Page 56 of Waiting Game

“He’ll open up a new one.”

“I know. But if you make sure he can’t get his hands on a credit card, that’ll stop this in its tracks.”

“Until he’s eighteen and he can do whatever the hell he wants.” His lips curve when I grimace. “He’s a sneaky little fucker.”

“Gets it from watching Cody.”

“True.”

Studying him, I ask, “You doing all right, Colt?”

He looks… exhausted. Maybe even more than that.

“Been better, been worse.”

I clap him on the shoulder again. “I get it.”

And I do. Because that’s confirmation there’s definitely something going on with him. I also know he won’t share it with me.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

“I’m here if you need me, big bro. You know that, right?”

When he tips the glass at me in silent assent, I turn to look out onto the Seven Cs’ prairie with its rolling waves of endless darkness that no light pollution interferes with.

Though I hate coming back here and I can fight it as much as I want…

This is home.

CHAPTER 11

MIA

Formula - Labrinth

I can literally feelthe blood draining from my face as I stare at the letter in front of me.

I always knew that Chuck played loose with the figures that he filed on his accounts, but not to this extent.

Back taxes owed: $198,056

A part of me feels like screaming, and another part wants to go home and cry myself to sleep.

The worst thing is that this is just one of the debts he’s accrued over the years, with this 200k being a drop in the ocean. Even the bar is mortgaged to the hilt. Throw in his medical bills and the cost of a funeral these days, and I’ve come to learn that I’m well and truly screwed.

After Cole texted his Dear John letter, I headed into the office at the bar once my cam girl session was through. It was rough—really fucking rough—because this place is Chuck’s. Every inch of it stinks of cigar smoke and the cologne he used to wear.

His battered recliner is angled away from the TV, much as if it’s waiting for him to return from the bathroom. His cookie jar is stuffed full of the midnight snacks that he devours while he watches baseball reruns to help him fall asleep.

If that isn’t rough enough, taking a seat behind his desk makes me feel like an imposter.

I’ve staved off many a panic attack in this chair over the past two days, but only because these accounts wait for no one.

Every morning has revealed more debts, making it necessary to go home, shower, and change so I can jack off in front of strangers on the internet in the hope that I can cover some bills with my body.

I even had to cancel a couple of coaching sessions because the cam-girling pays more.

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