Jim peered at me over his glasses. “Why wasn’t it accurate?”
“I didn’t take my dad’s luck. I mean, how ridiculous,” I chuckled, twisting my hair nervously around my finger.
Thomas shook his head. “No, Mick gave that interview. He said at midnight on your thirteenth birthday his luck ran dry.”
“And yours picked up,” Travis added.
“You were raised by mobsters!” Trent said, smiling with excitement.
“Uh…no,” I laughed once. “They didn’t raise me. They were just…around a lot.”
“That was a damn shame, Mick running your name through the mud like that in all the papers. You were just a kid,” Jim said, shaking his head.
“If anything it was beginner’s luck,” I said, desperately trying to hide my humiliation.
“You were taught by Mick Abernathy,” Jim said, shaking his head in awe. “You were playing pros, and winning, at thirteen years old for Christ’s sakes.” He looked at Travis and smiled. “Don’t bet against her, son. She doesn’t lose.”
Travis looked at me, then, his expression still shocked and disoriented. “Uh…we gotta go, Dad. Bye, guys.”
The deep, excited chatter of Travis’ family faded as he pulled me out the door and to his bike. I twisted my hair into a bun and zipped up my coat, waiting for him to speak. He climbed onto his bike without a word, and I straddled the seat behind him.
I was sure he felt that I hadn’t been honest with him, and he was probably embarrassed that he found out about such an important part of my life the same time his family had. I expected a huge argument when we returned to his apartment, and I went over a dozen different apologies in my head before we reached the front door.
He led me down the hall by my hand, and then helped me with my coat.
I pulled at the caramel knot on the crown of my head, and my hair fell past my shoulders in thick waves. “I know you’re mad,” I said, unable to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it’s not something I talk about.”
“Mad at you?” he said. “I am so turned on I can’t see straight. You just robbed my asshole brothers of their money without batting an eyelash, you have achieved legend status with my father and I know for a fact that you purposely lost that bet we made before my fight.”
“I wouldn’t say that….”
He lifted his chin. “Did you think you were going to win?”
“Well…no, not exactly,” I said, pulling off my heels.
Travis smiled. “So you wanted to be here with me. I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”
“How are you not mad right now?” I asked, tossing my shoes to the closet.
He sighed and nodded. “That’s pretty big, Pidge. You should have told me. But I understand why you didn’t. You came here to get away from all of that. It’s like the sky opened up…everything makes sense, now.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“Lucky Thirteen,” he said, shaking his head and pulling my shirt over my head.
“Don’t call me that, Travis. It’s not a good thing.”
“You’re fucking famous, Pigeon!” he said, surprised at my words. He unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down around my ankles, helping me to step out of them.
“My father hated me after that. He still blames me for all his problems.”
Travis yanked off his shirt and hugged me to him. “I still can’t believe the daughter of Mick Abernathy is standing in front of me, and I’ve been with you this whole time and had no idea.”
I pushed away from him. “I’m not Mick Abernathy’s daughter, Travis! That’s what I left behind. I’m Abby. Just Abby!” I said, walking over to the closet. I yanked a t-shirt off its hanger and pulled it over my head.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m a little star struck.”
“It’s just me!” I held the palm of my hand to my chest, desperate for him to understand.
“Yeah, but….”