Page 340
“I did my part.”
“Did you?” he questions, his own head bobbing mockingly.
“Yeah, I fucking did.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Kota asks, reminding me of our audience.
I can tell the moment my dad realizes I’m done because everything on him goes deathly still.
“What are we talking about?” I parrot.
“Khaos,” he cautions.
He’s doing this. He’s making me do this. I never would’ve told the truth. Never. I was willing to lose Kota over keeping his secrets. I did lose Kota over keeping his secrets.
“We’re talking about Graham Pierson…” My entire body locks up. This is it. There’s no going back from this. “…and his addiction to gambling. He’ll place a bet on anything, even his own son.” I’ve never said that out loud before. Thought it. Knew it, if I’m being completely honest. But not once did I say it.
“I’ve seen you fight, kid,” the scout says. “It’d be stupid for him not to.”
“Yeah? He bet that I’d lose.”
Every person’s expression in this foyer—except my dad and his human ATM machine—morphs into confusion.
“But…you said you’ve never lost.”
“I haven’t. Even when I tried my hardest to, the judges still gave it to me.”
“That’s why you…” Kota trails off, putting the pieces together.
Yeah, that’s why I roughed up that “judge.”
My dad let me know an hour before a fight that I needed to lose. I didn’t want to. Everything in me rejected the very idea. But it was my dad. He’s always done what’s best for us, for me. So I went out there and I tried. I tried to fucking throw it. I stood still and took hit after hit after hit. The problem is they were weak, just like my opponent. There was no blood, no red marks, no visible evidence that I was even in a fight. My opponent was so bad, I couldn’t even fake being injured without raising major suspicion. Anyone with eyes would’ve seen right through it.
It was almost like he was throwing that shit, too. And maybe he was. I don’t know. All I know is I was doing what I was told—losing.
Apparently, me doing absolutely fuck all for three five-minute rounds wasn’t enough to convince the judges. Somehow—some-fucking-how—it was a split draw, which means there was a win for each of us and a draw. Since neither of us technically won or lost, unless someone specifically bet on a draw outcome, everyone that bet on the fight lost.
The judge I beat the fuck out of was the one who scored me as the winner. He lost my dad money he didn’t have. A lot of it.
“How much was the bet?” Kota asks, and for a second, I think she’s choosing to believe my dad over me, but then I see she’s looking at him, awaiting the answer.
I give it to her. “Four hundred thousand dollars.”
Sera wails.
How it’s almost doubled, I have no idea. Interest, obviously, but not to that extent. We were making progress. I believed we were making progress. I was told we were making progress. Every fight I’ve won, I’ve been handing over most, if not all, of my earnings with the understanding that it was going toward that debt. There’s no fucking way that’s true though. It’s all been…a lie.
“It’s a disorder,” my dad tells his wife as if it’s a consolation.
“Yours,” I say. “Your disorder. You kept betting, didn’t you?”
My dad doesn’t have the guts to meet my eyes.
He did. Goddamn it.
“And you lost.” It’s not a question, not even in my mind. “We both did.” I lost Kota and he lost…me. I don’t know what else we’ll lose today but neither of us has that much money. Neither of us will ever have that much money. People like us will never even see hundreds of thousands of dollars because if we ever did, we’d turn right around and find a way to lose it. You can’t keep what you’ve never had.
Fuck. Just when I thought I was getting out.
