“Gibson,” I said softly, completely in shock, “you cheated. You bet against your own team.”
“Not exactly. I didn’t bet. I won the game in the end.”
“Yeah, but still. Gibson, who are these people?”
“The mob,” he said, so simply that it made me want to scream.
I stood up, my head dizzy. “I need to go.”
“Avery, wait.”
I walked out of his room quickly and didn’t look back.
“Avery,” he said, following me, “hold on. I can’t make money like normal people. If I’m going to help you, I had to do this. It was my only choice.”
“I believe you,” I said, “but I’m still freaked out. I have to go.”
“Avery,” he said again, “hold on.”
I stopped at the door. “You don’t owe me this,” I said.
“I know,” he answered. “I owe my kid.”
I bit my lip and then shook my head. “I’ll see you later, Gibson.”
I quickly left his apartment. He didn’t call after me again.
I couldn’t believe it. My head was spinning as I walked my bike back toward my apartment. I couldn’t believe he would do that, get involved with the mafia. I couldn’t believe he’d throw a game, even if it was just part of a game, just to make some money.
Sure, it was money for our child. At least that was what he said. He could have gotten paid much more than that and I’d never know. He could have been doing this sort of thing for years.
I felt dizzy and confused. I had never imagined someone getting involved with the mafia like this, let alone acting like it was no big deal.
I thought I understood Gibson, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t the honorable guy I thought he was. Maybe he was just like everyone else, willing to do whatever just to make some money.
As I headed home, I didn’t know who or what I could trust, not anymore.
21
Gibson
She didn’t show up to take my vitals that next morning and didn’t respond to my text.
I couldn’t believe I fucking told her. She was finally warming up to me, finally letting her guard down, and I fucking told her something so intense and crazy. No wonder she was freaked out. She probably thought I was some psycho mobster and was trying to run away as fast as she could.
She just didn’t understand my world. She didn’t understand that it was close to impossible for me to live a normal life right now, not with all this intense pressure and scrutiny. I couldn’t get money the usual, normal ways.
I shouldn’t have said anything. She was just asking about the bag on a whim; she didn’t really care what was inside of it. But of course I was a fucking idiot and wanted to tell her so badly, wanted her to know that I could take care of her and the baby.
Her face told me everything. As soon as she saw the cash, she instantly looked terrified. She knew what it was, or at least she knew that I hadn’t gotten all that money any legal, normal way. Nobody had a duffel bag full of cash from a legal source. It just didn’t happen. Nobody walked home from their part-time job at McDonald’s with their paycheck in rubber-banded twenties.
Still, even though it was from a shady source, and I had to cheat at football to get it, I did it for her. She had to realize that the reason was important and justified everything I did.
It was just a sport. At the end of the day, football was just a fucking game. I was damn good at it, and I’d keep on playing because I loved the game, but it wasn’t really life-changing or important. It wasn’t like I let some guy die on my operating table in exchange for some cash or something like that. I just threw one half of a football game. Nobody got hurt, and I got paid money that can do some actual good.
She clearly didn’t see it that way. It wasn’t like I could explain, because she wasn’t talking to me. I went through my day, angry and distracted. Class flew by, and eventually I found myself at practice, dropping back and throwing passes like usual.
But I could hardly concentrate on the field in front of me. I just kept thinking about Avery’s expression when she saw that cash. I really thought she’d be impressed, or at least happy that I gave a fuck about her. Instead, she had been absolutely horrified.
It was a hot day, surprisingly hot, and I was drenched in sweat. The offense was practicing against the defense, and I was doing our usual passing plays. Guys streamed all around me, big men in full pads who loved hitting and getting hit. Football games were like tightrope contests. You had to stay perfectly level, perfectly balanced, or else you’d tip over the side and get smashed.
That was exactly what happened to me. It was a normal play, nothing special. I dropped back to pass, but the defense rushed through.