Can't Let Go (33 page)

I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Because as we’re washing the dishes and loading the dishwasher, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Chrissy bumps me with her hip as payback for flicking water to her face. Pulling it out of my jeans, my dad’s name flashes across the screen.

Chrissy’s eyes glance over when she hears me answer. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?” I grab her and encase her in my arms. She rains sweet kisses over my Adam’s apple and neck, gaining a huge smile from me.

“Hey, Edge. I hate to ask, but I need you tonight. Pete started his own business, taking some of my clients. I’m trying to do some damage control with odds and things. The fucking asshole,” he yells, and Chrissy’s eyes pull back, wondering why my dad is so angry.

“All right. Give me a half hour,” I tell him and press the end button, agitated from the obligation to help him that nags at me every time he’s desperate.

“You’re leaving,” Chrissy whines, and my heart shutters with the sound of her voice.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” I guide her to the kitchen table. “My dad needs me to go to his place. Help him out,” I don’t flat out lie, but the untruths singe my tongue as the words leave my mouth.

“I’ll go with you.” She’s eagerly ready to leave with me.

“You can’t. Plus I won’t be long, I swear.”

“Okay.” Her voice low and unsure of what is really going on.

Standing up, I bring her to her feet and wrap my arms around her waist. “Be ready when I return, because I’ll be stripping my clothes off as I walk up the stairs to my room.”

She giggles, and I smile down at her. “Love you.” I bend down and kiss her. “Thank you for dinner. It was great,” I compliment her, and she nuzzles into my chest a little before I ultimately have to put an end to it.

I fist the wheel when I’m halfway to my dad’s. Chrissy’s unsure yet unwavering eyes following me the whole time as I got my wallet and keys only angered me more toward my dad. I swear she knows I just lied, but she didn’t call me out on it, and I’m wondering why she didn’t. She’s not someone to keep her feelings hidden from others. I’m pissed at myself, at my dad, and a little at Chrissy for not calling me out as the loser I am right now.

It turns out my dad needed my help more than I thought. I had to contact a couple bigger clients, promising tickets to shows, entertainment, kegs of beer to the college kids. You’d be amazed how many kids pay their college tuition by betting odds on sports.

“Edge, grab the tablet. Use those great instincts and find me some damn pearl to save us.” The fact he uses me twists my stomach, guilt slowly taking over the swarms of butterflies Chrissy ignited only a half hour ago.

Scanning, I try to turn off the pressure. Allowing myself to feel it, opening myself to the one odds that flash out in front of the others. I attempt to push Chrissy out of it and do this one thing for my dad. The sooner I figure one out, the faster I’ll be in her arms. The problem is I’ll be lying to her while I’m there, separating us by omissions, cheating us of a real chance to a future. Guilt from her words a few hours earlier, her confirmation I wouldn’t ruin this, but it’s only been seventy-two hours, and I’ve already screwed with us.

Like someone was shining down, a simple game listed, and the anchorman’s voice from two nights ago resonate in my head. An underdog hockey team that may just be able to pull off a win because of injuries on the other team. My gut signals me this is the one, so I tell my dad, and he wearily grips his neck with his locked fingers. “This is aggressive, Edge. You sure?” he questions, and I nod my head feverishly.

“It’s the one, Dad.” I divulge the inside scoop I heard on ESPN, and he agrees. The game starts in an hour, and my dad makes the call into Vegas to his own bookie.

Me: Sorry, baby. I’m caught up. Go to bed and I’ll be back soon.

I text Chrissy, two hours later when I’m still stuck in the family room, watching the game with my dad.

Chrissy: Okay. Miss you

Guilt … fucking guilt

Me: You too. I love you.

Chrissy: Love you. Hurry up.

Me: I promise

How on earth can I promise her anything at this point? Look what I’m fucking doing here.

An hour or so later, my dad’s screaming at the television and my knee is bouncing up and down out of control, distressed that maybe I made the wrong choice. Shit, maybe it was another calling out to me from that damn tablet. I’m glued to my dad’s leather chair, watching a small black puck shoot from one side to the other. The two teams tied with only twenty seconds to go. I bite at my fingernails, my heart races, and this is the part I hate most. The uncertainty if you’ll win. Taking big chances that could bankrupt you. If I’m wrong and this team doesn’t pull it off, that’s exactly what I’ve done to my dad, ruined him. He’s worked years to get his client list and this betting ring going, and one game is his deciding fate.

Finally, a player swings around the goal and sneaks the puck into the net, and my dad roars so loud, I swear the walls shake. “Shit, Edge. You did it again.” He grabs my hand, yanking to my feet, and they stumble before going steady. “Gotta love that adrenaline rush,” he says, and I silence my disagreement. “Come with me.” He motions with his hand, and I follow him back to the basement.

He opens a door that I’ve been forbidden from touching, and there stands two safes side by side. Turning the knobs and pressing his hand under an illuminated light, it clicks. Piles of green fill it, the smell of filth filtering out. My dad always said there was nothing better than the smell of money, but it’s another thing I completely disagree with. Thumbing up the piles he hands me three stacks of money. “College tuition,” He smiles, and I add the amount in my head.

“Dad, this is thirty grand.” I hold it up and shake my head.

“You have no idea how much money you just made me, do you? It’s your cut.” He shuts the safe, ushers me out of the room, and then shuts and locks the door.

Debating in my head what the hell to do, the money just confirms the guilt of what I’ve done. “I’m not sure I can do much more of this,” I honestly say, and he clasps his hand on my back. That affirmation, he’s proud of me. The sole reason I’ve done it this long—getting praise from him.

“Oh, Edge, when you’re out of college, you can just dabble into it. I’m not asking you to take over the business.” He laughs, and I hang my head down; the money in my hand burning my flesh.

When I arrive at the door that I unconsciously walked to, I turn around to find a very satisfied dad. He’s on his high—high of winning. “You did good tonight, kid,” he says, and my stomach churns. “Now go find some girl to celebrate with.” Chrissy’s face floats to mind, weighing my stomach down. He opens his door, an invitation to leave.

“See ya, Dad,” I say, leaving the house I spent two weekends a month in for so many years. The place I witnessed men lose everything and temporarily gain something from poker parties my dad threw. Here I was leaving with a temporary gain, and I’m not elated like the usual men, instead I’m disheartened at my own actions. I’ve betrayed the one I love, the one I promised I wouldn’t fuck this up.

DEX SNUGGLES INTO me, his cold hands brushing against my shoulder when he pulls the blanket over us. It’s been two days, and, although I’m happy, something shifted that night I made him dinner, and I’m not sure what it was. He’s still attentive, driving me to work on the days he has late class. It’s hard to describe, but there’s this little wedge between us that wasn’t there before that night.

I felt it when he returned to his room. Just like tonight, his cold body slid against mine, nuzzling into my neck. I heard his inhales and sighs. The only difference between that night and this one is I had turned around. I had asked him what was wrong, what had happened at his dad’s. He just shook his head and said nothing, but there in those eyes that shined so bright the two days earlier, were a little dimmer, a little removed from us. He distracted me with his roaming hands, and his lips maneuvering over my body. I allowed him to lie to me, deceive me from whatever it was he felt he had to hide. Although it scared me to my core, somehow I believed he’d divulge it to me. I was sure in time, Dex would come clean, and my only fear was it could be something we couldn’t get through together.

The charade hasn’t stopped, but instead of asking or demanding he share, I act as though I’m asleep when he slips into bed with me tonight. Forcing my body to stay limp and my eyes to remain shut while the despair of what we are slowly becoming stays constant under my skin with every touch of his hand. As always, he nuzzles and inhales. Sighing. This time, however, he speaks. “Please don’t hate me,” he whispers. That’s when I know, I can’t let this go on further.

I gradually turn around, wiggling my body out of his embrace. Then repositioning myself to lie facing him, I allow his hand to cup my face and his thumb to mindlessly glide back and forth along my cheek. “Why would I hate you?” I ask him, and his eyes never leave mine.

I watch him swallow a huge gulp and then maintaining eye contact, he reveals the big secret. “I made a bet.” I bite my lower lip, waiting for more because I can guarantee there is. “I still gamble, Chris,” he admits, and hearing the truth, my heart sinks with what I had already suspected.

“Why?” I ask, trying to remain calmer than I did all those years back.

He shrugs his one shoulder. “It’s easy money to me. Makes my dad happy.”

“Does it make you happy?”

“I’m not going to lie, it did at one time, but now—with you, it just feels wrong.” He moves his hand to my hip and tugs me a little closer. “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner, but I’m done.”

“Is that where you went on Monday night?” I clarify.

“Yeah. My dad dug into sports betting when he got laid off back when I was in high school. It wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that he told me about it and asked for my help with clients.”

“Oh, Dex,” I sigh. I had always thought Mr. Prescott was so much better of a father than to get his kid mixed up in the twisted life of gambling. Fear rises that Dex is like my father, but I have to remind myself how much more Dex has ever done for me than my father.

“At first, I loved it. Kids were eager to make a quick buck, and I was some big man around the house. My dad was always praising me and telling me how much he loved me.” His eyes shift down and then back up. Now they’re filled with sorrow and sadness. “By junior year of college, the pressure increased. I told him I had to take a step back and concentrate on my classes. It was going pretty good so he said okay. He got this Pete guy to take over. I did still bet but only on the games I wanted to and I was fairly positive I would win. It was nice being a college student, playing in the band and just having a good time.”

“So, how come you’re back helping your dad?”

“Because Pete left and confiscated a ton of clients. My dad called me over to woo them back. Then he asked for the first time in two years to pick a bet.” His shoulder falls into the pillow, and my pulse beats fast with the expectation he’s going to tell me he lost all of his money. “We won, but I’ve never not enjoyed a win or even the game like this time. This whole betrayal to you made me feel guilty.”

“Oh, sorry to be the party pooper,” I tease and a small smile begins to form.

“That’s not what I meant—” he argues.

“Dex?”

“Yeah?” I tuck my hands under my head and admire him for being so honest with me. It’s refreshing to anything previous I’ve experienced with my dad.

“Do you want to quit?”

“Chris—” he begins to plead his case, but I hold my hand up for him to stop.

“Hear me out, Dex. Take me out of the equation. Do you really want to stop the betting?” I scoot to the headboard, and he follows my movement, but sits up in front of me.

“That’s impossible. I can’t take you out. You’re the reason I want to quit.”

“Then I don’t want you to,” I say, and his forehead scrunches, and he cocks his head to the side.

“What the hell are you talking about?”