Bet on It (27)

Corey: You missed Jamie make a total fucking fool out of himself at karaoke last night. Shit was amazing.

Walker: I know, I saw the Instagram Live. I can’t believe y’all let him take all those tequila shots. You know how he gets. You’re lucky he didn’t set something on fire.

Corey: We weren’t thinking. That’s why we need you around to keep us in line.



Walker rolled his eyes. Corey Whittaker was one of the first friends he’d made after leaving Greenbelt. They had met during freshman orientation at the College of Charleston. Walker had been like he always was in those days: quiet, reserved, desperately sticking to the back of the crowd. Corey had been none of those things, but he’d zeroed in on Walker’s Atlanta Braves shirt and latched on. Twelve years later and Corey still hadn’t gotten the urge to untangle himself.

When he was home in Charleston, Walker lived a good, if calm, life. He woke up every morning, went on a forty-minute run, then went to work. There he spent roughly forty percent of his day doing what he got paid for and the rest trying to look busy so he didn’t piss his editor off. He worked a sports beat, but most of his coverage was focused on baseball. Some MLB, but more recently college and high school, which meant that he was at games at least three nights a week on average. When he wasn’t working or enjoying his own company at home, he was with his friends. They were a small group, just him, Corey, Adya, Jamie, Andre, and Nate.

Walker’s social circle wasn’t exactly what he would call full. He’d come a long way from his friendless days in Greenbelt, but his past meant that he rarely felt comfortable letting new people in. Not when he knew that he couldn’t trust his trauma with just anybody. And there was no way for him to live his life without acknowledging it. Even if he could, he wouldn’t have wanted to. His friends had all come into his life in different ways at different times. But he trusted them with his life. Instead of feeling bad that his birthday celebrations were normally composed of fewer than ten people, he found himself in awe that he’d come so far.

As a kid, it had only been him and Gram and sometimes his father, Benny, during the short times when Benny was sober. Back then, he never would have imagined he’d have so many people not related to him giving a fuck about his well-being. He often had to shake himself out of the awe he felt whenever he dwelled on it for too long. That awe was exactly why he continued to put up with the boys’ antics whenever they insisted on going out and acting like ridiculous-ass frat boys.

Walker: Only a few more weeks, man

I was seconds away from calling in the rescue team the other night

Corey: Again? What happened?

Walker: Just Greenbelt being Greenbelt we went out to dinner and our waitress was this shitty woman who said all this shitty stuff to and about me, and Gram straight up didn’t give a fuck

She went full on little nice old Southern lady and I was mad enough to spit

Corey: Damn …

Corey: I’m sorry, man, that must have been fucking infuriating

Have you talked to Ms. May about it?

Walker: Nope not sure what to say tbh

Corey: Well … you could just tell her that it makes you feel like shit when she gets all buddy-buddy with folks who were cruel to you

Walker: Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s worth the time it would take to get the words out

I don’t think she sees it like that

Corey: Dude, you won’t know for sure until you talk to her

Walker: Jesus what are you, my new therapist?

Corey: Best friend, therapist, same fucking thing.

Corey: Just talk to your granny before I come up there and knock you upside your head

Walker: Yeah

Corey: What else is going on down there? Hook up with any of the girls you couldn’t bag in high school?

Walker: Those girls have either booked it to someplace less awful than Greenbelt or they’re married with kids

I did make a new friend though

Corey: Well that’s boring as fuc.

Walker: She’s actually very fun, you asshole

Corey:…

Corey: And this fun you’re having with your new friend, it wouldn’t be of the fucking variety, would it?

Walker: Absolutely not

Just a good, perfectly wholesome time. We go to bingo together.

Corey: And I’m supposed to think bingo isn’t a euphemism for eating pussy???

Walker: Hate to disappoint but it’s literally just regular old-fashioned bingo with the daubers and numbers and old people and everything

Corey: That’s a fucking bummer

Walker: You’re telling me.…

Corey: Wait, what? So you DO want to get it with your new friend then?

Walker: Sorry man, I need to go

About to have that talk with Gram like you suggested.

Corey: You squirrelly little motherfucker

Corey: Fine, go experience some emotional growth or what the fuck ever



He barked a laugh into the quiet of his room. Leave it to Corey to curse him out and make him feel better over the course of one short conversation. He paused when he heard the TV downstairs, knowing immediately that Gram had finally left her bed for the comfort of the couch.

The house they lived in was old. Gram and his grandfather, Mitchell, had bought it before his dad had even been born. Walker’s grandfather had died when Benny was thirteen, and instead of selling and moving on, Gram had decided to hunker down and stay put. The old house had been well maintained and stood strong, but its age meant it was damn near impossible to not hear everything that happened inside of it. The precautions he’d had to take to jerk off in peace were damn near CIA levels of covert ops. He had plenty of experience keeping an ear out for which part of the house Gram was moving around in. This came in handy when he was trying to do something private or sneaky—and when he was trying to avoid her.