Page 14 of Rematch
“And? You brought me up here to give me a pat on the back? Cause you can keep that shit.” He held out his hand. “Give me my money. I won it fair and square.”
“If I do, I better not see your face around here again.”
“I’m not promising you won’t.”
“Then you’re not getting paid.”
He sucked his teeth. “Why the fuck do you care? Rafael doesn’t.”
“I’m not him.”
“Maybe not, but you pretend just as well as him that I don’t exist. So…” He waved his outstretched hand. “Just hand over the money, so we never have to speak again.”
I reached behind me, grabbed a few wads of clean bills and held it out to him.
“That’s more than what I’m owed,” he noted. “You can’t pay me off.”
“Clearly.”
His brows twitched as his tough facade cracked. Lowering his eyes, he took a few steps toward me.
Before he could take the money out of my hand, I whipped my hand backwards, out of his reach, and used my free hand to grip him up by his shirt. “You take this money, and you don’tstep foot in this place, or anywhere like it, again,” I said. “If I catch wind you were even near one of these events, I’ll break your fucking face. You hear me?”
His glare intensified, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something slick. I wished he would. Just so I could punch him in his fucking mouth. He shoved my hand off of him. “Yeah,” he muttered.
I finally handed him the money.
He snatched it out of my hands, turned on his heel and stormed out the door. He bumped shoulders with Tysir, who was coming through the doorway.
Tysir opened his mouth to say something, but stopped at the sight of my shaking head.
“Leave him be,” I told him.
“Who the fuck is he?” Tysir asked.
I let out a deep sigh. “That’s my brother.”
Chapter 7
Audrey
“I win!” I cheered as I collected the last black piece of my father’s checkers team.
“Third time in a row,” he mused. “Either I’m getting old or you’re cheating.”
“Or I just had a really good teacher.”
The compliment made the weak smile on his face a little stronger.
We were sitting in the Chemotherapy room of our local general hospital. Dad sat in one of the large, cushioned recliner chairs with an IV in his arm and a blanket thrown over his legs. I was perched in a chair beside him. A small table with the checkerboard and snacks stood between us.
“Do you want to play again?” I asked. “Or do you want to take a nap?”
“Again,” he insisted. “I’ll rest when we get home.”
Nodding, I grabbed all the chips from either end of the board and began resetting the game.
As I did so, one of the nurses shuffled over to check on the bag of liquid medicine hanging near my dad’s bed. While playing our game, I hadn’t noticed it was now empty.
