More people cheer.
A rush of adrenaline flows through me, almost making me dizzy.
Just one bet, then I'll leave.
One will lead to two.
This isn't the way to be anymore.
"Well? What will it be?" Jeb questions.
I glance back at the boards, fighting my demons, assessing the odds.
A new race starts. More cheers fill the room, so loud that they compete with my pounding heart.
"Looks like a lucky streak finally arrived," Bo claims.
Jeb slaps his sweaty palm on my back. "What's your take, Wyatt? You feeling lucky and going for the 40 to 1?"
I refocus on the screen, my mouth watering, heart hammering, and adding up how much I need to bet to pay Willow in full.
25
Willow
The sound of muffled voices hits my ears. I tiptoe past the kitchen and almost get to the staircase.
"Where do you think you're going?" Ava asks.
I close my eyes on a sigh, then turn back. "Going to take a nap."
She smirks. "Ha! That's funny! Get in here. You've got a lot of explaining to do!" She opens the kitchen door.
My stomach sours with dread.
"It's best to get it over with," Ava reminds me, beaming brighter.
"Stop gloating. It's a bad look on you," I mumble, stepping past her, knowing she's right. Avoiding my family means it'll only be worse when I finally do spill the beans.
The minute I step into the kitchen, the conversation stops dead. Coffee mugs hover in midair while spoons clang against the ceramic. Every set of eyes locks on me like I'm a wantedcriminal; the women who know me better than anyone else, staring me down.
"Sit," Mom orders in a clipped voice, her hand gesturing to a stool at the massive island.
Phoebe's eyes widen with sympathy. Georgia's look matches Phoebe's, soft and almost motherly. It only adds to my guilt.
I don't argue, and pull the seat out, plopping onto it and leaning over the cold granite counter.
It's my oldest sister, Evelyn, who starts the attack. Her honey-blonde hair's twisted into a perfect bun, and her blue eyes pin me with Cartwright intensity. She doesn't bother to hide her excitement, asserting, "You've got a lot of talking to do."
I silently take in the situation, debating how to get out of it quickly.
Ava sits next to Evelyn, crossing her arms over her chest. Her posture's so rigid, she could compete with a nun.
Paisley fidgets on the edge of her stool, her gaze darting between me and our mom like she's watching a bull buck in slow motion.
My mom arches her eyebrows.
"Mom—" I start, but she holds up her hand, her silver bangles clinking like tiny gongs announcing my doom.
