I Dare You

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.

Maverick

The next day Raven and I drive out to Pineview Retreat, a fucking magical place for residents who need extra care.

The fifty-seven acre facility is located outside Jackson, and there are manicured lawns and flowers everywhere you look, even though spring hasn’t really sprung yet in Mississippi. It reminds me of somewhere a movie star might go if they needed a spa to recuperate at.

It’s a damn far cry from the trailer park we grew up in.

Raven and I get a tour of the place, including the gym, indoor and outdoor pools, sauna, tennis courts, pottery studio, horse barn, and cinema. Hell, the place even has a bubble bar where you can make your own liquid with different colors then package it and give it away as gifts.

I want this to be where Raven will live, but I can’t breathe every time I glance down at the dollar amount at the bottom of the paperwork Mrs. Watson, the admissions advisor, has given me.

She sits across from me in her office, the huge bay window behind her showcasing the horses that roam in the sprawling pasture.

Raven’s disability compensation would only put a slight dent in the six-thousand-dollar monthly fee, but to even get on the list, I need fifty grand, which acts as a deposit to hold her spot and pays the first few months up front.

I feel like I might be sick.

I’m thankful Raven is sitting out in the waiting room.

“Is everything okay, Maverick?”

I look up into the kind face of Mrs. Watson. An older lady in her mid-fifties, I sense she can read right into my panic.

Once again, I’m regretting not going into the draft early, but it’s too late now. Once you send your decision to the board, it’s final, and you can’t go back.

“Yes. Thank you for the tour and the information.” I paste a smile on my face. There’s no way in hell I can swing this place.

She nods, her hair carefully coiffed and pulled back at the nape of her neck. “In addition to your sister’s fully furnished apartment, she’ll have three nutritious meals served each day in our cafeteria, or she can opt to visit one of our onsite restaurants with friends or visitors. We have daily group activities and excursions to museums and other places of interest. Just last week we took a group to the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis.” She laughs. “We even do Graceland once a year—talk about an interesting daytrip.” She glances down at Raven’s health history and shuffles through the papers. “I see she sustained a traumatic brain injury in a car accident a few years ago?”

I clear my throat. “Yes, she suffers from memory loss, sporadic seizures—which can be avoided with medication—minor cognitive delays, and frequent headaches, which are easy to manage if she gets plenty of exercise. She was wheelchair bound for a year and still walks a bit off balance.”

Her eyebrow rises. “You’re very knowledgeable about your sister’s health. That’s impressive.”

“I’ve done some research.”