Five texts that Jim sent Bones (and one that Bones sent back).
Vegas is always a homecoming for Rusty.
Rusty may live in L.A., may do business in New York, and may have a name as the best poker teacher in Hollywood, but Vegas is his home. As much as it changes, it's always the same in some ways. There's a tingle in the air; Rusty thinks of it as the taste of possibility.
The configuration of the lights on the Strip may be different from the plane's windows, but the rosy neon glow, spreading warmly across the cold desert night, remains. Rusty never gets tired of that glow.
When the customer service rep calls Danny's name for the upgrade, he gets up, but goes left, not right, away from the podium and down the terminal. Rusty's flight is an hour later and eleven gates away. He's sitting tall and loose-limbed over a seat and a half, working nonchalantly on some popcorn, eyes ostensibly fixed on the flatscreen on the wall showing CNN. Danny stands and waits. It isn't long.
"So," Rusty says, without turning around, "I see you."
"I have to go," Danny says. "It's Reuben. I have to make things right for him."
"I see." Tess turns away from the counter where she'd been chopping bell peppers for a stir-fry, and something about the set of her shoulders makes Danny wonder if maybe he should've waited to bring up the subject until she wasn't holding a large knife, but she doesn't look angry. Just tired. "Are you going to cure his heart condition? Or represent him in court against Bank?"
Jim Kirk is a hotshot new shortstop in the Constitution League. His team is young, but they have a lot of potential, and oh by the way, the team doctor? Is hot.
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