Chapter 6 Jagger
JAGGER
With a groan that would make any toddler proud, Ford drops his head toward the ceiling. “I’m bored.” After I filled him in about Judge’s pop-in earlier today, we’ve all been in shitty moods.
“You’re always bored,” Hawke points out. “You,” he adds, addressing Roman. “Get your feet off the table.”
Roman’s legs fall to one side as Hawke reaches for the remote on the coffee table and turns on the television.
“What about fight night?” Roman asks Ford. “Everything ready?”
Ford nods. “Same old, same old.”
“So, it’s a yes?” Roman prods.
“I guess so. It’s just missing the…” Ford hesitates, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling as he searches for the right word to describe whatever the hell he’s feeling. His therapist would be so proud. That is, if he had one. “It’s missing the high, you know?”
Hawke snorts on Roman’s opposite side. “Because you’re an adrenaline junkie and when you can’t be in the fights, you usually get a hit by planning them. Not anymore, huh?”
“Guess not,” Ford pouts. His baby brother syndrome shines like a damn beacon in the quiet house. “Maybe I need to go skydiving or something. Get out of this town for a little while or…”
“So, how’s it feel to be back in the game together?” a reporter on the television asks.
Curious, I take a seat beside Roman and Hawke on the couch as a few players from the NHL Lions appear on screen.
They’re in a locker room being interviewed, but I have no idea if it’s before or after the game.
Hell, maybe it’s only practice? I’ve never really been into hockey.
Not much, anyway. Roman’s a casual viewer, though he prefers football and basketball.
Hawke just likes the background noise, and Ford’s obsessed with anything he can take bets on, which includes every sport known to man.
“Feels like we never left,” one of the players replies.
“Really? How so?” the reporter prods.
“Let’s see.” Another player leans forward on the bench and the reporter pushes the microphone closer to him. “For starters, we just got together for a friend’s wedding, and it was like we never left. We even had a Game Night, which was awesome.”
“Oh, really?” The old reporter looks at the camera as if he’s intrigued. “And what are these Game Nights? Is it cards or a board game of some sort?”
“Not exactly.” The players exchange amused looks until the guy on the right explains, “We used to throw them all the time in college.”
“Game Nights?” the reporter clarifies.
“Yeah,” another player chimes in. “It’s basically a party where we play a childhood game of some kind, but there was always an added element or twist of some kind.”
“Yeah, like one time, we played Twister,” the first player continues. “You know, the game, right?”
The reporter nods.
“Well, instead of the small plastic mat you get with the official game, we created our own. It covered the entire first floor where we were living at the time. Then, we had everyone wear colored shirts to match one of the circles on the floor, so the players could, you know, touch a t-shirt or the floor and—”
The screen goes black.
With the remote in Ford’s hand, he grins. “Yes.”
I frown. “Yes?”
“Fuck, yes.” He jumps to his feet. “Do you have any idea what we could do with this?”
Hawke shakes his head. “With what?”
“This?” He points the remote at the black screen. “Game nights. But with bets and booze and—”
“You’re joking,” Hawke interrupts.
“Not joking,” Ford says.
“Judge is already up our asses enough as it is,” Hawke reminds him. “And that was when we had everything down to a science.”
“Yeah, but the science is what’s taking the fun out of everything,” Ford whines. “Come on. Let me plan something.”
“You’ve already planned something,” Roman chimes in. “Multiple somethings. Like the event tonight.”
“Yeah, but not everyone is interested in poker or drag races or fight nights,” Ford argues.
“This way, anyone can participate and anyone can win. It would be so fuckin’ epic,” he adds as if the wheels are already turning in his genius brain.
Seriously, the man is one radioactive mishap away from claiming the title of evil supervillain.
“We could do it on the beach at a bonfire, or at the old carnival grounds.” He snaps his fingers. “Shit, that would be incredible—”
“And how do we make money?” I challenge.
Pushing himself to his feet, Ford paces the room, piecing together the invisible puzzle only he can see. “There’s gotta be a buy-in, obviously. Fifty percent goes to the hosts, AKA us,”—he grins—“and the rest is split based on the game, the wagers, and the winners. It could work.”
Roman meets my gaze from across the room, and he cocks his head, proving he’s thinking the same thing I am.
The same thing Ford is, and Hawke, too. This could work.
This could actually work. It’d be messy, sure, and would probably cost a lot up front, but the possibilities are…
enticing, to say the least. Even so, I can’t help but be the voice of reason. “You sure about this?” I ask.
Ford’s pacing ceases in front of me. “It’ll hit, and you know it,” he insists.
“Hell, I can already see it playing out. We can do a ladies’ night or, uh, I dunno, something to open up the, uh, the main event to the average person instead of only the experts.
Like you with fighting tonight.” He waves his hand toward me.
“Is it even gonna be interesting or are you gonna knock the asshole out in one punch like last time?”
His question hangs in the air as Roman rubs his chin, letting the suggestion marinate. “What do you think, Jag?”
I lift one shoulder. “I think it’s worth a shot.”
“Another KO?” Ford grumbles. “Come on, Jag. At least make it interesting.”
“He meant your idea of expanding the activities,” Hawke answers for me.
“Oh.” Ford stands a little taller. “Well, all right then. I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“I say we roll it out on Halloween,” Roman adds. “Will that give you enough time?”
Rubbing his hands together like the evil villain I pegged him for, Ford nods. “I’m sure I can make it work.”
And that’s the thing about Ford Harden. He will. The man’s unstoppable.
“What about the budget?” Hawke questions.
“Aw, come on, man,” Ford groans. “Why you gotta piss on all my fun?”
Ignoring him, Hawke pins me with his stare. “Our trusts are still frozen.”
He’s right. When our father found out what we were doing, he froze our trusts in hopes of reeling us in. Instead, it only pissed us off. We’ve been living off our winnings ever since. Scratching my temple, I turn to Roman. “What do you think?”
“If we’re rolling out a new style of events, it’s gonna take some investment.”
“And we don’t want it to be shit, either,” Ford adds. “We gotta make it hit. Something for people to talk about. To create buzz and curiosity.”
Hawke sighs. “If it falls flat, we’re fucked.”
“So, we won’t let it fall flat,” Ford pushes. “This is an investment opportunity—”
“It’s a gamble,” Hawke interjects.
“You’re a gamble,” Ford snaps, refusing to back down.
Roman’s low rumble of amusement echoes through the large open room. It cuts through the tension, and my brothers join in. “That’s the shittiest comeback I’ve ever heard,” Roman says.
“Cut me some slack,” Ford says through another bout of laughter. “I’m a little preoccupied with how much potential there is in this.”
“Risky potential,” Hawke clarifies, though it’s less pissy than before, managing to hit its mark this time around.
“Risky potential,” Ford agrees. “But so epic.”
With a nod, Hawke turns to me. “What do you say?”
“Every investment is a gamble,” I tell them. “But I think this opportunity is worth exploring.”
“Yeah?” Hawke says.
I nod. “If we’ve learned anything, it’s that usually, the riskier ventures have the biggest payouts.”
Ford grins. “Hell yeah, they do.”
“But first, you gotta get through tonight,” Roman adds with a pointed look directly at me. “You ready?”
I roll my shoulders, paying special attention to my body and whether or not I feel like I’m up to tonight’s task. It doesn’t take long, barely a second, until I come to my conclusion. “I’m not worried.”
“That’s my man.”