Page 81 of Hard to Get

Channelling my resentment and pain into something productive rather than a life of crime.

“Right. You told me you started that in college? High school?”

“High school. At first, it was fun, and I was intrigued by all the things stats could do for the sport. But then I figured out I could make some money from it, which I needed.”

“Your dad… is he doing okay now?”

“I think so. He got married again. He has a job.”

“That’s good.”

“At least he never stole money to pay his debts.” I make a face. When I went to group meetings for families of gambling addicts, I heard about people who’d done that. “But he lost so much. We all lost so much. He was always moody. Irritable about every little thing. I worried about his mental health.” I press a hand to my stomach, which has tightened with the memories. The fears. “There was a lot to worry about.”

“Yeah. I’m sure there was.”

“It’s so easy to bet now, You can bet right on your phone. And you can make micro-bets. It used to be you had to wait for the game to end to know if you won money, but now you can bet on the next goal and it only takes a few minutes. You can gamble all the way through a game.” I pause. “I hate it.”

Jayden sits in flat-lipped silence for a moment. “Your partner… what’s his name? Troy?”

“Yeah.”

“He knows all this.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Then why the fuck is he making you take on sports betting?” His voice is low but sharp as he leans over the table.

I’m taken aback at his fierceness. At his defence of me.

Our salads arrive and we spend a moment having water glasses refilled, picking up our cutlery, telling the server we don’t need anything else while she gazes adoringly at Jayden.

Finally, I answer. “It’s business.”

“Fuck that. It’s your business. It’s what you want to make it.”

“It’s our business.”

“You know what I mean.”

I look down at the colourful veggies in my salad. “Yes. I do. It’s definitely a point of disagreement for us right now. I try not to let emotions influence business decisions.”

“Given your past, I don’t think it should even be on the table.”

A warm softness fills my chest and I worry my bottom lip with my teeth as I gaze at him. His immediate, unequivocal support for me is doing weird things to my heart. “Thank you.” My fingers tremble as I fork up noodles.

“Seriously,” he continues, eyeing me with concern.

“I do want to grow the business. Just… not like that.”

He nods, thoughtful, taking a big forkful of quinoa and tomatoes. He chews and swallows. “Then how?”

That’s a good question.

That is a very good question.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly.

“I bet you have lots of ideas. You’re smart. Inventive.”