“He’ll find a way,” America said, watching me with heavy eyes. “He always does.”
“I have to get out of here.” I pulled my coat around me and pulled at the handle of the french doors. I was too upset to slow down long enough to coordinate pushing down the handle while pulling at the door at the same time. Just as frustrated tears fell down my frozen cheeks, Travis’ hand covered mine. He pressed down, helping me to push the handle, and then with his other hand, he pulled open the door. I looked at him, conscious of the ridiculous scene I was making, expecting to see a confused or disapproving look on his face, but he looked down at me only with understanding.
Travis took me under his arm and we went through the house, down the stairs and through the crowd to the front door. The three of them struggled to keep up with me as I made a bee line for the Charger.
America’s hand shot out and grabbed my coat, stopping me in my tracks. “Abby!” she whispered, pointing to a small group of people.
They were crowded around an older, disheveled man who pointed frantically to the house, holding up a picture. The couples were nodding, discussing the photo among one another.
I stormed over to the man and pulled the photo from his hands. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
The crowd dispersed, walking into the house, and Shepley and America stood on each side of me. Travis cupped my shoulders from behind.
Mick looked at my dress and clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Well, well, Cookie. You can take the girl out of Vegas….”
“Shut up. Shut Up, Mick. Just turn around,” I pointed behind him, “and go back to where ever you came from. I don’t want you here.”
“I can’t, Cookie. I need your help.”
“What else is new?” America sneered.
Mick narrowed his eyes at America and then looked to me. “You look awful pretty. You’ve grown up. I wouldn’t’ve recognized you on the street.”
I sighed, impatient with the small talk. “What do you want?”
He held up his hands and shrugged. “I seemed to have gotten myself in a pickle, kiddo. Old Dad needs some money.”
I closed my eyes. “How much?”
“I was doing good, I really was. I just had to borrow a bit to get ahead and…you know.”
“I know,” I snapped. “How much do you need?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Well shit, Mick, twenty-five hundred? If you’ll get the hell outta here…I’ll give that to you now,” Travis said, pulling out his wallet.
“He means twenty-five thousand,” I said glaring at my father.
Mick’s eyes scanned over Travis. “Who’s this clown?”
Travis’ eyebrows shot up from his wallet and I felt his weight lean into my back as he restrained himself. “I can see, now, why a smart guy like yourself has been reduced to asking your teenage daughter for an allowance.”
Before Mick could speak, I pulled out my cell phone. “Who do you owe this time, Mick?”
Mick scratched his greasy graying hair. “Well, it’s a funny story, Cookie—,”
“Who?” I shouted.
“Benny.”
My mouth fell open and I took a step back, into Travis. “Benny? You owe Benny? What in the hell were you….” I took a breath, there was no point. “I don’t have that kind of money, Mick.”
He smiled. “Something tells me you do.”
“Well, I don’t! You’ve really done it, this time, haven’t you? I knew you wouldn’t stop until you got yourself killed!”
He shifted, the smug grin on his face had vanished. “How much ya got?”
I clenched my jaw. “Eleven thousand. I was saving for a car.”
America’s eyes darted in my direction. “Where did you get eleven thousand dollars, Abby?”
“Travis’ fights,” I said, my eyes boring into Mick’s.
Travis pulled on my shoulders to look into my eyes. “You made eleven thousand off my fights? When were you betting?”