I push off the ice, racing Luca Campbell from the Blaze to get to the puck.
Dig deep, Maverick. Find a way.
Chapter Eight
Gia
“Maybe I’m just not smart enough to be a chem major,” my brother Tony says on the other end of the phone, sounding dejected.
I slide off the barstool I’m sitting on to watch the Saints play their first game on TV, and someone else immediately takes it. The sports bar near the casino I’m playing at tonight is packed with people in Saints attire, eagerly watching the debut game of the new home team.
“Listen to me, Tony,” I say, turning my shoulders to get through the crowd of people in the bar. “You are smart enough, and you can’t cut and run just because it’s hard.”
He sighs into the phone. “I’m not. I’m studying my ass off, I swear. But advanced calculus is…I can’t even describe it, Gigi. It’s just so hard. I cried last night when I was trying to study because it’s…”
“Okay,” I say in a calming tone. “I hear you, and I’ve never taken a class like that so I’m not trying to tell you it’s not hard. Have you joined a study group?”
“Yeah, but they moved it to Tuesday nights and I have a class then.”
“Have you talked to your professor?”
Tony’s single note of laughter sounds frustrated. “I’m in her office almost every day. She tells me to hang in there, but I’m barely pulling a D. I don’t want to drop it because I know how expensive tuition is, but I’m worried about my GPA.”
I walk outside the casino, directly into a cloud of cigarette smoke. I have to walk for a while to find a quiet spot that doesn’t reek of either cigarette smoke or pot smoke.
“If you need to drop it, you can,” I tell my brother.
He groans. “I know how much you paid for it, Gigi. I feel like I’m letting you down.”
Tony is on the verge of tears, which is unlike him. Of my two brothers, he’s the harder worker. He’s in his second year of pursuing a chemistry degree at Columbia, and this is the first frantic phone call I’ve gotten from him. His twin brother, Leo, is studying business at NYU. Leo was able to pay his own tuition the past two semesters, and while he said he made the money working at a restaurant, Tony told me Leo is running an online sports betting site that’s bringing in lots of money. He’s a Ford, for sure, but I worry he’ll get kicked out of school for gambling.
“Never say that,” I tell Tony fiercely. “You aren’t letting me down. All I ever want from you is your best. This is a bump in the road, but we’re made of tough stuff. We’ll get through this.”
After a pause, he says, “Okay. What do you think I should do?”
“How about a tutor?”
Tony groans. “With the number of hours I’d need with a tutor, that’ll be expensive.”
“It doesn’t matter. If you want to get through this class, find the best tutor you can get. I’ll transfer money into your account to pay for it. But if you think you need to drop it, you should do that.”
“I don’t want to drop it. I’ve put in so many hours already, even though we’re only a month into the semester. I don’t want that to be for nothing.”
A middle-aged man walking down the sidewalk turns and starts walking toward me, grinning as he says, “Hey gorgeous, how you doin’?”
Moving the phone away from my mouth, I say, “Fuck off.”
He scowls, waves a hand and retreats.
“You okay, Gigi?” Tony asks.
“Yeah, I’m good. Find yourself a tutor, okay? Everything will be okay, I promise.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He pauses and asks, “How’s Vegas?”
“The usual.”
There’s a smile in his voice as he says, “You’re living the dream, sis. I don’t think I’d ever sound so bored about living in Vegas and playing poker every day.”
“This is not the dream,” I say sternly. “This is a means to an end. This is to get you guys through school so you can make something of yourselves.”
“I know. But then I’m putting you through school wherever you want to go. I want you to be happy, too.”
A group of fans painted in gold from head to toe pass by me, all of them in Las Vegas Saints gear. I’m struck by how elated they all look. It’s an exciting night for my home city, and Maverick Hagen is a big part of that.
“I am happy,” I tell my brother. “Really, I am. I’m taking a break tonight to watch the hockey game. Ro and her family are so great to me. I’m good, Tony.”
“Okay, good. Can we come visit for Thanksgiving? I’m dying to hit some poker tables with you.”
His enthusiasm sends a wave of nausea through me. I only have two goals in life right now—earn what I need to sit across from Will Roan at a poker table, and get both of my brothers through college with bachelor’s degrees. I miss my family, but I don’t want my brothers to come here and get drawn in by the glitz and easy money of Vegas. Poker ultimately killed our father, and I won’t let that happen to them.
“Maybe,” I say. “Or I might want to come home. We’ll see.”
“I have to go to my study group, sis. Talk to you soon, okay?”
“Sure. Love you.”
“Love you, too. And thanks again.”
“Anytime.”
I end the call and walk back into the sports bar. The stools at the bar are all taken, so I stand to the side and watch one of the big screens on the wall. The Saints are down 2–0, and a rowdy fan at one of the tables is yelling at the TV.
“Bunch of fuckin’ amateurs! I waited my whole life for a team here and THIS is what I get? Horseshit!”
“Calm your tits,” a woman at his table says, glaring. “The game just started.”
“They suck!” he cries, throwing his hands in the air.
“They’ve been a team for like two minutes, for fuck’s sake.”
I smile to myself, my gaze back on the TV screen. Maverick and I aren’t close by any means, but we’ve been texting. I only got to talk to him in person on the walk to the Bellagio last week, but I’ve thought about that conversation every day since. There’s something about him. It’s not just that he’s attractive, he’s also incredibly likable. I’m rooting for the Mavericks tonight, but mostly, I’m rooting for him.
Since moving here, I’ve never seen the city this collectively excited about anything. Everywhere I go, I see the Saints logo and pictures of the players for our new team. Most of the pictures are of Maverick and two other players named Pike Morgan and Kingston Bryant.
“What the fuck?” the rowdy fan yells. “My grandma could have made that shot!”
I push off the wall I’m leaning against and head for the door, done with his running commentary. From what I read, Maverick hasn’t played since a bad leg injury that happened more than a year ago. This is also the first time these players have played a game as a team. Expectations from fans were high, though—obviously.
I’m playing at Caesars tonight, and I’ve sweated through my shirt by the time I finish the walk there. It’s been a great week at the tables—I’ve made more than $15,000 already. Friday and Saturday nights are always the busiest, and it takes me about half an hour to get a seat at a table on this Friday night.