Almost Beautiful, page 14
“Don’t freak out. You know me, I’m just being overly cautious,” I said.
“Are you seriously telling me right now that you really think your apartment is bugged?”
“I … I don’t know. But what I do know is that journalists at The Eastern Star are investigating the fire. Justin and Ricky, the guys Travis went after at The Red.”
America seemed confused. “What’s The Eastern Star?”
“The campus newspaper.”
“Eastern has a newspaper?”
“Yes, Mare. Focus.”
“Okay, they’re investigating the fire. Seems like it should be on their radar, happening on campus and being the largest tragedy in Eastern’s history.”
“Yeah, but …” I trailed off.
“Oh. Oh, you’re right. Them asking questions, not good.”
The fire had become something of an elephant in the room. We couldn’t talk about it for Shepley and American’s sake, but they knew we were there. Ironically, what they say about lies is the truth: one has to be built on another. Even the best lies ever told are never-ending, shaky bridges to the truth.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
I looked at my phone. “I might have a solution. I did some digging, and Justin and Ricky apparently have a gambling problem.”
“No way. Where did you hear that? That’s too convenient.”
I shrugged. “Parker. And he had no idea he was telling on them. It’s as if the Universe is on our side.”
“What are you going to do?”
“There’s a poker game every Thursday night at the Sig Tau house. I’m going.”
America’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s tonight.”
I nodded.
“Travis is at work. You’re going by yourself?”
I nodded. “Parker will be there.”
America frowned.
“Travis is aware,” I said quickly.
Her expression softened.
“I have two hundred dollars. I was wondering …”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said, pulling me back to the apartment.
When we reached the door, America made a beeline for her purse.
“Thank you,” I said.
“What’s up?” Shepley asked from the couch.
America ignored Shepley and responded to me, “Of course, silly. I know I’ll get it right back.”
“You’ll get what right back?” Shepley asked, watching her rummage through her wallet.
America nodded to me. “Cash. Do you have any? Give everything you have to Abby.”
“Sure,” Shepley said, reaching to the side table. He pulled out every bill in his wallet and handed it to America. “What’s this for?”
“Poker night at Sig Tau.” America walked the money over to me.
Shepley smiled. “Does that mean I’m getting it back with interest?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Parker will be there,” America said.
“And Bentley Rutherford never misses a game. He drops thousands. I wish you’d told me,” Shepley said, chuckling. “I’d have gone to the ATM earlier and gotten more money.”
I looked down at the stack in my hand. “This is plenty.”
Shepley grabbed his phone and began texting.
“Travis already knows,” I said.
Shepley didn’t look away from his phone. “I’m not texting him. The more people with serious money at the table, the more I’ll make. I’m starting a text tree like I used to do for the—”
“Shepley!” America and I yelled in unison.
“Be careful!” America continued, holding her index finger to her mouth. “You almost knocked over my wine.”
Shepley had frozen, but he nodded.
“Sorry, baby, I forgot … it was there.”
America gently popped my arm with her elbow. “Go get ’em, sis.”
The windshield wipers kept a steady beat with whatever was playing on the car radio all the way to the Sig Tau house, and I was still weaving back and forth to my hype music while I sat parked at the curb.
Praying occurred to me, but I was more focused on strategy. I’d made tens of thousands from Vegas vets practically a few days ago, I could railroad a couple of frat boys.
I closed Sig Tau’s front door behind me, the air inside chilling my wet skin. I followed deep voices and laughter until I reached a room that looked like it was for meetings.
There were three round tables that sat six a piece, and two games were already started. Shepley really came in clutch. There were plenty of trust fund babies in the room.
Justin and Ricky were sitting with Parker and a few other men I didn’t recognize.
“There she is,” Parker said, beaming. “Hey Abs, I saved you a seat.”
Next to him. Of course.
I nodded and slid into my chair, exchanged money for chips, and without much chit chat, the game started. I was the only female in the room, a novelty. Entertainment, as Parker put it. They were going to be entertained, all right.
The first few rounds, I played soft. Scaring away money right from the start wasn’t smart. I had to lure them into betting more while also challenging their manhood so they’d make stupid decisions.
Not an hour in, and both Ricky and Justin were sweating.
“You’re not bad for a girl,” Parker said.
The way he looked at me reminded me of when we were in his car making out in front of Travis’s apartment.
I inwardly cringed. It was bad enough that I’d been with him in that way at all, but the thought of it now made me hate myself.
After three hours, two of the tables were empty, and Parker, Justin, Ricky, Bentley, and the real star the night, Collin Vanderberg, filled the seats at mine.
I’d already fronted Justin and Ricky a thousand to stay in, but my objective wasn’t to make money.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know this about you, Abs. I think I’m even more attracted to you than before, if that’s even possible.”
“Pay attention to your cards, Parker. You’re down eight-fifty,” I said.
“I’m getting ready to make it all back,” he said, pushing in chips.
“Not this time,” Ricky said. Ricky and Justin glanced at one another. Ricky seemed confident, but I’d figured out his tell within the first hour. He was bluffing.
“Fold,” Justin said, frustrated.
The other two put in without hesitation. Bentley was bluffing, too, but Collin was a significantly better player than anyone else at the table—except for me, of course—and I caught myself wondering if he’d played in more serious circles.
Collin didn’t need to win like I did, though. And because of that, my four-of-a-kind easily beat his straight. Parker wasn’t bluffing, but he was too much of an amateur to know his hand wasn’t worth a damn.
“Fucking hell!” Parker said, throwing his cards to the table and standing.
Collin peered over at me. “Impressive. You should come to one of my games sometime.”
“You put games together?” I asked.
“You’re inviting her? She’s just lucky,” Bentley said.
Collin laughed once. “Do you really not know? That’s incredible.”
“What?” Bentley asked.
“She’s Mick Abernathy’s daughter. Don’t you remember Lucky 13 in the papers a few years ago? She’s a fucking poker legend and has been since before she got her first period.”
I made a face at the reference. Parker’s mouth dropped open at the information.
“That gambling addict in the papers that got mixed up with the mob, right?” Ricky asked, his eyes darting between Collin and me.
“Oh, yeah,” Collin said. “You’d better pay up, asshole, she’s got some scary friends.”
Ricky swallowed.
“On that note,” Collin said, “I’ll be heading home. Bentley?” He pointed to him. “You’re a fucking idiot.” He looked to the rest of us. “Good night.” He bowed his head a bit to me. “It’s been a pleasure, Abernathy.”
“Maddox,” I said. “It’s Maddox now.”
Collin grinned and nodded. “Congratulations.”
Parker rolled his eyes.
I gathered my winnings, cashed in my chips, and watched Justin and Ricky.
Ricky leaned back, feigning a calm demeanor. “We’ll get it to you next week. Ask anyone, we’re good for it.”
Justin nodded.
I stood. “Why don’t you boys walk me to my car? It’s late, and dark, and you owe me.”
“What are they going to do?” Parker asked, standing. “I’ll walk you to your car, Abby.” He pulled at the lapel of his jacket and puffed out his chest.
Ricky and Justin seemed relieved.
I stared at him for a moment, unable to hide my disdain. “I just took all of your money, Parker. What about that do you think screams alpha male to me?”
Parker blinked a few times. “How was I to know you were raised among thugs and miscreants? I’ve tried to make amends with you, but who knows why. You’ve proven over and over you’re …”
“One of the peasants? Yes, Parker, we can’t all be born and bred from fancy Olive Garden money.”
“Fancy Olive …? You can’t be serious. You’re the one who came to me for help!”
I crossed my arms and smirked. “Yes, and now everything that was in your wallet is in mine. Thanks for the help. Not bad for a girl, right?”
Parker snarled. “There’s a lot more where that came from. More than I can say for your gutter rat husband.”
“Good. Meet me at Collin’s next game and I’ll take that, too.”
Parker swallowed.
I flicked my index and middle fingers at him. “Run along. Mother is surely worried.”
Parker buttoned his jacket and set out in a huff, red-faced and humiliated.
“Are you really going to Collin’s game?” Ricky asked. He followed me out, closely tailed by Justin.
“No, and neither are you. You suck at poker.”
“I’m telling you, Abby, we’ll pay you. Five days, tops,” Justin said, his tone nearly begging.
“I’m not a bank. I don’t do loans.”
Justin wrung his hands. “M-maybe we can come up with some kind of an arrangement? We have a lot of connections. We could get you concert tickets, jobs, whatever you want. And that’s in addition to the money we owe you.”
“I’m a newly married woman. I’m only interested in the cash. You have twelve hours. And you heard Collin. Where I come from, you play poker, you pay. If you don’t, I’m making a phone call.”
“Twelve hours to come up with four thousand dollars? C’mon, Abby! There must be something!” Ricky pleaded.
I reached my car and then turned on my heels. “Actually … maybe there is.”
“Anything,” Ricky said.
“I’ll tell you what. You stop investigating the fire, and I won’t have the Gambinos feed you what remain of your fingers.”
“We won’t … that’s easy enough. So, that will satisfy our debt? In full?” Ricky asked. He was sweating, approaching panic.
“No more questions,” I said. “To anyone.”
They traded glances and then nodded.
“The story’s dead,” Justin said.
I made a face. “The campus paper not reporting on the fire? Don’t be stupid. No, you write the story, acknowledge the rumor and that the police and Feds have been questioning whether Travis was there, and confirm that he wasn’t.”
“Absolutely,” Ricky said. “It’ll run on Monday.”
I smiled, patting Ricky on the cheek. “Nice doing business with you.”
I sat in the driver’s seat and closed the door, watching Justin and Ricky walk away in the side mirror. My plan had worked, and I’d even made rent for the next month. I’d thought that bad feeling I’d had would go away, but it didn’t.
Something else was looming over us, but I couldn’t see it. That thought followed me all the way home.
Chapter Sixteen
First
Abby
STARING AT THE BLANK CORKBOARD outside of Mr. Mott’s office, we were all in the same boat. The top two scores would automatically become Mr. Mott’s Teacher’s Assistant for the fall semester. For an aspiring mathematics professor, scoring that position would look amazing on my resume, as it would for the other fifty or so students standing with me.
The hangnail poking out from the side of my thumb was surrounded by red, angry skin from me biting at it for the last half hour. My deodorant was struggling, my neck and jaw were tense, and my back began to complain from standing in wedged booties on unforgiving tile. I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, trying to ignore it.
If the other students standing with me weren’t suffering from nervous energy, too, I might have looked insane. We silently supported one another, even though we’d also been silently competing all semester.
We were minutes away from summer break, and miraculously, the Feds hadn’t been back to our apartment. Well, not a true miracle, everything had gone quiet since The Eastern Star had printed a front-page article with quotes from dozens of students, who denied Travis’s attendance at the Keaton Hall fight, that had all but exonerated Travis.
I was hoping my luck would hold out for somewhat less important matters, like an assistant position.
Mr. Mott’s statistics final was one of the last scheduled on Eastern State’s campus, evident because we were the few remaining students still on grounds. We could have waited for the grades to come out online, but Mr. Mott was old school, and he liked to post grades on printed paper before inputting them into the system. So, those of us who cared, waited.
I missed the days when Travis would wait with me, but he was at work.
He was making a killing off the fifty and sixty-year-old women in Eakins. Not as much as he made from the fights in The Circle, but as a personal trainer at Iron E Gym, he was paying the rent and most of the bills.
With my winnings from Sig Tau’s poker night, we were ahead. Travis definitely made more than I did from tutoring, though. Especially during the summer, my income would all but cease until fall semester. I tried not to feel guilty. Travis preferred to pay the bills, and except for hating his boss, he pretty much had the best job ever.
Travis worked out while the ladies he worked with pretended they weren’t watching. Basically, Travis was getting paid to do what he would be doing every day, anyway. He was getting thicker, and his already impressive muscles were more defined—only prompting more clients to sign up with him. He was making the most of any trainer at Iron E.
I refused to worry about the day Travis signed on to train women our age. It would probably happen, but I trusted him.
Mr. Mott’s door opened, and Trina, his current Teacher’s Assistant, slipped through. She held the paper with the list of grades in her hand, backward. I know. I checked.
Trina stretched her neck to make her small, squeaky voice travel farther. “Please email Mr. Mott with any questions about your grade. He won’t be taking any appointments today.”
With that, Trina flattened the paper against the cork, used a red push pin to secure it, and turned on her heels, navigating through the quickly tightening crowd.
I was being bounced back and forth like a pinball, reminding me of the first underground fight I’d attended.
Travis had pushed people away from me. He’d always protected me, since day one.
“Hey! Back up! Back the fuck up!” Travis said from behind me. He hooked one arm around my middle, using his other hand and arm to push the men away and gesturing to the women.
My stomach filled with fluttering wings of a hundred butterflies just at the sight of him, but a repeat of the night we first met—a night I’d just been recalling—was enough to make me want to pull him into the nearest empty lab and rip his clothes off.
“You came!” I said, pressing my cheek into his chest.
He held me with one arm, holding people back with the other. “Martha told me to cut out early. I was telling her how nervous you were about your grade. I also might have mentioned how shitty it was that I couldn’t be here for you.”
Sounds of disappointment snapped me back to the present, and I turned, searching for my student ID. I started from the bottom, my eyes moving up until I reached the top. “Holy shit,” I said. I turned to my husband. “I’m first.”
Travis leaned forward to touch my grade with his index finger. “This is you?”
“That’s me,” I said, in disbelief. “I got it.”
Travis’s grin spread across his face. “You got it?”
I clapped my hands together and held my fingers to my lips. “I got it!”
Travis threw his arms around me and lifted me off my feet, twirling me around. “That’s my girl! Woo!” he yelled.
Mr. Mott poked his head out from behind his door, searching for the source of commotion.
I tapped on Travis’s shoulder, and he lowered me to the tiled floor.
Mr. Mott offered a small smile for our celebration, I nodded, and he disappeared behind his door again.
Travis mouthed, You’re a bad ass!
I grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall.
When we burst from the glass double doors of the Nagle Building for Math & Sciences, Travis continued whooping and hollering. “My wife’s a fucking genius!” He pulled me to his side and planted a quick peck on my cheek.
“Thank you for coming, Trav. You didn’t have to, but I’m so glad you did.”
He beamed. “I wouldn’t miss it, Pidge. We should celebrate. Dinner?”
I paused. “Maybe we should cook?”
His mouth pulled to the side in a half-grin, half smart-ass expression. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small stack of one-hundred-dollar bills.
My mouth fell open. “What the hell is that?”
“Mrs. Throckmorton said congratulations on making it through my sophomore year of college.”
“She just gave you …” I looked down. “Five hundred dollars?”
“Yep,” he rolled up the bills and stuffed them back in his pocket. “So where am I taking you tonight?”
“We should probably save that for …”
