Maverick
“I’m sorry I had to call you to come get him,” Mick says as I march up to the counter of a local bar, aptly named Mick’s. It’s a rather seedy, dusty place that plays old country songs, and it’s my father’s favorite, even though he’s been kicked out of it at least half a dozen times that I know of.
My hands clench. I didn’t see Mick’s voicemails until two hours after he left them because of football practice.
“What happened?” I ask, looking around and assessing, not seeing Dad or Raven. It’s a Monday evening and the place is dotted with a few worn faces.
His head nods to a back booth and my eyes follow, landing on my father. “He’s been here drinking since six. He fell pretty hard and hurt his hand. Nothing too serious, I don’t think, but Jackie played nursemaid back in the office.” I see the large white bandage. “He begged me not to call you, but I knew you’d want to know.”
Anger curls inside me. “Where’s Raven?” I ask, my eyes scanning the room once again.
“In the office with Jackie.” Mick sends me a sympathetic look. “Look, I know things are busy at school, but something needs to be done.”
My entire body tightens. “I’m doing the best I can.”
What I don’t tell him is that I’m driving out to the trailer multiple times a week to take care of her, even though it’s half an hour from campus. In a perfect world, I’d just move back in with Dad and Raven, but Coach Al requires us to live in the dorms.
I deal with my dad first, walking over to his booth and shaking his shoulder. “Dad!”
He reeks of bourbon and stale cigarettes, making bile rise up in my throat. It’s a smell I recall from my early days as a kid, coming home from school to see him passed out on the couch.
“Mav,” he slurs, raising his head up as spittle slides out of his mouth. “I’m sorry…didn’t mean to…all my fault.” The words are low and barely decipherable through the whiskey.
“I can’t believe you brought Raven here,” I snap, my gaze brushing over the patrons at the bar. “Anything could have happened to her.”
“Didn’t have money for a sitter.” His eyes blink up at me, bloodshot and runny with a wetness I don’t want to decipher. I don’t care, I tell myself.
“You’re a son of a bitch,” I mutter as I lean down and pull him to the edge of the booth so I can swoop him up in my arms.
His chin falls down to his chest.
I brush past the bar and carry him out the front door. Ryker is waiting for me, his arms crossed against his chest. Same as me, he’s dressed in workout clothes, and he straightens up from leaning against my truck. Normally I wouldn’t have asked him to come down here with me, but he was with me when I listened to the voicemails. I motion for him to open the door so I can prop Dad up in the backseat.
He watches me with a grim face, his gaze brushing over my father. “What the hell? Shit,” he mutters.
With a withering glare at my dad’s lowered head, I head back inside with Ryker following me.
Mick ushers me to the back office and we sweep inside. Raven is sitting in a recliner watching Family Feud, her face pale and her cheeks stained with tears. Jackie is sitting at the desk working on a laptop, and she gives me a soft nod and a pat on the shoulder. “She’s okay, love, just feeling out of sorts.”
“Mav!” Raven lights up as she rushes over to me.
She bursts into tears as she jumps toward me, her thin arms wrapping around my shoulders. God, I need to do better by her.
“I’m sorry. I never dreamed he’d bring you here.”
Cupping my face, she searches my eyes then gives a little knock to her head. “I…have…headache.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Come on, Rav. I got you. Let’s get you home.”
Later that night as Ryker and I drive back to campus, my head is wrecked, riddled with worry and trying to come up with a solution. Only one thing is certain: I want Raven out of my dad’s trailer.
The problem is, I don’t have the money to fund it. I can’t ask for a loan from Coach or anyone at school, and I can’t have a job that pays over two thousand dollars; those rules are in place to prevent bribing and payouts. My dad has zero credit, so he’s out as well.
Ryker keeps shooting me careful looks and I know he’s worried about me, which is funny considering this past weekend he was worried I was causing trouble for the team with Delaney. Obviously, I have bigger issues right now.
Once we get back to the dorms, I give him a brusque good night then go into my bedroom and dig around in my nightstand for the number the casino owner gave me.
I recall his offer to pay me money—a lot of money—to fight another football player.
He answers on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Leslie Brock?”
“Yes? Who’s this?”
I clear my throat, picturing the sharp-toothed, plump man who was at Carson’s Gym. “This is Maverick Monroe from Waylon. You made me an offer a few months back when we bumped into each other at Carson’s Gym?”
“Ah, yes, the famous football player. You have quite the record, young man.”
Whatever. I know he’s just a bull-shitter. “Are you still interested?”
“Hmmmm,” he says, as if thinking long and hard, and I clench the phone. I mean, he should be fucking thrilled I called him. I know the deal he’s running, and it’s sketchy as hell. I’m a damn fine player and he’d be crazy—
“Can you come to Carson’s next week? We can finalize the details there and I can tell you more about the fight.”
I exhale. “Sounds good. Text me the day and time and I’ll be there.”
There’s a tone of satisfaction in his tone when he replies. “Excellent. You won’t regret this, Maverick.”
I tap my screen to end the call.
I’m already regretting it, but I don’t see any other options.