Game Changer

by Kelly Jamieson

  “That’s a three-hour drive. And you’d have to turn around and come back.”

  He shrugs. “It’s not that big a deal. But Mom and my grandparents are coming next weekend. You could drive back to Winnipeg with them Sunday if you want to fly home.”

  “Oh.” I consider that. “That makes sense, I guess. But are you sure you’re okay with me being here when they come? They’re going to ask questions.”

  His jaw tightens. “We’ll tell them the truth. We’re friends.”

  Friends who fuck. Friends how know how each other taste. Who know how it feels when he’s inside me.

  One more week. Well, ten days.

  I watch Jax lean back in the chair on the deck. He stares out at the lake, his expression impassive. My Spidey senses tingle, and I feel like he’s not happy about me leaving either.

  But we agreed. We agreed this would end when we’re back in Chicago. I can’t hide out here forever.

  I’m freaking out. I admit I’m freaking out.

  The sound of a car door closing outside makes me jump.

  They’re here.

  Jax’s mom and grandparents are coming today and I’ve had a ball of anxiety knotted in my stomach all day. I don’t know why. I guess I’m worried what they’re going to think of me being here.

  I swallow and press a hand to my belly as Jax strides out, across the porch and throws open the door. “Hey! You’re here!”

  “We’re here! We made it!” a light, feminine voice calls. “Come give me a hug!”

  I follow along behind Jax and stand at the door as he jogs down the steps and hugs his mom.

  She’s tall, but compared to him she’s not. She squeezes him then steps back, beaming, studying him. “You look great. All tanned and relaxed. You must be enjoying your summer.”

  “It’s been awesome.”

  An older man emerges from the back seat of the Chevrolet Malibu, and Jax hugs him too, then his grandma who was in the front passenger seat.

  Victoria Wynn catches sight of me and pauses, cocking her head. Then she smiles faintly.

  She’s so pretty—high cheekbones and a slightly pointy chin, her short, layered hair in tousled waves, a warm brown with gold highlights. A pair of rectangular dark brown glasses sit on her small nose.

  “Let me introduce you to Molly,” Jax says, leading his grandma toward the door. “Molly, this is my grandma, Pat Thompson.”

  “Hello.” Mrs. Thompson wears an expression identical to her daughter’s, and I see a definite family resemblance. “Nice to meet you, Molly.”

  “Hi!” I step forward to shake hands.

  “This is my grandpa, Gary.”

  I shake hands with him too as he eyes me appraisingly.

  “And my mom, Tori.”

  I shake her hand also.

  “Everyone, this is Molly Flynn, a friend of mine from Chicago.”

  “So nice to meet you all,” I say, hoping they didn’t notice how sweaty my hand is.

  Jax helps bring in their bags. We’ve sorted out sleeping arrangements. I’ve been sleeping with Jax every night since that first night we had sex, many of my things gradually migrating into the master bedroom. I’ve moved all those back to my own room.

  Jax carries his grandparents’ bag into the master bedroom, which he’ll vacate temporarily. His mom is taking the other bedroom and Jax is going to sleep on one of the pull-out couches in the living room for a few nights.

  It’s just after noon and we picked up some things for an easy lunch, so I busy myself in the kitchen setting out deli meats, crusty rolls from the amazing bakery, and a big salad. Mrs. Thompson enters the kitchen.

  “I know this is your kitchen, I hope it’s okay that I’ve made myself at home here.”

  “Of course!” Her smile is warm, but her eyes still gleam with curiosity. “Have you been here the whole summer, or are you just visiting for the weekend?”

  “I came with Jax back at the end of June.”

  “Oh, lovely.”

  “I’m just putting out some lunch. I don’t know if you’ve eaten?”

  “No, we haven’t. That speed demon Tori wouldn’t even stop for ice cream in Neepawa, she was so excited to get here and see Jax.” Mrs. Thompson opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of mustard. “Oh, I see you have some fancy mustards.”

  “Yes, we picked those up at one of the stores. They’re apparently made in Winnipeg. I really like the honey horseradish one.”

  “Hmm.” She picks them up as well and carries them over to the dining table.

  I don’t know what that means. Does she disapprove of fancy mustard? Or maybe it’s me she disapproves of?

  I bring everything else to the table as Jax chats with his grandpa and mom. They cross the big open living room as Jax updates them about the small plumbing leak he fixed and how he cleaned up the area going down to the dock.

  We sit down at the table, very informally as everyone makes their own sandwich and helps themselves to salad as well as some pickles and olives I put in small serving dishes. Jax and his family are all talking at once, and I just try to take it all in.

  Then Mrs. Wynn says to me, “Did I hear you say you came here with Jax?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So you’ve been here a few weeks then.”

  “Yes, almost a month, actually.”

  “What do you do for a living?” Mrs. Wynn asks.

  “I’m a teacher. I teach third grade in Chicago.”

  “Ah. So you have the whole summer off.”

  “Yes.” I smile. “And it’s been so nice. I really appreciate the opportunity to stay here. It’s a beautiful place.”

  “It’s nice that you haven’t been alone this whole time.” Mrs. Wynn slants Jax a glance.

  “Don’t get any ideas, Mom. Molly and I are just friends.”

  I feel a little pinch in my chest.

  She feigns indignance. “I don’t have any ideas.”

  “Uh huh.” Jax’s mouth twists up against a smile.

  Despite this warning, Mrs. Wynn is very interested in me and my life, asking lots of questions. She has such a warm and attentive manner that it doesn’t feel like I’m being grilled. I want to tell her my life story from birth up to leaving Steve at the altar. Okay, maybe not that part. Then I remember she’s a psychologist. Is she analyzing me? She absolutely knows how nervous I am. That I’m a bit crazy. And that I might be a bit crazy for her son.

  What?

  I force that thought away so I can focus on the conversation. I’ll take it out and examine it later. Or maybe never. I should never think of that again.

  After lunch, we all walk down to the dock. Jax carries chairs down from the deck for his grandma and mom to sit in. It’s another hot, sunny day, and I sit on the dock and swish my feet through the cool water, taking in the vista of the bright blue lake, the shoreline opposite rough with jagged evergreen trees.

  A swelling sadness fills my chest at the thought that I only have a couple more days here. I’ll be leaving Sunday afternoon with Jax’s family. They’re going to drop me at a hotel near the airport, and I’ll take an early flight Monday morning to Chicago. Jax’s mom is staying another week in Winnipeg with her parents.

  There are things I’m looking forward to—I am a city girl, after all, and I love my hometown. I miss my friends and my parents. I miss night clubs and restaurants and Nordstrom Rack. But I know without a doubt I’m going to miss this place when I’m gone. Especially knowing I’ll never come back here. And also knowing it’ll never be the same with Jax again.

  I might go to hockey games and see him play. We might run into each other, although Chicago’s a big city. Will we ever compete in trivia night again? Would that be weird?

  My eyes sting and I bow my head, staring at the water, so clear you can see each smooth rock on the sandy bottom of the lake. The conversation goes on around me.

  How could everything change so fast?

  Mrs. Thompson wants to see the wishing well, s
o Jax drives them out there. I elect to stay at the cottage to get a few things ready for dinner and read the book I’m enjoying. I prepare some potatoes and vegetables. I’ll rub the steaks with the spice mix later, and there’s a salad.

  I find my favorite place on the deck for catching the afternoon sun. I’m having a hard time focusing on my book, though. I keep thinking about Jax.

  Dammit.

  I can’t be sad about this. It’s been wonderful, and I’ll treasure every memory of every moment. Every kiss and touch. Every toe-curling, heart-exploding orgasm. The feel of his body and the taste of his mouth on mine. Every small thoughtful gesture, like bringing chairs for his mom and grandma, like taking me to see the Northern Lights, to bringing me another glass of wine when mine is empty. His patience with my PMS.

  I wish it didn’t have to end.

  It’s only been weeks since I was going to marry another man. There’s obviously something wrong with me if I can forget about Steve that fast and fall for Jax.

  Rebound.

  I close my eyes, remembering Brielle’s words. The first guy you’re with after a breakup is your rebound. That’s what this is. Once I’m away from Jax, I’ll forget about him too. Probably.

  Am I that shallow? I kind of hate myself for being so fickle. I learned that lesson, though, when I found out Steve was cheating on me. I thought my heart was broken, and now…I guess it really wasn’t. Because it kind of seems like maybe I never really loved Steve all that much.

  After Jax barbecues the steaks and we eat dinner, we gather around the fireplace to play another game of Trivial Pursuit. It turns out Jax’s whole family is into trivia.

  This time we keep our clothes on.

  We’re drinking wine and beer, laughing uproariously at jokes about Mr. Thompson’s balding head following a question about phalacrosis, which means hair falls out, when there’s a knock at the door.

  We all turn toward the porch door and Jax rises. “I’ll get it.” As he opens the door, we hear him say, “Holy shit. Dad.”

  Tori immediately goes on alert, and Mr. and Mrs. Thompson exchange a wide-eyed look.

  “Seriously?” Tori mutters. “Mark is here?”

  “Uh, he did say he might come up for a visit while Jax is here,” I say.

  Three pairs of eyes fix on me intently.

  I swallow. “I, uh, went to California with Jax at the end of June,” I say. “We saw him there.”

  Their eyes widen.

  I want to spew a bunch of stuff to Tori to tell her that Jax and his dad had a talk, and Jax found out that his dad never cheated on Tori, and they’re working things out, but that’s not my place, especially with Mark now walking into the living room with Jax.

  “Oh.” Mark stops. “I didn’t realize…”

  “We didn’t know you were coming, Dad,” Jax says.

  Mark sighs. “I thought I’d surprise you. I should have let you know.” He pauses. “Hi, Tori. Hi, Pat. Gary.”

  “Mark.” Mrs. Thompson rises with a polite smile. “Long time no see.”

  “Yeah, it has been a while.”

  Mr. Thompson rises too, but he’s frowning. The atmosphere that moments ago had been full of laughter and is now charged and heavy.

  “Molly.” Mark smiles at me. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  I stand and walk over to him. “It was a last-minute decision. Nice to see you again, Mr. Wynn.”

  “Mark. Please.” He claps a hand on Jax’s shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll go see if I can get a room at one of the hotels.”

  Everyone glances at each other. It’s acutely uncomfortable for a few seconds. Then Tori says, “You don’t have to do that. There’s lots of room here.”

  “Yeah, Dad.” Jax appears relieved. “I’m sleeping on one of the couches. You can have one of the others.”

  Mark hesitates. His gaze lands on Tori, and for a moment they share a long, indecipherable look. “You sure?” he finally says quietly.

  “Of course.” She smiles. “You can join our Trivial Pursuit game. I have to warn you, though, Molly is a whiz.”

  Mark meets my eyes and grins. “I suck at trivia.”

  “I guess Jax gets it from his mom’s side of the family.”

  “I had no idea Jax was into trivia.”

  “He’s a champ,” I tell his dad, feeling a twinge of sadness that Mark doesn’t know that.

  “Dad, can I get you a drink?”

  “Sure. I’d love a beer.” Mark pulls an armchair closer to the coffee table.

  I follow Jax to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine. “You okay with this?” I ask quietly.

  He grimaces and closes the fridge door, a beer in his hand. “Don’t have much choice, I guess.” We pause, face to face, so close we’re almost touching. He smiles down at me. “Family, huh?”

  “You definitely have a lot of it.” I smile back at him, my insides melting at the affection in his eyes. “They’re all great, though.”

  One corner of his mouth lifts. “They’re okay. As long as Mom and Dad get along. And as long as Grandpa doesn’t go after Dad with the axe.”

  “Eek. Hard feelings?”

  “You could say that.”

  We carry drinks back to the living room. The fire has burned low, so Jax takes a minute to poke at it and put another log on, and then we resume our game.

  Tori gives Jax and me a run for our money. She knows who lives at 39 Stone Canyon Way (the Flintstones). But Mark knows what an eagle is in golf and that Blackjack is the better-known name of the card game Twenty-One.

  “What was Little Miss Muffet eating when she sat on her tuffet?” I ask Jax.

  He lifts an eyebrow. “What the fuck is a tuffet?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s not the question. And keep it clean.”

  His family guffaws. I’m fitting right in here.

  “A tuffet is like a footstool,” Mr. Thompson says.

  “Ah. Okay. I think she was eating…a buffet.” He pronounces it to rhyme with tuffet.

  I fall over laughing.

  “Oh, come on!” Mrs. Thompson says. “You don’t know that?”

  Jax grimaces. “Nope.”

  “Eating her curds and whey,” say Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, Mark and Tori all at the same time.

  “Kids these days,” Mark says, shaking his head, eyes twinkling.

  “Right?” Tori agrees.

  “Okay, Boomer,” Jax says with a grin, drawing groans from his parents.

  “We’re not even Boomers,” Tori protests. “We’re not that old.”

  “I’m kidding, Mom,” Jax says.

  We continue the game.

  “What mosquito’s bite draws blood, male or female?”

  I frown. “Whichever it is, they’ve been drawing a lot of my blood.”

  That gets a sympathetic laugh.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I’ll guess female,” I say with a touch of bitterness.

  “That’s right!”

  “Okay.” Mrs. Thompson reads the next question for Mark. “Who stood at the top with ‘Stand By Your Man’?”

  “Too easy. Tammy Wynette.”

  “Stupid song,” Tori mutters. Her eyes meet Mark’s, and they have a little stare-down. “Story of our marriage.”

  “What the…” Mark stops himself, his jaw tense. “How the hell can that be, when you didn’t stand by me?”

  “I did so!”

  My eyes go wide, and I slide my glance over to Jax. His face has reddened. The atmosphere in the room has become loaded.

  “Sorry,” Tori says with a big fake smile. She waves her hands. “Got sidetracked there. Keep going.”

  Finally, Jax ends up with the last question for the win. I read the card and roll my eyes. “Oh my God. How do you get so lucky with your questions?”

  “It’s not luck,” he says with a fake modest smile. “I’m smart.”

  “Ha ha. Okay. What hockey player was Sports Illustrated’s Sportsman of the Year for 1970?”


  He smirks. Then he wrinkles his nose, thinking.

  I cock my head. “Not sure, smarty-pants?”

  “Bobby Orr.”

  I sigh. “Right. You win.”

  “Attaboy.” Tori pats his shoulder. “No wonder you two are so good at those trivia nights you go to.”

  “It’s good to have some purpose for all the useless information in my head,” I say, smiling.

  Things still haven’t gone back to the fun atmosphere we were all enjoying before that little exchange between Mark and Tori. They keep looking at each other.

  I gather up the tokens and Jax folds up the board.

  “I’m going for a walk,” Tori announces. “I need some air.”

  “It’s dark out,” Mark says.

  “Really?” she says sarcastically. “Who would have thought it gets dark at night?” She heads to the door.

  Mark rolls his eyes.

  I bite my lip, packing up the game into its box. “Well. Who needs more wine?”

  “I do,” Mrs. Thompson says eagerly.

  “I need another beer.” Mark stands and picks up our glasses. “I’ll get you more wine, ladies.”

  Mrs. Thompson gives him a small smile that suggests to me she doesn’t really hate him.

  Mr. Thompson, on the other, glares balefully at Mark’s back as he walks to the kitchen.

  I meet Jax’s eyes and he makes a face.

  “We saw the Northern Lights,” I tell Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. “One of the first nights we were here. It was amazing.”

  My change of subject works, and things feel somewhat easier when Mark returns and hands me and Mrs. Thompson a glass of wine. Mark keeps glancing at the door, though, as if watching for Tori.

  Eventually he stands and says, “I’ll just go make sure Tori’s okay.”

  “It’s pretty safe here, Dad,” Jax says quietly.

  “Except for the bears,” I add. Then I clap my hand to my mouth and widen my eyes.

  “Jesus,” Mark growls, striding out.

  “We saw a bear one night,” I tell Jax’s grandparents.

  “Yes, they do come into town occasionally,” Mrs. Thompson agrees calmly.

  Mark and Tori still haven’t come back by the time I finish my wine. “Well, I think it’s bedtime for me,” I announce.

  “Should I go look for Mom and Dad?” Jax asks.