Betting Bad

by Cathryn Fox

  I pull the twisted sheets off my body, and my grab my phone from my nightstand. But there are no missed calls, no texts to let me know he’s okay. I run my fingers over the screen, then climb from my bed. Hopefully he’s at the school with my Dad this morning, and I can find a minute to talk to him. With that last thought in mind, I take a fast shower, dress, pack a lunch, and head out the door.

  The sky is dark, overcast, and I’m pretty sure I spotted a snowflake or two as I rush to the bus stop. Twenty minutes later, as I climb off the bus, and see a police car in front of the school, the bottom drops out of my world. I do a quick scan and glimpse Tyler’s car parked on the street near the front doors.

  My breath comes quicker and turns to fog in front of my face as I hug my oversized purse to my body, my legs shaky beneath me. As I convince myself this has nothing to do with Tyler, I force my legs to move, and hurry inside the school, unable to deny that I terrified at what I might find when I get there. The halls are empty at this time of the morning, and my heart is pounding so hard in my chest, I’m breathless by the time I round the corner and find Tyler, my Dad, and two police officers inside my father’s office. My gaze flickers to the broken window, but I don’t enter. Instead I step back and press against the hallway wall, my vision fuzzy around the edges as the officers question Tyler on his whereabouts last night, and if he took the petty cash.

  “I told you, I was with a friend, then my brother called,” he says, as breathing becomes more difficult for me. I make a wheezing sound, like air being let out of a balloon. “I picked him up, took him home, and stayed the night at my mother’s house.”

  I lean forward, and brace my hands on my thighs, thankful he has an alibi, because no way would he break into my father’s office and take money. Someone has to be setting him up. I’m sure of it.

  “Your brother and mother can corroborate this?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about this friend? Can he or she corroborate this as well?”

  A pause and then Tyler says, “Look Coach, you know I wouldn’t do this.”

  “Will this friend corroborate your story or not?” the officer asks again before my father can say anything.

  Ty goes silent and I know it’s because he’s protecting me, but I’ll have no part of that. No way is he going to take the rap for this, because I made him promise to keep our affair a secret. This isn’t an affair anymore. Tyler and I love each other deeply, and want a future together. I didn’t want Dad to find out this way, but what choice do I have now?

  I push off the wall and walk into the office. All eyes turn to me.

  “He was with me,” I say, as Tyler’s gaze sweeps to me. From my peripheral vision I catch the way my father is staring at me. I slowly turn and when I glimpse the deep-seated disappointment on his face, worry lines tightening around his eyes, I grab the back of the chair to stabilize myself.

  “Sara—” my father begins.

  “We spent the weekend together,” I say. “He left last night around ten when he got a text from his brother.” Truthfully, I didn’t see or read the text, but since it’s what Tyler confessed to the cop, I can only assume it had been Lucas texting him because he was in some kind of trouble.

  My father drops into his chair, the wheels rolling over broken glass as it slides it backward, stopping with a thump against the wall, near the busted-out window.

  “And you are?” the balding cop asks me.

  “Sara Ramsey,” I say and the cop makes a note on the pad he’s writing on.

  “We have a witness who says your motorcycle was spotted outside, around eleven last night,” the heavy cop says.

  Tyler grabs a fistful of hair and defends himself. “I reported my bike stolen over a month ago. Sara, you know that.” I nod in agreement as the heavier officer grabs his radio, and steps out of the room, no doubt to check out Tyler’s story.

  “Someone must setting me up,” Tyler says, and starts pacing, his heavy boots echoing through me. “But none of this makes sense. I help the Coach out, but I haven’t been here since last week.”

  “Then why was your bike registration found on the floor?” The officer holds it out for Tyler to see.

  “I keep that with my bike. Do you really think I’d leave it behind if I did this? What kind of idiot do you think I am?”

  “Maybe it fell out of your coat.”

  Tyler rakes his hand through his hair. “I just said it was with my bike.”

  “You have enemies?” the balding cop asks.

  Tyler goes still. “If you’re asking if I’ve been staying out of trouble, the answer is yes. Look, I didn’t do this. I didn’t break anything or take anything. My car is outside, you can check it if you want.”

  “Take me to it.”

  Tyler walks toward me, and our gazes meet. “I didn’t do this, Sara,” he says quietly. “You have to believe me.”

  “I believe you,” I say, and catch a measure of relief in his eyes before he leaves with the officer. Dad stands, his eyes questioning as they focus in on me.

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” I say.

  “Sara, I just…” he begins. “I know you love him, that you never stopped loving him. But after everything you’ve been through...”

  “I know.” My gaze flitters around the room to take in the trophy they’d won last week, broken on the floor. I point to it. “That meant the world to Tyler. He didn’t do this.”

  “Then who did?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s being set up, like he said.”

  “Tyler has a history…” he says

  He didn’t do this. He couldn’t have.

  Right?

  “I need air,” I say.

  My father puts his arm around me and leads me outside. He continues to hold me, keep me on my feet as my legs wobble. Students are now standing around, talking in hushed voices and forming tight circles as they watch the action unfold before them. Some have their phones out and are recording the event. No doubt this will be all over the six o’clock news tonight. My mind flashes back to nine years ago, and a cry catches in my throat as the milk I’d had at breakfast curdles in my stomach.

  Tyler’s standing on the sidewalk as the balding officer puts on a pair of gloves and searches his car. I don’t expect them to find anything. Tyler didn’t do this, I’m sure of it. I believe wholeheartedly that he left last night because his brother needed him, not to break into the school and take cash.

  I can’t be wrong about this. I just can’t be.

  Chatter from the crowd gets louder, until the officer pulls a gun out from beneath the passenger seat. I freeze on boneless legs, my heart thudding hard against my chest as the students all back up a bit. I blink through the puddle blurring my eyes, and take in Tyler’s murderous expression. When another black and white comes to the scene, lights flashing, my lungs seize and I lean into my father for support.

  “A Glock 19 9mm. As a convicted felon, it’s against the law for you to own, or have a gun in your possession,” the officer says.

  “It’s not mine,” Tyler shoots back quickly, his voice hard, deadly.

  “As the owner of the vehicle, you’re responsible for all property and belongings in it. Looks like you have some explaining to do,” the balding cop says as he examines the weapon.

  “It’s not my gun.”

  “A lot more explaining than you think,” the heavy cop says as he pulls his handcuffs free.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Tyler asks, his throat working as he swallows, his gaze latched on those silver cuffs like they’re a machete about to take his head off.

  The cop stands before Tyler, legs wide. “You know a man named Caleb Douglas?”

  Tyler goes stiff, his jaw clenching as his gaze jerks to mine, like he’s guilty of something. “Yeah, what about him?”

  “He was jumped last night, and he just identified you as the man who pulled a gun on him, then beat him badly. What makes me think it was this gun?”

  “It’s not
mine,” he says through clenched teeth, his body hard, lethal as he stares at the cop.

  “We’re taking you in and you’ve got a whole lot of questions to answer.”

  Tyler’s eyes darken, and he looks past my shoulders. I know his tics, his body language, and it’s clear that he’s remembering something. But what?

  “Son of a bitch,” he says, his fingers curling at his side. That’s when I see the blood on the sleeve of his coat. A little gasp catches in my throat, because I’m not the only one who’s noticed it.

  “I’m going to need that coat for evidence,” the cop says.

  “Tyler,” I squeak out, disoriented, my mind racing, struggling to sort through everything.

  He was going to kill Caleb?

  I breathe deep, but it feels like I’ve inhaled razors.

  “You went after Caleb for what he did to Sara,” my father says, speaking my thoughts out loud. He gives a slow shake of his head, like he’s putting the pieces of the puzzle together. “You told me you’d kill for her,” he says quietly, incredulous. His grip on my arm tightens, and his eyes go wide. “Tyler, what have you done—?”

  “I…” Tyler begins, but then his well-carved lips pinch tight.

  Why isn’t he defending himself? Why isn’t he telling the officers he didn’t beat up Caleb, that the blood on his sleeve is from something else? I want to scream. I want to jump up and down. I want to hit something as he stands there, shoulders sagging, staring at the ground—mouth shut tight.

  The officer turns to Dad. “I’d like to take your statement,” he says.

  Bile punches into my throat, and I put my hand over my sick stomach. Is this really happening?

  Tyler turns toward me, his jaw locked, his muscles clenched so tight I fear they might snap, as he makes a move to come my way. “Sara, go stay with your aunt in Indiana for a few days.”

  “Tyler, no,” I whisper, dazed, disappointed, hollowed out inside. “Don’t push me away. You didn’t do any of this.”

  “Sara, I need you to leave.” Intense eyes lock on mine, burning as he searches my face. “Now.”

  Paralyzed at the scene playing out before me, the darkness returns, pulls me under, and I choke out, “No, Tyler.” I stare at him, and right before my eyes he transforms—bigger, harder, far more dangerous—the Tyler from prison. Stone cold convict.

  The officer bags the gun, and my knees crumble. I sink to the ground, and bury my hands in my face as I cry uncontrollably, inconsolably.

  “Let’s go,” the officer says, and I put my hands over my ears, the clang of the handcuffs ugly and deafening.

  I peer up in time to see Tyler with his big battered hands shackled behind his back. His face is dark and grim—unrecognizable to me. I let loose another big hiccupping cry as I try to breathe through the pain, the betrayal. I can’t believe what is happening, that he’s being arrested again and pushing me away, leaving me here to circle the drain, with nowhere to go but down.

  19

  Tyler

  What the ever-loving fuck is going on?

  Rage builds inside me as I pace inside the small interrogation room, tethered like a wild animal on display. I roll my tongue around my dry mouth as the walls close in on me, squeezing air from my lungs. I kick my chair and run shaky hands through my hair as I glance at the two-way mirror. A goddamn bug under a microscope. I’m intelligent enough to know I’m in real fucking trouble here, trouble that could end with me behind bars again—taken away from all those I love. My mind drifts to Sara.

  I told her to leave. Needed her to leave. If someone was setting me up, they’ve obviously been watching me, and that meant they could be watching Sara, too. With me behind bars, no way to protect her I needed her gone until I could figure out what was going on, and guarantee that she was safe.

  I have no idea where it came from. But I can’t deny the possibility that Lucas dropped it in my car last night. Before I say a word, I need to know exactly what’s going on. I need to fucking talk to him is what I need, but they won’t let me speak with anyone except my lawyer.

  I go over the events from the second I received Lucas’ text message, telling me he was hurt bad and needed a lift home. I picked him up near the college campus, his hands bloodied and aching. He’d been in a fight, told me he’d gotten jumped. By who, he didn’t know. But it was bad enough that he couldn’t drive. By the time I got to him, his breathing was labored, and raspy. I wanted to take him to the hospital but he refused, saying it was just a cracked rib and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I took him home, and spent the rest of the night at his side, keeping him under my surveillance, with an inquisition planned for the morning. Except I drifted off to sleep and come morning, he was gone, and I found myself chained and locked up, facing my own interrogation.

  Was it Caleb he’d gotten into a fight with? If so, who jumped who? The part that doesn’t make sense to me is they didn’t even know each other. There was no way that Lucas knew about Sara and Caleb’s history, right? He couldn’t have, which means he’d have no reason to go after him.

  Unless…

  A sick, heavy feeling closes in on me and my lungs seize. Motherfucker. Cold fury grips my throat, and I shove my hands into my pockets before I start to pound on something.

  “Lucas, what the fuck have you done?” I say under my breath. I pace as my mind races and a long while later, the door opens and the officer who’d been questioning me steps in. “Your lawyer will be by later,” he says, and puts the handcuffs back on me.

  I stand to my full height, an intimidating bastard when I want to be, but it’s lost on the man with a gun in his holster. “Are you charging me?”

  “The investigation is ongoing, but we have the right to hold you for seventy-two hours, so let’s get you comfortable.”

  Comfortable?

  My entire body breaks out in a sweat as he leads me down a hall and into one of the holding cells. Air leaves my lungs in a heavy rasp as he places me inside and removes my cuffs. The metal on metal clang rattles my teeth as he slams the door shut, locking me in and the world out.

  I grip the bars, squeeze my fingers around them until my knuckles turn white. Someone is setting me up, and that someone can only be a Phantom. They don’t want one of Deacon’s men in their territory. That has to be it. I saw the way the gang’s leader studied Caleb that night he’d been taken in.

  I let go of the bars, and drop down onto the bed, throwing my arm over my eyes. I try to breathe past the panic. Going back to prison will fucking kill me—kill Sara, and everyone else I care about.

  This can’t fucking be happening.

  Seeing the look of misery on her face when I told her to leave completely gutted me. Trouble follows me and she was trying to get on with her life. I never should have started up with her again. I should have come right out and said no when she asked for this affair. But I fucking love her, would die for her. I had to give her what she needed, but now…well, now everything is fucked up.

  Maybe I never should have come home.

  A sound I have no control over rises in my throat as I think about my mother, and sister. How can I ever face them again? See the disappointment on their faces? I have to prove I’m innocent in all this, but if I do, what does that mean for Lucas? Was the gun his? If so, where the fuck did he get that? Only one place I know.

  Phantoms.

  As questions race through my head, the time slowly ticks by. I can only imagine I’m all over the news tonight. I scoff, and pound the mattress beneath me.

  I toss and turn on the nasty, stained pad they pass off as a bed as I wait for my lawyer. My stomach grumbles, but hunger is the least of my problems. The lights dim, indicating it’s nighttime, but I’m too ramped up to sleep. I continue to toss and turn and many hours later, the lights brighten. I can only guess that it’s nearing morning when footsteps finally herald someone’s approach. I jump from the bed and grab the bars.

  An officer approaches, and I back up. What the fuck is g
oing on? Is he here to practice his batting swing? Wouldn’t be the first time I was abused by a man of authority while locked up.

  “Where’s my lawyer?” I ask.

  “You’re out.”

  My heart stalls. “Out? I’m not being charged?”

  “No charges.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask hesitantly. How could the charges just be dropped? A gun was found in my car, and I’m a convicted gun-runner, plus Caleb identified me in the battery. Not to mention all fingers point at me for breaking into Coach’s office, and taking the money.

  The cop leads me through the hall, and I’m given back my things. Next thing I know I’m walking toward the exit doors. I step out into the morning light, and when I see who is waiting for me, I suck in a fast breath.

  No. Fucking. Way.

  “You okay, buddy?” Justin asks, as I take in my brotherhood, the four rock-hard and lethal guys I banded with in prison, and might not have made it through without. Their fierce loyalty touches me on a whole new level.

  “How did you know?” I ask, and let my head drop forward, a little weight off my shoulders with my brothers here to help me carry it.

  “You were all over the news,” Ryder says, and pulls me in for a hug. “What the fuck is going on?” He rests one hand on my shoulder as we part.

  “From what I gather,” I begin as I look up and down the street, the hairs on my nape tingling, and I know better than to ignore them. “Someone is setting me up.”

  Christian cracks his knuckles. “Then let’s go find them and give them a motherfucking beatdown.”

  I hesitate. “I need to find my brother first. He’s involved in this somehow.”

  “Lead the way,” Jamie says, his jaws clenching.

  Just then I spot my mother walking toward the station, and my blood pumps faster. How can I face her? See the disappointment in her eyes?

  “Can you guys give me a minute?”

  The guys back off, and my boots slap the pavement as I hurry to my mother. Her head lifts as I close the distance, and sorrow for everything she’s been through burns through my blood when I see how red and swollen her eyes are from crying.