“Honestly, I have no idea, every time I ask, the price goes up.”
“Okay. You stay here and I’ll tell coach your last injury fucked up your knee. We’ll figure something out. I got a few friends in low places.”
I’m still icing my knee when Ryan comes in after the game. “You okay?”
I nod, feeling like a total ass for lying. “Yeah.”
“I talked to Kira… Star told her to tell me you’ve been gambling online. Is that why you’re not sleeping? Playing like hell? If so, man, you got to get some help. I mean, the NFL is right there. You worked your whole life and now you’re going to blow it all away?”
I let him believe I got a problem. It’s a whole lot easier than explaining I got some low life extorting me to throw the game. Ryan’s a boy scout. For sure he’d tell CJ who’d have to tell the commission and boom, my career would be over.
“I, ah… I’m getting some help but it’s all hush-hush. Please, just wait until the next game. It’ll all be under control by then.”
“One more game, dude, and only because we’re friends. You don’t get to mess up my future, too, understand?”
After he goes, Chris comes back in. “You tell him?”
“No.”
“Good.” He hands me a card. “Call this guy, he’ll pay off your debts but it won’t be cheap. Unofficially, he’s now your agent and will be taking a healthy chunk of your salary if and when you get drafted.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Christ, are you even hearing yourself? I’m trying to help you out in the only way I know how. Officially, this guy is your new trainer. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yeah. Crystal.”
Why do I feel like I just jumped out of the frypan and into the fire?
Chapter 10
Star
Me: Did you get hurt?
Jacks: No. Fine.
Me: Where were you the other nite?
Jacks: Long story.
Me: You want to meet up?
Jacks: Tonight. Amphitheater.
I feel bad for not texting him back from the hospital but I had my hands full with Ryan and Kira. One more person in the mix wouldn’t've helped any. Regardless, more than once, I wished I had him there to lean on.
I’ve fallen for a gambler and I can name about a hundred reasons why our relationship is fucked up. I’ve studied alcoholism and attended Al-anon since grade school. Hell, I am probably the most educated person on the face of the planet when it comes to compulsive behaviors.
Shit. Despite all my brain cells sounding alarms, I decide to meet up with Jackson this evening. He needs my help but I won’t enable him. Instead, I’ll give him an ultimatum. I’ll do whatever it takes to free him of his addiction before it ruins his life.
I have this whole speech memorized and am repeating it to myself when I reach the stone steps of the theater. The wind has picked up from the south, increasing the humidity and what with my nerves being shot, I need a shower.
“Hey.” I wave and call out to where he sits on an upper step shaded by an ancient towering oak covered in moss.
“Hey.” There’s no welcoming smile, no friendly wave, and his eyes are hidden by dark glasses.
I sit down next to him wondering why he wanted to see me. Obviously, whatever feelings he had, are gone.
He heaves out a sigh and pulls off his shades to reveal his furious gaze. “You told Ryan I had a problem? Why the fuck would you do something so stupid?”
I jut out my chin. “I did it so someone would talk some sense into you.”
“What if I told you I don’t have a fucking addiction?”
“I’d say most don’t realize they have a problem until it’s too late. I was hoping maybe a close friend might be able to help you see -”
“Do you have any idea what it could do to my career, if a rumor like that got out?” He holds onto my upper arm but not so hard I can’t pull away.
Nose to nose, we challenge each other, breathing hard. I know what I did was right and someday he’ll thank me for it. Right now, the best thing I can do is help him see how he has a problem and I came prepared. I throw my phone in front of him.
“Here’s a test. Take it.”
He reads out loud. “What is the largest amount I’ve ever bet in one day? Five hundred dollars.”
He turns to me. “That’s not a lot.”
“When you have zero dollars, it’s a whole lot.”
He looks down again. “Do my parents have a gambling problem? No. If I lost money, how often and how hard do I try to get it back?”
He frowns, the question somehow hitting home. “Of course I try to win it back. It would be stupid not to.”
His voice takes on a clipped, angry tone. “Have I ever gambled more than I intended? No.”
I try to take the phone back because this is not going well. He’s getting pissed off and not seeing how I’m trying to help.
I ask. “Have you ever thought of quitting but felt you could not?”
“Yeah, but not for the reasons you think.”
“Have you ever borrowed money and couldn’t pay it back?”
“Shit. You’re turning this all around. I can quit whenever I want.”
“Prove it.”
“Go ahead, delete my apps. I’m done. I already quit.”
His tone sounds like he believes he’s telling the truth. Maybe he wants it to be but I understand cravings. The minute something goes wrong, he’ll be at it again.
“You should join a group.”
“I can’t. I have a better idea. That’s why I called you here. I want you to be my therapist.”
I stare at him like he’s lost his ever-loving mind. “I’m not qualified.”
“But you’re studying to be one.”
“Yeah, but-”
“And you seem to know a lot about addiction.”
“Even if I do-”
“I’m not going to see anyone else. It’s too damn dangerous. You’re my last hope, my only chance at salvation.”
The plea reminds me of Star Wars. 'Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're my only hope.'
Well, he’s no Princess Leah and I don't know how to use the Force.
If I say no, he’ll lose his chance at the NFL. However, if someone finds out I’m practicing psychology without a license, I could ruin my future.
“Fine, but you have to pretend to be my boyfriend, take me out on dates. That’s the only way this can work.”
His grin reminds me of a book of fables I once read as a kid.
Once upon a time, there was a fox who agreed to swim a scorpion across the river on his nose. The scorpion promised to behave but when they got halfway across, the scorpion stung the fox, drowning them both. Before they died, the fox asked why and the scorpion replied, “I couldn’t help it. It’s in my nature.”
Chapter 11
Jackson
I’ve been fucking up everything but my luck may be changing. Telling Chris about my problem was the first thing I’ve done right for some time. Asking Star to be my shrink was pure genius.
She’s not happy how I trapped her but it serves her right. No matter what she thinks, I’m not addicted to gambling. It doesn’t give me the excited hard-on people describe. If anything, it turns my stomach and I’m happy as hell to let it go. The only reason I had the app was to help my cousin. No way would I consider it fun.
However, one little psych student has a lesson to learn. First off, she shouldn’t go telling people my business, not even to my best friend. Secondly, she needs to know how fucked up my psyche really is. After she learns I’m pure poison, I won’t need to say goodbye, she’ll never want to be with me again.
This proves I’m not a complete asshole. I’ve wanted her since freshman year but in the last few months I’ve grown up a lot. Until I get some of this nasty shit out of my life, I’m toxic.
She eyes me up and down. “You really think I’m you’re only hope?”
At a deep level
, I know I’m not lying when I swallow hard and nod.
“You do realize a therapist cannot be in a relationship with her patient?”
“I promise, I will not kiss you.” I hold back my grin.
I’m going to give her such a bleeding heart story, she’ll want to throw off her panties and jump me while I lie on the proverbial couch. Then, I will get all noble and tell her how I promised to keep my hands off her.
Of all the things we’ve agreed to, this one seems to bother her most. She stands and walks along the cement seats facing the stage where a theater group rehearses Hamlet.
The actor projects out, “So, lust, though to a radiant angel linked, will sate itself in a celestial bed and prey on garbage.”
I have no idea what it means but I do understand lust, heavenly beds, and feeling like shit.
“Do you know what they’re talking about?”
She listens for a moment. “Yeah. This is the scene where Hamlet’s father, the dead king calls his ex-wife a whore. The ghost is pissed because his brother murdered him then married his wife, and in doing so, stole his crown.”
“Whoa. That is some serious shit.”
“Didn’t you learn about this in high school?”
“Nope. Exempt. Football.”
“I can rent a movie and we can watch it… well… shit no. I guess not. Not while I’m your therapist.”
My brilliant idea tarnishes a little but I’m committed. “When do we start?”
“When do you want to?”
“How about right now?” I lean back on the cement, stare at the clearing sky, and close my eyes. “Go ahead. Fire away with some questions.”
I peek one eye open but she doesn’t respond right off.
“We can start another time, if you like.” Maybe I’ve pushed her too far.
Shit. I don’t want her to back out. The best part of my plan is I get to keep seeing her and share some of my shit.
After a while, she takes out a notebook, crosses her legs, and bites on the back of her pen. “No, we’re good. I ah… Tell me a childhood memory, something that stands out as a really great time.”
A picnic at a local park comes to mind. “I remember when I was maybe ten and was hanging out with my older cousins, Frank and Gabe. We were horsing around with a football, playing tackle with made up rules. Our moms loaded up a picnic table with fried chicken and potato salad. It was Saturday. Egan, my youngest cousin was six so we didn’t let him hang out with us.”
“Why not?”
“His mom kept him on a short leash. Diabetic.”
“He the one you were buying medicine for the other night?”
“It’s cheaper at Walmart.”
“How come you’re the one buying for him and not his parents?”
“I don’t think I want to share this.” I sit up and she pushes my chest back down.
“Why not?”
“It’s personal.”
“If you don’t trust me, then maybe this might not work.” She sighs, those sky blue eyes penetrating mine.
I rethink my brilliant idea. Do I really want her knowing my business?
“Last time I shared some shit with you, you told Ryan.”
Her lips purse. “This is different. We’ll have patient-client privileges, just like the real thing.”
“No matter what I say, you won’t tell anyone?”
“Yeah, that’s how it works. Trust me?”
The weird thing is, I do. And, it would be kind of nice to share some of the shit bothering me. Still, I can’t risk it.
“I have a cat that needs insulin back at home.”
She shakes her head, puts away her pad, and stands. “Call me when you get serious.”
I watch her sexy ass saunter in the direction of the dorms and check my emails. My assistant coach sent me a couple names to call.
When one picks up, my heart races. “Hey. I’m Jackson. Chris said to give you a call?”
“I understand you have an issue you need a little help with?”
“Yeah. Chris said maybe you and I could work something out. That you might, ah, be willing to be my trainer until I get drafted.”
The calm male voice seems nice enough. “I’ve made such deals in the past. I’d rather speak in person. How does next week look to you?”
“I, uh… there’s a little urgency involved in one of my outstanding loans.”
“I see. Could you text me a phone number where I could reach out to this ah, loan officer?”
I send him Devil’s contact number. “He’s quite keen on interest…”
“I bet he is. I’ll take care of him. You go back to worrying about football. Anything else I need to know?”
“I got a diabetic cousin. No insurance. I’ve been paying for his insulin.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“No sir, that’s it.”
“Good. See you next week.”
I heave out a sigh of relief. Finally, things are going my way. Because I get some sleep, my practice comes together, and we win the next few games.
Ryan slaps me on the back. “I guess you got your shit together?”
“Yup. I’m getting the help I need.”
“Good to hear. I need a roommate during the combines.”
We shoot the shit like the old days while we ice down and head back to the dorm. He does some studying but I’m so far behind I’ll never catch up. I do a little, just to show some effort so I don’t get kicked out, then I text Star.
Me: I’m ready to C U
Chapter 12
Star
I see Jackson’s text but don’t respond for two days. I shouldn’t be trying to help him myself, rather insist he see a real shrink. The school provides a clinical social worker and yeah, she’s probably close to ninety but hell, she’s nice enough and got years of experience.
Memories of the night in the parking lot cloud my thinking and I shudder. What if next time the thugs have guns? His martial arts won’t save him. Am I being selfish? Is my future more important than his?
All night long I toss and turn, trying to figure it out. When my alarm goes off in the morning, I moan and fumble to shut it off.
He sent two more texts asking for help. Judging from the early AM timestamp, he’s not sleeping well, either.
About a gallon of coffee later, I give in and reserve a study room.
Me: Meet me in front of the library, after practice.
The day drags on and I ponder how to treat him. During marching band practice, it pours so we stay inside the field house. After, I store my drum, chat for a second with Kira, then take off across campus.
My heart stops with me, as I approach. Under the library’s arch, he looks up, our eyes meet, and every nerve in my body tingles. I can’t be his psychologist, nor his friend, not with feelings like these. This has got to be our last session.
I give him what I hope is a professional smile when he shoots me an outstretched hand. For a moment, I almost don’t take it. Any physical contact has got to be off limits.
After a quick shake, I open the library door for him. “After you.”
“I got this.” A long arm reaches behind me and as his hand takes holds of the glass, his forearm rubs along my lower back.
“Thank you.” I race toward the front desk to sign us in.
Inside the small, soundproof room, I grab a chair and point to one across the table.
Cat-like, his eyes on me, he perches as if ready to pounce.
I clear my throat and challenge his look with one of my own. “Okay, why don’t we start with your cousin? Tell me more about him.”
Jackson leans back in his chair, scratches his beard, and stares at the stained whiteboard.
Finally, he exhales. “I was the one who found Egan this summer. He was close to dead when I called nine-one-one.”
“Where were his parents?”
“Working. I was picking him up because I found yard work for us. Shit. I had no idea he was rationing his
insulin. He said he had the flu or some shit and I believed him.”
“I guess he fooled everyone.”
“Yeah. Anyhow. I went with him to the hospital and he didn’t have an insurance card so I signed on to say I would pay his expenses because I was the only family there. I guess my problems started there. The gambling, I mean. I needed money to pay off his hospital bill. Uncle Pat and Aunt Mary, sure couldn’t pay. That was the whole problem. When my uncle lost his job they lost their whole family’s insurance. My aunt makes too much for them to qualify for any kind of help and the premiums are out of this world. Basically, they fell through the cracks and I wanted to help out.”
My heart goes out to him and if I wasn’t already falling in love with him, his confession would’ve put me over the top.
“Had you ever gambled before?”
He shrugs, stretches, and then leans over, his elbows on the table. “As a kid, I played with chips and pennies for fun. I’m real good at remembering what cards were played out of a deck. It’s weird, it’s like I can see them in my mind’s eye, y’know?”
“Do you like how it feels to win?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I suppose. So, how often do you bet?”
“Right now, not at all. I told you, I quit.”
“Why?”
He sighs, thick lashes lift, and his voice goes to barely a whisper. “You cannot tell anyone. The assistant coach got me an agent.”
“Why say it like it’s a bad thing?”
“We’re not supposed to have one until after we leave college but this guy is cool. He paid off my debts and is handling all my costs until I make the draft. Then, I’ll pay him back.”
“Wow. I guess with some kind interest?”
“Something like that.” His eyes lower to his calloused hands fidgeting on the table.
It’s a clear sign it’s an uncomfortable subject so I push. “Is something wrong?”
His mouth turns down. “I just wish there was some other way, I could borrow some legit money. I got a real bad feeling about this agent. I mean, what kind of agent knowingly breaks the rules?”
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