The next few days passed quickly, and soon it was time for me to officially start splitting my time between Mom's place and Uncle Charlie's beach house. Alan seemed both nervous and excited about the new arrangement, while Charlie appeared largely indifferent, though I suspected he secretly enjoyed having us around—or at least, liked having me around.
On my first official weekend at Charlie's, Alan was already in planning mode. He paced around the living room, holding a colorful brochure. "Jake, what do you say we go to Disneyland tomorrow? It'll be fun."
I hesitated, glancing toward Charlie, who was lounging on the sofa, clearly uninterested in theme parks. "Actually, Dad, maybe we can do Disneyland another time? I'm kind of tired and just feel like hanging around the house."
Alan's face briefly fell before he quickly masked it with a forced smile. "Oh, sure, that's fine. Maybe it's a good day to catch up on some errands anyway. I'll just take care of some stuff I've been meaning to get done."
"Sounds good, Dad," I replied, relieved at his quick acceptance. Alan patted my shoulder gently before grabbing his keys and heading out, leaving Charlie and me alone in the peaceful silence of the house.
Charlie glanced over at me, a grin spreading across his face. "Good call, kid. The playoffs are on today—Dolphins versus Jaguars."
I smiled, relaxing into the couch. "Nice!" The NFL had been a big part of my past life, and it felt reassuringly familiar.
Charlie flipped on the television, settling comfortably into his chair as the pre-game show began. "You know, Jake, half the fun of watching sports is betting on them."
I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Really? Like, actual money?"
Charlie smirked mischievously. "Of course actual money. What else would we use—cookies?"
I chuckled softly, my mind racing. I vividly remembered this particular playoff season. The semifinals would eventually see Jaguars versus Titans and Rams versus Tampa Bay. I couldn't recall every exact score, but I distinctly remembered the Jaguars utterly dominating the Dolphins in the quarter-finals and the Rams winning the finals against the Titans, 23-16, with Kurt Warner as MVP.
"So, who are you betting on, Uncle Charlie?"
"I'm putting some money on the Jaguars."
"Great! I've got a hundred bucks here," I said confidently, pulling out the money I'd earned from Charlie's curse jar and the poker night where I'd destroyed Charlie's friends with my unexpected skill. "But bet that the Jaguars win by at least 50 points."
"Fifty points?" Charlie asked incredulously. "Do you even know how football works, kid?"
"Yeah, I know, but imagine the odds we'll get," I said with a sly grin.
Charlie rolled his eyes, reluctantly picking up the phone. "Alright, smartass, but don't come crying to me later." After placing the call, he shook his head in disbelief. "The odds are 12-to-1. You'll win twelve hundred bucks if you pull off this miracle."
"Did you bet too?" I asked curiously.
"Just a hundred," he said with a smirk. "I don't need you smugly rubbing it in if, by some miracle, you're right."
We settled in as the game kicked off, and immediately it was clear this game would be a blowout. By the end of the first quarter, the Jaguars were already ahead 24-0. Charlie glanced over at me, his expression shifting from disbelief to genuine amazement.
When the final whistle blew, the Jaguars had indeed dominated, winning by more than fifty points. Charlie and I leaped up, dancing and screaming in triumph.
"A thousand bucks! Woohoo!" I shouted, barely believing our luck.
"Twelve hundred, actually!" Charlie corrected gleefully. He was already halfway through another beer, celebrating enthusiastically.
"And there's still another game today," Charlie added, turning toward me with excitement. "Who should we bet on next, genius?"
I paused, recalling the details. Tampa Bay would narrowly edge out Washington by exactly one point. "Put it all on Tampa Bay winning by exactly one point," I said confidently.
"Everything? A one-point margin exactly? Are you serious?" Charlie asked incredulously, though a wide grin spread across his face. "Alright, why not?"
He picked up the phone again, clearly influenced by alcohol-fueled confidence. "Make it five grand—Tampa Bay, one-point margin."
"Five grand?" I echoed in disbelief. "You increased the bet?"
"Go big or go home, Jake," Charlie said with a playful wink.
The game began, and tension rose with every play. Tampa Bay and Washington fought fiercely, keeping the score agonizingly close. By the final quarter, my heart was pounding so hard I could barely sit still.
"Come on, just one more touchdown and the extra point," Charlie muttered anxiously.
With mere seconds remaining, Tampa Bay drove forward, scoring the crucial touchdown. Silence filled the room as we waited anxiously for the kick. When the ball sailed perfectly through the goalposts, Charlie and I exploded in cheers.
"Yes! Yes! We did it!" Charlie screamed, dancing around the room like a delighted child.
"What's going on here?" Alan asked, standing bewildered in the doorway, grocery bags still in hand.
Charlie paused just long enough to grin widely. "Your son just made the bets of a lifetime, Alan!"
Alan's eyes narrowed, glancing from Charlie to me. "Wait—you're gambling with Jake now?" he asked angrily
"Relax, Dad," I interjected quickly, trying to calm the situation. "We just won big."
Alan set down the bags, clearly annoyed but also curious. "Define 'big.'"
Charlie looked at Alan, unable to contain himself. "Forty grand, Alan. Your kid just won us forty grand!"
Alan's eyes went wide, his jaw dropping in shock. "Forty thousand dollars?!"
Alan hesitated, torn between fatherly responsibility and disbelief. Eventually, he shook his head with a resigned smile. "Jake, maybe you could lend me some money?" asked him
"Fuc* off, dad!" I said astonished by his shameless
"Yeah, fu*k off Alan!!" completed Uncle Charlie