Trying to talk myself out of it doesn't work. I open the door and limp through the parking lot and into the racetrack.
Races across the world appear on the televisions. Smoke circles the air, suffocating my lungs. Regulars chatter and drink.
I glance around, taking it all in, the high of anticipation growing. It's the same thing I always experience whenever I'm in a casino or at a racetrack.
I should get out of here.
No. I'm going to win.
Willow wouldn't approve.
She'll be happy when I pay her back faster.
I read the numbers on the sports screens, then take a seat at the end of the bar.
"Well, look who the cat dragged in," Bo Caruthers, the longtime bartender, announces.
I slap his hand, admitting, "Been a long time. How've you been?"
"Good. The kids keep me busy when I'm not here. Still drinking whiskey?" he asks, reaching for the fifth.
The expressions on the faces of the Cartwrights when I came clean about me and Willow, haunt me. Especially those of Jacob and Jagger.
I nod to Bo.
Bad idea.
Willow's beautiful face appears in my mind.
"Actually, I'll have a beer," I state.
He sets down the bottle of whiskey. "You sure?"
I hesitate, glancing at the bottle.
Bo fills a shot glass and sets it in front of me. "On the house." He pulls a frosted mug out of the cooler and pulls the lever on the keg.
The foam rises until it's at the top. He puts the mug next to the shot glass. "Hell of a ride you gave the other day."
"Thanks." I glance at the shot, take a mouthful of beer, then wrap a hand around the cold mug.
"No!" a lady screeches.
I glance over my shoulder.
She scrunches her face, pounding on the table. "No! No! No!"
"Stop hitting the furniture, Lucy. It's not going to give you a win," Bo reprimands.
She glares at him, then plops onto the seat, staring at the screens, shaking her head.
Sweat forms at my hairline. The sense of dread I feel whenever I lose creeping up on me. For some reason, I can't take my eyes off her.
"Five minutes before she's begging Johnny for another loan," Bo mumbles, but he might as well have screamed it.
Disgust over my past bad decisions hits me. The last time I lost a big bet, I begged my bookie to lend me more money, and he refused.
What am I doing here?
