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I could talk to Beckett about it. Maybe he wouldn’t be so opposed to the idea.
A glance at the clock tells me it’s after nine-thirty on the east coast. Is that too early to call a guy with a wife and kids?
I’ll admit, that’s part of the reason why we haven’t kept in close contact in recent years. We do our best to get together at least once a year, and if I’m ever playing the Giants in New York, he makes sure to come see me. We call each other every few months, and we text fairly regularly. But I’m still single, and he’s married with two kids. We may be the same age, but our lifestyles are light years apart.
I don’t know the proper etiquette here since I don’t really know what families do on Saturday mornings, so I send a text instead.
Me: You around?
He doesn’t respond right away, which tells me he’s busy.
And that’s fine…except now I’ve reached out first, and he might be wondering why, and he might call me back at a time when I’m less than prepared to discuss whatever it is my hungover fingers thought they were doing when I sent that text in the first place.
God dammit.
Why do I keep fucking everything up so royally?
Why did life seem to get harder when I moved to Vegas?
I haven’t even officially moved in yet, and I’m already feeling this way. What’s going to happen down the line?
A text is waiting for me after I get out of the shower.
Lincoln: Let’s meet up when you’re back in town. Round of golf?
I’m back in town. I’m not prepared for a meetup. I don’t reply.
Fuck it. I grab a few Tootsie Rolls for the road then head down to the casino to blow through some more cash. Good thing these places are open twenty-four seven.
And all I can think as I lose hand after hand of blackjack is whether this is something I can get the hell over.
Am I being stupid? Or would it be even stupider to fall into something with someone who flat-out lied to me and caused me to betray my best friend?
I know how protective Beckett is of his little sister. They were young when they lost their dad. And really, through the same event, they lost their mom, too—in a totally different way. She’s still around, but she isn’t the same person.
Beckett took over. He protected Ava the way his father did when he was still alive to do it. He made sure she—and her other brothers—were taken care of, had what they needed, and made it to where they needed to be. He sacrificed a lot to do it, too. Instead of going to his dream school across the country, he chose to stay in New York. Even to this day, he lives there so he can be close to their mother, who still carries baggage from losing her husband.
So it’s not a small deal that I slept with Ava. It’s a huge betrayal, one I’m not ready to admit to my best friend because of his sister’s lies.
Did she lie, though?
It’s a tiny voice in the back of my mind.
A lie of omission is still a lie.
Is this something I can get past? Maybe. But can I get past the fact that she’s Beckett Maxwell’s little sister?
I’m not as certain about that, and the more I think about it, the angrier I get.
My phone rings. I can’t answer it at the table.
Fuck. What if it’s Beckett?
Why did I call him this morning? I can’t remember. I’m all fucking twisted up over this, and it’s propelling me to act. It’s propelling me to fucking do something. It’s pulsing an anger in me, and I’m not quite sure what to do about it.
“Sir?” the dealer says.
“Hit.”
