The Arizona High Roller Championship

The cards slid to his seat.

Wiping the sweat off his hands, he slowly reached for them.

It was the final table, $2,000/$4,000 blinds, and he was right on the bubble. With only ten grand in his stack, one bad hand and he’d be living on the streets next month. Especially against this crowd.

To his left was The Michigan Cow, a stout man, and every bit as aggressive as he looked. To his right, Devil Fish, the most dangerous bluffer south of the 54-40. Across the table were the only folks from Phoenix still in the game, Jack-o-Lantern and The Professor. Jack was the loosest pro you could find, but he’d tightened up since sharing a table with the relentlessly optimal Professor.

Lastly, and smiling from the small blind, sat The Kid.

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

With his rent money on his mind, he peeks. Two red Kings in the pocket.

Suddenly his attention shifts to his heartbeat, steady now, but not for long. To limp in would be his usual play, but whether he can hide his nervousness from the pros is a serious question, so he wipes his hands on his shirt, and looks up.

He’s under the gun so he’s betting first. Limping with four grand won’t raise suspicion, but if anyone raises, he’ll have to go all-in anyway.

What the hell. He shoves. If the gods gave me Kings, then I might as well act like one.

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

If he didn’t feel out of place before, he sure did now. A sitting duck, waiting for five veterans of the game to decide his fate.

The Cow folds, but Jack lazily tosses in a few blue chips. The Professor, with the privilege of the button, calls too.

He turns to The Kid. He better have something serious to call from the worst position, yet he still reaches for those baby blue chips. At least the Devil folds, thank God.

Four players entering the flop is still significantly more than he needs.

He’s been shaking a bit too much, and everyone knows it. They’re just reading him as he sits, ready to spot the slightest flinch after the flop.

He pushes his chair back, shirking some frustrated glances as he heads off. There’s no way anyone could properly sit through this.

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

The restroom is brightly lit. He lets out a deep breath, sets his hands on the counter, and stares into the mirror.

He’s lucky to be here, that’s for sure. Last summer he discovered the world of poker, and by October he had dropped out of college to pursue it full-time. He qualified for this tournament online.

Of course his parents didn’t approve; that was a given. But what really bothered him was the way his roommate watched him as he packed. Those worried eyes that let him go, expecting him back before Christmas, in ragged clothes.

Losing this hand would mean hitchhiking all the way back to Georgia, and begging for his old room in the flat.

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

He straightens up, takes a deep breath, and heads out to the table.

Something feels off. His Kings are face-up, there’s at least a few mil’ on the table, and the Cow’s staring him down, angrily. He reads the community cards.

Ten of Hearts. Jack of Hearts. Queen of Hearts. On the turn, the King of Clubs.

So he has a set; but on the river sits the King of Spades. He hit quads! He looks up around the table again, shivering as a tingling runs down his spine.

In front of Jack, the Ace of Clubs. So he made the royals on the turn, but it came to nothing against quad Kings. In front of The Professor, the Ace of Spades, another top straight. Yikes, that explains the huge pot; he’s almost starting to feel bad for these guys. He turns his attention to The Kid.

He’s sitting rigid, a tear rolling down his cheek. He had the pocket rockets, in Diamonds and Hearts.

If either community King had been Hearts, The Kid would’ve made a Royal Flush, taking home over three mil’ in earnings. He would’ve brought the championship trophy along with him, and his name would be written in the Poker Hall of Fame as one of the all-time greats.

But there it was, the King of Hearts sitting in front of himself. With every other player holding a straight, by what sick twist of fate was he meant to be dealt those two, red Kings?

Now he really felt bad for leaving the table; he was no sportsman for not staying to the flop. And goodness, watching this game play out, with the two black Kings on the turn and the river, would’ve been one hell of a ride.

He glanced to his right. The Devil had been staring him down; he gestured to The Kid, whose head was buried deep in his hands. By now, there was a river of tears flowing from the poor guy, all the way down to those community Kings.

The Kid raised his head, and locked eyes with him.

♥️ ♥️ ♥️

Something was off when he returned from the restroom, and he thought it had just been the wild hands. But it wasn’t that. Man, how did he not notice this before? Looking into The Kid’s eyes, he saw it now.

That kid must have been no older than four, maybe five years old.

As the tears on the table kept running, a little voice from within questioned him: Who could take over three million dollars from a five-year-old?

Not me, he thought. I might not be the best player, or the most loyal son. I might not always play by the rules, or make the wisest decisions. But there’s one thing I do have, and that’s a heart.

He picked up his King of Hearts, handed it to the kid, turned around, and walked right on out, never to return to the game.

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