down on the opposite end of the table.

“Tell me the rules of this place again.”

Juan lowered his eyes.

“You can wager whatever you want, so long as both parties agree it’s fair, you only wager what is yours, and you don’t wager your time on the earth. Every game must be played to completion, as they’re all-or-nothing. And if you’re caught cheating, you immediately lose.”

“I want you to bet your loyalty.” He spat directly at his wife.

“No.” She answered immediately.

“What?! Why?”

She didn’t answer immediately this time. She had to think.

“...because… I wouldn’t be happy if I was loyal. You’re gone too long. I would spend all day missing you and only be happy when you’re around. I want you to bet your forgiveness and acceptance.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I want you to forgive and accept me for what you’re going to catch me doing. ”

“That’s… so you’re basically asking me to let you keep fucking other men. What could you possibly give me that could equal that?!”

“You can fuck other women?”

His scowling made it clear that was not an acceptable tradeoff, and it certainly wasn’t a fair gamble. But he really wasn’t sure what she could offer other than loyalty. He loved her. He didn’t want to divorce her. But if he did (and depending on who he caught her with, he just might), he would take everything. There was nothing material she could bring to the table. And judging by how long she was thinking, she knew that as well. She was thinking so long the first hints of a genuine panic started to appear - but then a dawning epiphany put those fears to rest.

“Alright, how about this: I’ll bet my smarts.”

“Your… smarts?”

“You know how much better I am than you at math. And speaking Chinese. And socializing. All things you definitely need if you want that promotion you’re working for. If I won’t get your forgiveness when you catch me, then your consolation prize for losing a wife is getting a giant shot of intelligence.”

“But-”

“I am not going to wager my loyalty Aarav. I can’t. It’s this, or nothing.”

Aarav clenched his teeth. For the first time, tears threatened to take the corner of his eyes. He was upset about the affair, of course, but if it were just betrayal, that was a knife-wound he could endure. What made this so profoundly painful was the slow and gradual process of dismantling the future he had architected for the two of them. The trip to Berlin would be canceled, obviously, but he had hoped to get promoted soon, and to use that new money to invest in a second car, and a bigger home. He was going to send her back to university, and support her as she finished her degree. Once she was finished, he figured she could start her own job, and maybe he could take some time off to take care of a child. He would have written a book during naps. And gotten into the stock market. When they were old enough for daycare he’d go back to work. Climb the ladder. Become international. And get paid to see the world, striking deals in decorated halls, his decorated wife at his arm.

The longer he sat in silence, the further ahead he saw, and the more dramatic the collapse became. And watching his future crumble, knowing he’d have to build it again, brick by brick, was too painful to bear.

He didn’t want to forgive her. No matter what she said, or what he thought, there was no excusing an affair. But she was right--one way or another, he was going to catch her at one point or another. On paper, then, this whole arrangement seemed like a win-win: he would either be forced to forgive the woman he loved and save their marriage, or he could be true to himself and his feelings while also getting a much-needed professional boost. But it felt like a lose-lose.

He took a deep breath. But it felt more like a swallow, the air heavier than a stone.

“...fine. I wager my forgiveness and acceptance.”

“And I wager my intelligence.”

Sixty chips, thirty on each side, appeared on the table: his, a pearly white mixed with traces of gray, while hers were a combination of blues. And as they appeared, Juan bowed his head slightly and took center stage, uncurling his clenched hand to reveal a single domino.

"Tonight’s game… is Pai Gow.”

Pai Gow originates from China, and like many of the oldest forms of gambling, was originally played with dice. It’s not quite certain when it transitioned to dominos, although the very first mention of dominos in China can be found in Former Events in Wulin, by Zhou Mi, which was penned between 1232 and 1298. It became prominent in the 19th century, which was also when it became introduced in the west… although it was extremely unpopular due to its many complicated rules. It wasn’t until the 1980’s that two Americans, Sam Torosian and Fred Wolf, crafted a card-based alternative that was simpler and thus more palatable to most western casinos, which is the version most often played.

However, the Silver Wheel played the dominos version, albeit a version adjusted for simplicity.

The game starts with eight stacks of four face-down dominos called the “Woodpile”. Players can rearrange this pile if they want, after which, the players draw one of the eight stacks. The players are then tasked with arranging the four dominos into two “hands” with two dominos each, called the “front hand” (which is of lower value) and the “back hand” (which is higher). If both the player’s hands are a higher value than the dealer's, they win. If they’re both lower, they lose. If only one is higher, then the player “pushes”, getting their money back and nothing else. Effectively, it's a draw.

Scoring a hand typically involves adding all the dots on both dominos, then dropping the tens digit: which meant all the dots adding up to an eight was much more valuable than a fourteen, which scores as a four. A nine, in this respect, is normally the highest-scoring hand you can get, although a 1/1 tile (called a Day) and a 6/6 tile (Called a Teen) can be combined with an eight or nine to score a ten or eleven (A gong and a wong, respectively). There are two more unusual dominos in the game: the 1/2 and the 2/4, called Gee Jon. Those are considered “wild”, and can either be worth three or six, depending on which helps the player score more.

But if you get a pair, then you automatically beat the opponent's hand, no matter what they score.

“That said, how pairs work in proper Pai Gow is way too complicated for our game at the Silver Wheel, as almost every combination of pairs has its own unique value. We’ll play with significantly simpler rules: a non-matching pair, that is to say, two dominos that have the same value but a different arrangement of dots - for example, a 2/2 and 1/3 - are ranked in traditional poker style, with higher numbers being more valuable. They, however, will be out-ranked by matching pairs - like two 1/3's - which will follow the same rule.”

“There’s one more change we’ve made to the rules. As you won’t be playing against the house, you’ll be taking turns as the dealer: one of you bets against the other, and if you win, the other has to pay what you bet. If you lose, the dealer takes the bet. However. To keep things moving along, if you should draw, instead of returning your chips, they will remain on the table as a pot. The next person to win - dealer or player - will take whatever they wagered from both the other player and the pot, which could triple their winnings. And to entice you all to make big bets, there’s one more rule you should know: whoever has the most chips in the pot wins ties. So don’t be stingy: in a game like this, that edge can mean the difference between victory and defeat. In the event both people have the same number of chips in the pot, dealer wins ties.”

“I know it’s a lot to keep track of, but I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have.” Juan smiled apologetically. “The bar can be made soundproof so you can ask me your questions without the other player hearing your strategy… but that doesn’t mean I’ll play the game for you!”

“So, are we ready?”

“Yeah.”

“...as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then let’s flip to see who deals first. As the offended party, I’ll let Aarav call the coin.”

Winning any draws certainly seemed like an advantage (Juan certainly played it up as one), but it wasn’t an enormous one as near as he could tell, as much like the coin toss, the game ultimately came down to luck. So he said “tails”, without thinking, and watched dispassionately as Juan flipped the coin.

Juan caught it. And revealed a tails. He had won, but he felt nothing for it.

“And Aarav deals first. You may rearrange the wood pile as you see fit.”

Again, with all the dominos face-down, Aarav didn’t see much point, outside trying to thwart an attempt to cheat. But neither he nor his wife had touched the dominos since they arrived, so… he just pulled four at random, and the game began in earnest.

A 1/3, a 2/3, a 5/5, and a 1/5. But since none of them were pairs, it would be easier to call them a four, a five, a ten, and a six.

A bad hand, if he understood the rules right. A four and a five could be combined to make a nine, the best normal hand, in theory. But then he’d have to combine the ten and the six, which left him with… a six. More troubling still, no other combination would be as good: the four and the six made a ten (worth nothing), the five and the six made 11 (worth one), and the five and the ten made 15, (worth 5).

Suddenly, however, he realized another disadvantage of being the dealer: the player controls the bet. If he were the player, he’d have bet low to keep the losses at a minimum. But his wife could bet anything she wanted… and he’d be forced to pay, in the likely event she had him beat. Trying to not look nervous, he glanced up at her: she was still constructing her hands with the dominoes she had picked, not paying any attention to him yet. He didn’t like how hard she seemed to be thinking about it...

But then, there was a lot he didn’t like about her right now.

Eventually, she glanced up, and their eyes met.

“You seem stressed.”

“It’s been a rough night.”

“Relax. When you wake up, it won’t even be a dream.”

“But I’ll still catch you fucking another man.”

“Mhm. Always living in tomorrow, aren’t you?” She hummed, grabbing four chips and throwing them onto the table, giving her the edge in ties. “Is your hand ready?”

He put a hand on his chips, flipping one, two between his fingers as he stared at her. She met his glare with neutral, dead eyes, that betrayed not even the slightest emotions. His fingers tightened around his chips, and his teeth clenched, and a temporarily repressed rage started to boil in his gut again.

“How the hell can you be so relaxed about this?!”

“You know they call it a ‘poker face’, dear.”

“Fuck that! You just out and out admit you’re having an affair and you make this whole game happen-”

“The game was your idea.”

“Shut up!”

She sighed.

“Aarav, sweetie, no matter how this turns out it’ll work for me. Either I get to keep having my affair, or I’ll be too stupid to realize how miserable I am. You probably don’t realize how depressing it is to be smart, but it can be quite the chore.”

He growled. And now she smiled.

“So why shouldn’t I feel relaxed?”

Juan shifted and glanced away. She seemed to notice this with a sideways glance, and her smile turned into a smirk. She had the floor to herself: Aarav was too furious for words.

“Look. Our lover’s spat is making our host uncomfortable. How about we play our hands and get this over with, hm?”

He had always known she could be a little bitchy. But he hadn’t known she was capable of such… emotional sadism. He dropped his chips, which clattered back into his pile gracelessly, before flipping over his front hand: the six.

She revealed a 5/5 and 2/3 Worth five points. His front hand had been a six, so he won the first hand: a good start, but he would still need to win the back hand if he was going to win the whole round. With a bit more confidence backing his rage, he showed his back hand: the nine. She paused for a moment, snorted comfortably, and revealed hers: a 4/5, and a 3/6.

“A non-matching pair beats a nine. Aarav won the first hand, Ratna won the second, so it’s a draw. The wager remains in the pool, and Ratna wins any draws for now.”

“Too bad.” Ratna shrugged, finishing off her… whatever glass of whiskey this was. Aarav didn’t say anything. He could only grind his teeth and throw his dominoes back into the woodpile, which was already being shuffled by Juan. “Sohnea” was playing on the radio now. Not exactly what he was expecting in a place like this, but muffled as it was, it matched the muted atmosphere well enough.

“Ratna will deal now. Does anyone wish to adjust the wood pile?”

“No.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then please draw your tiles, Ratna.”

She reached for the pile, but didn’t grab any immediately. She toyed with them a little first, tapping the edges and corners of them at random, either straightening out the uneven lines or perhaps seeing if there was some puzzle she could solve. On some normal day this playfulness might have been charming. But right now, the delay was aggravating. Aarav considered calling her out for stalling, or trying to annoy him, but he didn’t want to sound like a child. So he decided on something else.

“Trying to cheat?”

“If ‘thinking’ were cheating you’d be the only honest man here.”

“As far as I know I am the only honest one here! We already know you’re a cheat.”

He should have said ‘trying to cheat again’ at the start, he only now realized.

“It’s okay to be mad, Aarav, but it would be better for your heart if you relaxed. No point breaking it twice in one night.”

It was as if she weren’t merely picking her dominos, but pushing his buttons. Before words of protest could fall out of his gaping mouth, she grabbed four dominos and pulled them close.

“There, happy? Now you can pick.”

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

He violently grabbed the first four he could reach. And he immediately regretted it: 2/2, 4/6, 4/5, and 6/6 Or, effectively, a four, a ten, a nine, and a twelve. Not a lot to work with. The ten and nine could be merged for a nine, which would make his back hand, while his front hand would be a six. Exactly the same score as he had last time. What were the odds of that, he wondered?

...what were the odds she had another pair?

She was looking quite smug across the table, but right now that was her default emotion. Something he was having a hard time wrapping his head around, even now. He had long enjoyed her wit, and she had occasionally flaunted her intelligence in front of him: at Ehsan’s birthday she roasted him until the room was flush with laughter. But her smiles and her sneers had been kinder then.

He spat those thoughts away. No matter how many times his mind returned to them, they didn’t matter. He had to accept she was apparently very different from the woman he thought he knew. If these were her true colors at least he could get her brains so he’d never make this mistake again..

“Your bet?”

This wasn’t a good enough hand to bet much. He dropped three into the pot.

“Then, if you’re ready, feel free to show us your hand.”

He revealed his first six. His wife snorted.

“Ah. So close.”

And she flipped a 3/4 and a 5/5… a seven. She won the first hand, which meant he’d have to win the back hand if he was going to force a draw. But then, without prompting, she flipped over her second hand: and revealed a 4/4 and a 3/6. Another seven.

“...but I’m guessing you have this beat, right?”

“So another draw, then.” He muttered as he revealed his dominos, and his score of nine, which soundly beat hers.

“And the stakes get higher.”

The woodpile was reshuffled. And as they were, the married couple stared at each other from across the table. She ran her fingers along the lip of one of her empty glasses. He was taking deep breaths. Considering ordering another drink. But then his wife leaned forward. Flashed him the kind of smile he used to know too well, the kind she used to give him when she wanted his hands on her body. It used to be his favorite sight in the world. Now it felt tainted. And horrible.

“You know, I learned a lot about gambling from Haj.”

“I don’t care.”

“Not as much as I’d like, but, it was hard to hear everything from under the table.”

His deep breathing was not working.

“...you know, sweetie, all the smarts in the world won’t make this pain go away. But you know what would? Forgiveness. You wouldn’t mind one bit when I start talking about sucking his fat, veiny-”

“Shut up shut up shut up!”

The temptation to throw something at her peaked. There was never a time in his life he felt more tempted, or justified, to attack a woman. The fact that he was still seated and his hand was not raised was a mark of immense pride for him, once he was done seething. This time, however, it was Juan who spoke up first, pushing the newly-prepared woodpile onto the table.

“...you need a minute?” He asked Aarav in a low, soft voice. The kind of thing that didn’t register with him at that moment.

He took another shivering breath.

“...I’m fine.”

And he took his four dominos, making no ceremony out of eyeballing them: 5/5. 4/6. He already had a pair of non-matching tens. His eye twitched with excitement, and then he flipped over the next two dominos, a 3/6 and 3/5. Finally, something better than a six -- a seven. Not great but if he could win the first hand then the second would be a given. He made his hands quickly, then jealousy glared at her as she more carefully put her dominos together: a sign, perhaps, that she didn’t have a good hand?

The relief from her vicious smugness was enormous. Emboldening, even. With a crumbling smile, he pushed.

“Having a hard time with the math?”

She didn’t answer.

“You can ask Juan for help you know.”

He was out of his element, he realized, and she was very much in hers: even when he was the one with the upper hand, she knew exactly how to turn the tables and make him feel worse. She just ignored him. Completely and totally. There wasn’t an indication she had even heard him. And he knew she was doing it on purpose. She wasn't ignoring him. She just knew it was the best way to irritate him. And it was working, because all of the sudden he felt powerless and emasculated. Again.

...could this actually be real? Or was this some kind of hellish nightmare, and he just hadn't realized it yet? He used to have nightmares a lot, when he was younger and overworked at school. He discovered, rather on accident, that he could wake up from any nightmare if he counted backwards from ten. As she continued to shuffle her dominos around, he decided to give it a try, under his breath… counting down from ten… nine… eight… seven…

Juan glanced his way, frowning. In some respects his host looked more miserable than Aarav did. Maybe it was because his face looked meticulously designed to smile, and every frown seemed unnatural and uncomfortable.

Six… five… four…

Teresa was also here, he realized. She had a habit of escaping his sight and, immediately, his memory. But she was standing to the side, by the door, eyes cast down in a dispassionately disinterested way. She was a witness until she was needed as a server, and he got the impression she didn’t care for either jobs.

Three...two…

“You can stop counting, this isn’t a nightmare.”

One… zero.

Ratna looked up, throwing seven chips into the pot and sliding her hands forward. Now, she was looking at him. As bloated with confidence as ever before.

“But I understand why you’d want it to be.”

“The alternative is realizing you’re not the woman I married.”

“Heh. You think so?”

“She was kind. She was smart but compassionate. She was quiet and sharp-witted. I have no idea who you are.”

“Hate to break it to you, sweetie, but I am that very same woman. The only thing that’s changed is that I got married to you.”

“Are you saying I turned you into this?!”

She took a breath, short and sharp and cold. And she actually looked away.

“Well… a woman can’t be a cheater if she’s not in a relationship.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Her jaw tensed, and suddenly he realized a bit of color had drained from her cheeks: only noticing its absence as he watched it return.

“Why are you asking questions that you know will only hurt you?”

She threw three more chips into the pot. For a moment, Aarav felt as if perhaps she might be as scared as he was right now: although if she was, it must have been a very different kind than his own. He knew his own fear: it was the terror of staring down some mysterious, dangerous animal, and being trapped between dread and rage. It was a deeply unsettling and alien fear that she had no right to feel.

Because he knew, at least, that he had always been the same man.

She flipped over her front hand. His teeth felt like they cracked as he bit down, seeing the 1/5 and 1/1… an eight. Just barely beating his own six. She knew immediately that he had lost, and made no effort to muffle her chuckle. And while he steamed, she slowly stood up, sauntered over to his side of the table, dragging her fingers along the edge, and leaned over next to him, her hot breath washing over his ear and her breasts pushing against his shoulder.

She flipped over his dominos one at a time.

“A 3/6… and a 3/4. That’s… one, two… seven… I can’t remember, that’s… less than eight… right?”

He pushed her away.

It was harder than he had intended, and she had to catch herself on the table to avoid tipping over. Her hair fell over her face as she corrected herself…and then the rest of her fell down as well, a howl dropping out of her painted lips as she folded in on herself, wrapping her body around her head.

Being so suddenly jostled, combined with all the alcohol she’d been drinking, must have triggered one of her migraines.

The old instincts kicked in. He left his rage at the table and rushed to her side, helping her sit up and covering her head with his coat, casting a much-needed shadow to protect her from light. With a comfortable authority, he shouted for cannabis oil: an unusual request, but Teresa bowed her head and went to the bar to accommodate.

“Fuuuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” She hissed, grabbing his hands as she rocked back and forth. “Even in my fucking dreams?!”

“Don’t talk. Breathe.”

“Hnnnngggggg…”

“Your oil, sir.”

Teresa offered it on a silver plate, which he immediately took. She’d chug the ornate glass given the chance, so he carefully measured the proper dosage with the glass cap and handed that to her instead.

“Come on. Open up.”

“I fucking got it.” She moaned.

She swallowed.

And they waited.

“Youth” by Daughter was streaming into the room by the time he removed the coat from over her. He had no idea how long had passed, but the exhaustion of the evening had caught up with him in that time, from having his emotions throttled and forced to grapple with a thousand different things at once. And when he looked over at her, truly vulnerable for the first time that night, he could see a more profoundly deep weariness radiating out of her. The kind of fatigue that can only grow if left untreated for a long span of time. The kind of fatigue he’d never seen in her, despite how comfortably it seemed to drape itself around her shoulders.

The kind of fatigue he really should have noticed sooner.

“...thank you.” She gently placed her head against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I pushed you.”

“I deserved it.”

“You really did.”

He started a laugh, but she finished it.

“...are you sure you want to finish this game?”

Weirdly, he wasn’t sure who asked that. The words just appeared in the space between them. He didn’t remember saying it, but then, he couldn’t be absolutely sure he hadn’t.

Still. He decided to answer.

“Yes. I do.”

“Why? What’s so wrong with forgiveness?”

He closed his eyes. A mistake, it seemed, because the moment his lids were closed they weighed ten times as much.

“Nothing, Ratna. I want to forgive you. But you should earn it in the real world, by being honest with me, talking to me, and asking for it. I don’t care what these people say: it won’t be real if it’s just... won and forced.”

“But… what if I can’t guarantee you’d forgive me?”

“That’s the gamble you have to take when you decide to break someone’s heart, isn’t it?”

They both went silent. The room went silent. And for a moment, everything was just… still.

“I can’t take that gamble, Aarav. Not this time.”

“Why not?”

She went silent again. And then took a deep breath, as if preparing to throw herself into a deep pool, and never emerge. A determination he recognized from the start of the game crashed over her face, and she turned to face him directly.

“Because I won’t fight for your forgiveness. You don’t deserve it.”

She twisted the knife he’d forgotten was in his heart. And that callous venom that had dripped from her tone earlier returned.

“I want your money and I want to fuck other dudes. There’s no way you’d give that to me if I asked you for it. So I have to fucking earn it, don’t I?”

“...I…” he stammered. She had fucking stabbed him when he had let his guard down. There was literally no level to which she wouldn’t sink.

“And you know if you weren't such a fucking pussy, you could have just made my headache worse and worse until I gave up, right? You had a free win on your fucking lap but you nice guy’d your way out of it.”

She stood up.

“Sweetie, face it: you’re soft. In every meaning of the word. No wonder you could never keep a woman happy.”

She fixed her hair and sauntered back to her side of the table. Swaying her befouled hips as she moved. When she reached it, she casually flipped over her second hand, as if they had never interrupted the game, and revealing another unimpressive back hand a 5/5 and a 4/5. A nine.

“Your turn, sweetie.”

If he thought his eyelids were heavy, the rest of his body was twice as much: but rage makes for a powerful generator. He realized how mistaken he was, as he clawed his way back to his side of the table: this game wasn’t about winning her smarts. It was about making sure she would never, ever get his forgiveness. He bitterly revealed his second hand, the non-matching tens, frustrated he had fallen for her tricks and couldn’t show a win for it, but confident that his victory would come one way or another.

“... and the pot grows larger.” Juan spoke after a long period of silence. “Ratna, your deal.”

Aarav took another deep breath to better remember where he was. The smoke that thinly veiled the air was no longer perfumed, just a smoky, tasteless fuzz that gave texture to each breath. Florence + The Machine was on the radio now, streaming “Big God” into the room from behind the walls. And he had only just now realized how big the pot had gotten. Seventeen chips at a quick glance, most of them from her last ten-chip bet. With a pot that big, and her own stockpile of chips so low, one good hand was all he needed and he could win the game.

He had gotten so close so often, so far.

He was due for a win.

He didn’t bother shuffling the dominos, and grabbed his stack.

And a wave of validation washed over him. His eye twitched as he looked at his 4/5, two 6/6’s, and 2/6: a seven and a twelve-matching pair. This wasn’t just a good hand: it was a winning one. She may have beaten a seven once, but the chances of a front hand beating it again should be low... and having a pair of matching twelves meant he literally had the best back hand possible.

And he had twenty-seen chips still in his hands. If he wagered sixteen, he could empty out her side of the table, and win any ties, giving him an extra edge.

He glanced up. As with every other hand, the hand construction phase was the one time she wasn’t somehow mocking him. But he secretly wished she was. He wanted her to lord over him, a king basking on a golden bed, unaware of the cobra hidden between the pillows. About to strike. He could feel the venom on his own fingertips, seeping into his pieces, burning impatiently to sink into her veins. But she was taking longer than usual with her dominos. She was thinking. Hard.

Or… more likely… she was just stalling, hoping to get another rise out of him. He was tempted to goad: after all, she was the dealer, which meant she couldn’t control the wager, so it didn’t really matter if she knew he had a good hand. But last time he tried that, it just made things worse. So he sat. He waited. Edging on the inevitable moment when she smugly met his eyes.

And soon, she did.

“Someone’s confident.” She noticed clearly, sliding her hand forward. “Or is the delusion finally seeping in?”

“Think I can’t win?”

“Oh, honey. If you had any luck, or any real confidence, we wouldn’t be in this situation right now, would we?”

He flexed his fingers.

“Then you won’t mind if I make this wager a bit bigger than usual?”

“That’s what the chips are for, aren’t they?”

He counted out sixteen chips - exactly enough to win him the game - and dropped them in the middle of the table. Juan jerked to alertness. Ratna wolf-whistled as the chips crackled against the table, toying with one of the curled strands of hair falling from the side of her head.

“Looks like little Aarav is all grown up. But let’s see if he has the hands to back up that big number, shall we?”

Now that the chips were down and it was time to put up, the once-unassailable confidence in his hand began to waver, if only slightly, and his fingers paused just shy of the wooden tiles, as if he were drawing it out for dramatics. It was a good hand, that was true, and her earlier pause made him fairly confident in his ability to win, and yet… there was something ineffable about this moment, too great for him to describe or even understand. The inevitability of his victory, the validation of his rage… and the possibility, small but unignorable, that it could all still go so wrong. That he had made some mistake.

But he tightened his throat and swallowed those torments clear. The sooner this was over the sooner he could start planning for a new tomorrow. Rebuilding his future would be long and painful. But that first brick had to be laid at some point, win or lose.

So he flipped, revealing his 4/5 and 2/6: the seven. His eyes locked to her, his teeth borne like a starved wolf as her confident smile drained away into a pale, wide-eyed look of concern. The joke was over, it seemed.

Her eyes darted between his dominos and him.

“Seems I might be in trouble…”

He sneered, edging forward, heart beating with joy as she flipped over the first domino: a 3/3. To beat him with that, she’d need a 6/6 (and he had both of those), a 1/2, or she’d need…

She flipped the second domino of her first hand.

A 1/1.

An eight.

An eight.

“...oh, honey…” She purred, her voice slathered in sadistic venom, “...did you actually have hope?”

She stuck her tongue out.

And the heat in his stomach hit critical mass. The dying star reached as far as it would go, and it collapsed into something dark, something heavy, and something cold. The kind of heavy, dark, cold thing that didn’t burn, it didn’t ache… it just loomed and devoured and felt like his entire body was made of TV static.

“Well, show me that back hand and keep we’ll pounding that optimism out of you.” She flipped over her back hand, showing a 2/4 and 1/4: another eight, thanks to her Gee Jon tile. “It’ll be good practice for when you catch Haj pounding your wife.”

Her words just glided through him, but like a stiff breeze warmed by the tongue of some distant flame, he could still feel it. In fact, it tickled him enough to actually produce a broken little smile.

“...Ratna… thank you.”

“For what?” She blithely asked, another drink placed in front of her. “Finally figuring out you’re into the cuckold life?”

He didn’t answer with words yet. Rather, he flipped over his dominos first, showing his twelve-pair match. It was another draw, but Juan didn’t announce it. Rather, he silently took the dominos from both sides and started shuffling them again. Rebuilding the woodpile for what would be the next round of play.

He watched them shuffle for a while. Meditative and quiet. And, for the second time that night, that overwhelming aura of confidence and pride radiating from the other side of the table shuddered.

“...Aarav? You there, big guy?”

“Thank you for not wagering your loyalty.” He shook his head, refusing to look at her again. He had found a paper-thin calmness in his numbness, and from this calmness, he found clarity. “I just realized I don’t want it. You are a horrible, sadistic, terrible person. And I don’t love you.”

A song he didn’t recognize was playing on the radio. It was “The Good Fight” by Dessa, but neither of them had heard of her before.

“...Aarav.”

Her voice was familiar. It had lost the cruel edge it carried the whole game. It was the same voice she had used on their first date. When he had gotten on one knee and asked for her hand. When she said “I do” two years later. When she had told him “I love you, good night” during their last phone call.

And he broke all over again.

“Just shut up.” He heaved the words out, caught somewhere between a bark and a sob. “Just shut up and draw. I’m not falling for your bullshit again.”

Without another word, she did. He did too. It was unimpressive. A 3/6, 1/6, 4/4, and 5/6. A nine, a seven, an eight, and an eleven. The latter two could be mixed to make a nine, but that meant his front hand would be a six. A terrible hand. But he was the dealer this time, so the entire thing was out of his control. It was all in hers. From the beginning, to the very end, it was all under her command.

And of course, it was somehow no surprise when she pushed the rest of her chips into the center of the table. She was betting it all.

He didn’t even need to see her hand to know it was over. He stared at the pot, an unorganized multicolored pile of intelligence and forgiveness. And she shot him a profoundly sad, terrifyingly sincere little smile, revealing her front and back hands at the same time.

A 1/2 and 1/5. A nine. And then a pair of matching sevens.

It was over.

“...I… I did it all for us!” His fragile composure broke further into a sob, “The long hours! The trips! E-everything you cheated on me for, I, I did it to make a better future for us! How… how could you do this to me?”

He was trembling again. Trembling and pale. As the chips were dragged over to her side of the table, his anger was washed over with a terrible and painful forgiveness. He didn’t mean what he said earlier. He still loved her. He loved her so much. He wished he didn’t, then maybe he wouldn’t ache so badly he couldn’t even see straight. But he did.

She bit her bottom lip. Then, surprising both himself and Juan, suddenly reached out and dragged the stack of dominos towards her. Juan didn’t protest, and watched as she shuffled through them for eight very specific tiles. She found them quickly.

“You thought Pai Gow is a game about luck. But that’s only half-right,” she explained in an unexpectedly weary voice. “It’s not about trying to win each round: it’s about not losing until you draw two hands that are guaranteed to win”

She flipped over four dominos. A 3/3, 1/1, 2/4, and 1/4. It was her second-to-last hand.

“The obvious pairing here is to put the 3/3 and 2/4 into the back hand: that’s non-matching sixes. But that meant the front hand would be 1/4 and 1/1… a seven. Not a bad hand. But I knew you had a good draw, so I rearranged it to give my front hand the slightest edge and make both hands eight-eight. Which was just enough to beat your front hand’s tie-winning seven.”

“...but how did you know I had a good hand? We didn’t bet until after the hands were made.”

She stifled a laugh, and pointed to the corner of his eyes.

“You have a twitch, dear.”

She revealed the next four dominos. A 4/5, the 2/6, and the pair of 6/6’s. His second-to-last hand, the one he had bet sixteen chips on.

“You focused too hard on making the best obvious combinations, and that gave you a strong back hand, but it came at the expense of your front hand. For example, you turned these four dominos into a seven and twelve-matching pair. But…”

She rearranged the dominos. The front hand was now 6/6 and 2/6, while the back hand was 6/6 and 4/5. Thanks to the “Gong” and “Wong” rule, this meant his hands could have been a ten and an eleven: scores that would have soundly beaten her, and won him the game.

“Maybe I do have a sadistic streak. But I wasn’t insulting you just to be a bitch. When you get mad, you don’t think. When you don’t think, you don’t notice things. You get so caught up in your rage and so blinded by the pairs that made up your back hand that you didn’t see how you could make the front hand better.”

There was a lump in his throat and in his eyes that nothing could dislodge. So he didn’t bother trying.

“The one thing you never understood, Aarav, was that sometimes you have to take something from tomorrow to make a better today. It’s why you’ve lost this game. And it’s why you’ve lost me.”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was tired. So, so tired.

So he simply stood up.

“Aarav?”

He started walking to the bar.

“Wait, Aarav- Don’t go, I-”

She stood up too, knocking her chair to the ground in the process. But he didn’t slow down. He went into the bar, slamming the door shut behind him. She raced after him, calling his name, but by the time she could throw the bar door open, he was already teetering on the void, staring into the darkness.

“Aarav, I have to tell you-”

He fell. And whatever else was trying to say was caught in a whisper that barely fell from her lips. She leaned hard against the glass door, resting her head against it, as the door to the void slowly closed itself.

She hissed under her breath. Whispering something that only she could hear. Lost to her own thoughts until a soft, tender hand fell on her heaving shoulders.

“Will you be staying a bit longer, Ratna?” Juan offered with a hopeful smile.

“...no,” she said. “No. I have his forgiveness. That was the only thing worth sticking around for.”

“Then you’ll be moving on, then?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

----------------------------------------

When Aarav woke up the next morning, his phone was ringing. His ringtone was “Gal Mitthi Mitthi”, and as he listened to it in his unguarded, half-awake state, he was filled with both nostalgia and love: whereas normally the music would simply alert him to a message, now, dazed and discombobulated, he was vulnerable enough to actually remember why he liked it so much: it was the song he and his wife danced to at their wedding. He closed his eyes and listened to it, far longer than he probably should have, before he finally picked up. But even while talking business, his mind was at home, and how much he suddenly missed and loved his wife.

And as he thought of her, he found his affection partnered with guilt: he remembered the forgotten or neglected anniversaries, the times spent away from home, the dropped phone calls and the failure to notice all the little ways she betrayed her inner sadness. He realized, to his dismay, that he had been taking her for granted, a bad husband and a worse friend. He had made neglect so routine it had become downright palatable, and that was unacceptable. He decided he’d need to do something to make this up to her and show his dedication to being a better husband. He decided he’d surprise her and come back early.

He raced home.

He found her locked in their garage with a running car.

She had fallen asleep, and never woke up.

She had left a note on the counter. She begged him not to blame himself: that she had fallen in love with him and married him knowing and admiring his hard work and determination to make a better future for himself and everyone in his life. But for her, the depression had made even the present too difficult to bear, and when the doctors told her the migraines were actually cluster headaches, and they were only getting worse, she couldn’t see herself living in the future he was building for them. It was a role better fit for someone else, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

She asked for him to forgive her, and to accept her decision.

And it hurt. It hurt more than he could describe.

But, somehow, he did.

----------------------------------------

“One thing I don’t get is why she didn’t just bet her loyalty. Woulda saved a lot of trouble.”

“It’s because he already had it,” Teresa dutifully reported, the ‘Ture, you idiot’ implied in her tone. “She wasn’t having an affair.”

“Tch. Fuck ‘em both. He’s an asshole and she’s a coward. They were perfect for each other.”

Juan, who had been silently raking the dominos back into their proper box, shot Ture a glare. Teresa followed up with an elbow to the rib. Harder than usual. Almost doubling him over.

“Ow. Watch the elbow, bitch!”

“Watch your tongue first.” She sighed. “Get Juan some water, please.”

“Water? I thought he liked hard liquor.”

“He needs water.”

“I don’t need anything.” Juan slid the box under the table before walking over to them with a half-cocked and thoroughly fake smile. “But thank you, Teresa. Sometimes running the Silver Wheel is just a little trying, y’know?”

“Sucks we can’t take a vacation.” Ture loudly moaned as he leaned against the back wall, crossing arms in front of his chest. “You realize it’s been who knows how long since we’ve seen, like, a river? Or the goddamn sun?”

“We’re beyond that kind of thing here, Ture.” Teresa said. “To step outside the Silver Wheel as you are now is to vanish entirely. It’s unproductive to dwell.”

“He’s not wrong, though, I miss rivers and the sun, and a whole lot of other stuff too,” Juan chuckled. “Like… ice cream. And pajamas.”

“And fucking women.”

Juan shook his head with a laugh.

“I wasn’t going to say that, Ture.”

“But you were thinking it.” Ture ribbed him.

“No I wasn’t!” He laughed harder.

Teresa stared on, increasingly dulled to the conversation.

“Ah. Maybe I do need that water.” Juan breathed out, his eyes drifting from his companions to the table he had manned. “I’m not feeling the kind of sad that needs to be drowned, but I could use a little something for the throat.”

“As your friend, I hate to give you water, but as your employee, I guess I have no choice,” Ture said as he opened the door to the bar. “One tall and frosty glass of water coming up.”

The door closed. Juan and Teresa had the parlor to themselves, sharing it only with Frank Sinatra singing “My Way”. They both stared into the middle distance, past the swinging lights above the single green table.

Juan could sense the tension from Teresa. He thought about laughing, a conscious, weaponized laugh of someone trying to break ice. But he knew Teresa too well. That wouldn’t work with her, the ice was too thick. He’d just have to wait.

It didn’t take her long.

“You mustn't encourage him like that.”

“It makes him happy.”

“That is not your job.”

“But I’m so good at it, right?”

“I cannot make that assessment.”

“Oh, come on. What’s the harm in a little hope, anyway?”

He knew the answer, and she knew he knew it too. So she didn’t bother telling him. She just cast him another weary, guilt-inducing stare, before turning back to the middle distance, watching nothing, and melting with the background… as she always tended to do.

At least, until something shook them both from their sullen stiffness.

“Who the hell are you?!”

It was coming from the bar.

When they arrived, they found someone at the door: someone in a heavy suit, covered from head to toe in lights and mechanical instruments, face covered with a mirrored mask that obscured their features. Ture was staring, angry and dumb, as those were both his natural state of being. Teresa gasped in worry and the slightest hint of fear. Juan, however, watched with fascination as the figure removed their helmet, revealing a young chinese woman with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that reached from cheek to cheek.

“Is this the Silver Wheel?!”

She asked breathlessly.

“...yeah…” Juan stepped forward, head tilted. “...and…. you are?”

“I’m Rebecca Wu, I-I work for Bigger Sky Labs - and we’ve been looking for you for a long, long time.”

She extended her hand, and hesitantly, he took it.

For the first time in its long history, the Silver Wheel had an uninvited guest.