His lips curve. "Really? You'd rather be down there just clawing through the dirt, trying to get out?"
"Yep."
He leans his head closer, asking, "What would you scream?"
Butterflies flood my stomach. "What?"
"If you were in a grave trying to get out? Would you scream the basic 'help!' or something else?" he asks.
I open my mouth to answer, then shut it.
Don't fall for his charm again.
"I don't know. Stop asking me strange questions."
"You're the one who brought it up," he points out.
"No, I didn't."
"You did. You said you would rather crawl into a grave and let them pour dirt on you than represent me," he argues.
"Ugh, shut up," I say, crossing my arms and looking out the window.
"Suit yourself, sugar." He chuckles and turns up the music. We drive down several back roads.
After a few minutes, he turns the music down. "You really want to know what happened between Jax and me?"
I uncross my arms and turn toward him, softening my tone. "Yeah."
"Fine. I'm sure you're going to find out anyway. However, I'm fairly certain you can guess what happened. You want to take a stab?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No."
He turns his gaze back toward the road, taking several deep breaths, then admits, "I gambled my World Championship belt away."
My head jerks backward, and I gape at him.
He continues, "Jax was so proud of it. He never could earn it himself, and I think the next best thing for him was when I won it."
"Wyatt Houston! Why would you do that?" I scold.
Shamefaced, he quietly says, "Because I owed people money. Why else would I do it?"
I stare at him, shocked into silence.
He adds, "I was in debt pretty bad, Willow. I needed the money. The guys I borrowed from weren't the type you don't pay back."
I swallow hard, my heart racing faster. Gambling has always been part of the Texan lifestyle that I know. My family owns a race horse business. My brothers got the itch to place bets when they were barely ten. Wyatt was right in it with them, but he never seemed to listen to my father's warnings about being a "smart gambler." Not that I know if such a thing really exists. The way I see it, you either win or lose. Smarts don't really come into play.
Wyatt takes a deep breath and adds, "Jax loved that belt. He warned me not to gamble with the men I borrowed from, but I didn't listen. It was just like his warnings not to get into bar fights or drink too much."
I take all of it in, imagining all the scenarios Wyatt's describing.
He continues, "He was on his last straw with me. When they came after me, the only thing I had of value was that belt, so I went and pawned it."
I gasp. "You pawned it? They probably gave you pennies on the dollar. That was pure gold."
I can almost see the guilt and shame pouring from him when he mutters, "You don't even want to know what they gave me."
