“No...”
“Yeah. Hate is an ugly thing. They decided that because we were itinerates, we weren’t their problem. Not their responsibility. It was our fault.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
The cries, he could still hear his baby sister, too young to understand what was going on.
“More people died following the blaze than in it because we couldn’t get a doctor, clean water, nothin’. My Ma and Da were gone. They were in one of the closest caravans to the blaze, but us kids were in another one. Sleepover. My oldest sisters died trying to save people while I held onto the babies. My little sister didn’t die because of the fire, she starved and then froze to death because we couldn’t take care of her. They let my family die. I’m not sayin’ we were in the right bein’ there, but the decent, human thin’ to do would be to help. And they did nothin’. Because we were Loveridges. So...” He finally glanced down at Rashae. “When I say I understand what discrimination looks like, I do.”
She stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted.
“How—how can something like that happen?” Her voice rose in pitch, breaking at the end.
“Hate.” He shrugged. “What’s left of my family, the other Travelers, they think I’m a traitor for not stayin’. For leavin’. Comin’ here. And maybe I am, but...I wanted somethin’ better. We did a lot of wrong, because that was our way of life, but that doesn’t make what happened to us right.”
“Then...how did you get here?”
“After losin’ everyone? I got on a boat. I was a stowaway. Big freighter. Came to America, thinkin’ I’d...make myself here. Lasted a few years, livin’ in the basement of this guy’s thrift shop, workin’ myself to death and before I got deported, but not before I met a guy. Turns out he’s my...fourth cousin? He’s a cranky old bastard, but he’s like me. Said if I finished school he’d sponsor me. So, I went to Dublin, got a job at a comic and game store, finished school, and here I am. Livin’ the American dream.”
“And—what happened to your other siblings?”
“The two oldest died. My little sister took sick and died from the measles, which the baby picked up. My other brother got hit by a car out fishin’ for our dinner while I took care of the baby.”
“I can’t...I can’t believe that really happened...”
“Not the first time. Year ago, somethin’ similar happened to another group. Hate has many forms. I can’t promise that things—between us—won’t be different, but I wouldn’t let someone treat you worse because of me. No one deserves that.”
“I don’t know what to say. I feel like a heel...”
“You don’t have to say anythin’. You didn’t do anythin’.” He kissed her knuckles, her wrist. “I didn’t tell you that for your pity. I told you so that...you get that I get where you’re comin’ from. That’s it. The rest is sad history.”
“How long...?”
“I was sixteen, almost seventeen, when it happened so...nearly fourteen years.”
Rashae wrapped her arm around his waist and squeezed.
“As far as us...don’t worry about it.” His chest tightened.
Admiring her work, meeting her, having this right now, it was special. But if that was all he got, well, it would be a grand Christmas present. He’d learned the hard way to enjoy what he had, for however long he had it. Rashae was a free, wild thing, and she’d leave him, but for this moment in time, he’d hold her, and damn his conscience.
“I can’t promise I won’t worry.” She peered up at him, her eyes a bit heavy. “When do you want me to leave?”
Never.
“Whenever you want.” He picked up the remote again.
“I meant to actually work today. We leave for Georgia tomorrow morning, and I won’t get a thing done during Christmas. I kind of wish I was staying here.”
Declan knew she didn’t mean the cottage, but he liked that idea. Getting a tree, dressing it up, and spending the holiday in front of the fire. With her.
Yeah, he was a fucking fanboy. The worst.
10.
R
ashae shut the door behind her and stomped her feet on the entry mat.
Holy...shit...who’d died?
She peered into the house. People milled around, most in some sort of festive, cocktail attire. Way fancier than her jeans and layered shirts.
What the hell?
When she’d drifted off to sleep at Declan’s, she’d envisioned coming home to a house torn apart for packing. Not...an impromptu holiday party.
“Shae, there you are!” Helen, Rashae’s mother, popped around the corner, a huge grin on her face.
Okay, that was weird.
“What’s wrong, mom? Why are you smiling like that?” Rashae recoiled. Her mother was an elegant, poised women. She didn’t grin. At least not unless Dad was making an ass of himself, and he was nowhere to be found.
“Nothing’s wrong. Come here. Come here.” Mom hooked her arm in Rashae’s and pulled her into the room. “Have you met—”
“There you are.” Lily wheeled around, one hand on her hip. She looked fresh from the office in a tailored, navy dress and brocade jacket that somehow made her look a million miles tall. “Where have you been?”
“Uh...working...” Rashae glanced from her mother, to Lily, then to the dark-haired stranger at Lily’s side.
Oh, dear.
The guy next to Lily was a dead ringer for Oliver. Where and how had Lily dug up a boyfriend so fast?
“This is Sebastian, he works for the Spanish embassy.” Lily gestured to the man. “And this is my younger sister, Rashae.”
Great.
He was even a foreigner.
The Grant girls had a thing for the imports.
Oliver was from South America. Sebastian Spain, and Declan Ireland. Awesome.
Wait. No. Rashae did not have a thing for Declan.
They were friends.
“Nice to meet you.” Rashae shook the poor man’s hand. Did he know he was a pawn in a bitter sister rivalry?
Mom gestured at someone over Rashae’s head.
There was too much excitement from her mom.
Too much animosity from Lily.
Dad emerged from the formal dining room, a crystal flute in one hand, and tapped his wedding band against the glass.
“Ladies and gentlemen, now that we are all present and accounted for...” Dad tossed a grin her way.
Oliver and Sam followed behind him. Hands clasped.
For the first time since Sam had crash-landed on Rashae’s doorstep...she looked happy. Though Rashae had seen them together dozens of times over the years, she’d never really noticed how Oliver looked at Sam. The way Oliver...beamed...at her, like she was his world.
Dad backed away, giving the floor to Sam and Oliver. They smiled at each other, unguarded, genuine expressions.
“We’d like to thank everyone for coming out on such short notice.” Oliver finally tore his gaze from Sam and glanced around the room. “Sam and I...we appreciate everyone’s support over the last few months. We’ve asked a lot of you, and sometimes couldn’t explain what was going on...”
Sam made a little face and Oliver canted his head to the side. Silent communication. A language only they understood.
“Sorry, Mom. Dad.” Sam glanced at them. “I know we’ve put you through a lot, but this time...it’s for real.”
Oliver picked up her left hand and presented it to the room.
Unlike their fake engagement, a band graced Sam’s finger instead of their mother’s ring, which, in time, would pass to Lily as the eldest.
The room broke out into applause. Most of the people present were friends and/or from the Secretary of State office. They’d had a front row seat, if not a hand, in the charade that was Sam and Oliver’s first engagement. This time though, it was real.
“And you can thank me later for talking her out of going to the courthouse this morning.” Oliver grinned at Sam, who gave him a strong elbow to the ribs.
“Just saying.”
Rashae crowded in, edging past the onslaught of well-wishers to grab Oliver in a hug. He’d been her friend first, and it was arguably Rashae’s fault the two had wound up together, however briefly, in college. Who would have known an offhanded request to a friend would turn into this?
“Thank you,” Oliver whispered as he hugged her tight.
“Make her happy. She deserves happy.” Rashae stepped back and jabbed Oliver in the ribs. “And if you don’t make her happy, I’ll kill you dead.”
Sam wrapped Rashae up in a tight hug. Sam’s heels put Rashae at even more of a disadvantage than usual.
“I guess this means we shouldn’t look for that new apartment?” Sam’s voice was watery.
“Nope. I think you’d better give your tenant notice.” Rashae squeezed her little sister one last time and backed away, making room for the other guests.
That was what happy looked like.
Oliver and Sam.
Rashae would have never put them together, but they fit.
“I wonder how long this one will last.” Lily sipped from her glass.
“Really?” Rashae glared at her older sister. She loved Lily, but Lily had really put on her bitch pants this year. Something was up with her.
“What? Don’t look at me like that. The last time was just a stunt.”
Rashae held her tongue. Lily could argue circles around them. There was no winning with her. The only solution was to serve her up a bunch of truth, topped with evidence, and that took time. Which meant things were going to get a lot more uncomfortable before they got better.
“How long have you been dating Flounder?” Rashae took Lily’s glass and finished the bubbling liquid.
“Sebastian.” Lily stuck her nose up, where it’d been living lately. “We’ve been together for a while.”
Yeah. A while.
Rashae was willing to bet they’d gone out a few times when it was convenient for Lily’s schedule. She’d probably been working up to this sort of a display, and then Sam had to go off and get engaged.
“It’s going to be a full house this year. Sebastian’s joining us.” The way Lily said it...all nonchalant like that? It wasn’t accidental at all.
“What?” Rashae scrunched up her nose. Oliver had joined them for the holidays for years. Their father had sort of adopted him, since Oliver’s bio-dad was a first-rate dick, and that was before Sam and Oliver had gotten back together. He had a place. He belonged. Sebastian did not. And their family was conservative enough to make a stink out of sharing rooms. So, where the hell was he staying?
“Tabitha just had her gallbladder out. They aren’t coming.” Lily shrugged. Aunt Tabitha was their father’s other sibling. If she wasn’t coming, neither were her husband and five children. That...freed up a lot of space.
“Oh. Well, I hope he likes fried chicken. I’m going to run upstairs and put my stuff away. Back in a minute.”
Rashae made it halfway up the stairs before the first stab of loneliness hit her.
Sam and Oliver were getting married. For real. Tamara, Miranda, Piper, even Lily, they all had someone. And what about her? Rashae had buried herself so deep in her work that she’d...let it all pass her by.
And now she was going to spend Christmas surrounded by families, children, and her sister’s boyfriends.
Ug.
Which meant all the, When will it be your turn? business would be directed at her. Lily had probably planned for this, the bitch.
Declan leaned forward, frowning at the two faces on his laptop staring back at him.
“What John is trying to say is that, we don’t like the design. We don’t want to work with this artist.” Ayan’s flat, dark stare was as lifeless as their clipart.
“What don’t you like about it?” Declan swallowed down the curses and his frustration, choosing to ignore Ayan’s last statement. They just weren’t getting it. “You got the files, right? You saw those?”
Against his better judgment, they had eventually opted to send the watermarked files over for the guys to have a closer look.
“We did. It doesn’t look like anything else we’ve seen.” John scrunched up his face.
“That’s good, though. Goin’ with the cyberpunk theme will set the game apart. Trust me.” Fuck, he didn’t normally have to plead and beg with his clients like this, but he damn well believed in the potential here.
“If it was such a good idea, why hasn’t someone else made one?” Ayan asked
“Netrunner. Android. Specter Ops. Three great examples of games that have proven track records with a heavy cyberpunk theme.”
From the blank stares Declan was getting, the men didn’t recognize the games. Which said a lot about who he was speaking to.
“The classics though, Carcassonne, Orleans, Agricola, they are all agrarian in theme.” John sighed. “It’s not that we don’t like the art, we just aren’t sold on the packaging. How it tweaks the game.”
“It solves that issue with the points.” Declan scribbled a list down. He didn’t dare come at these two unprepared. They’d clearly dug in and weren’t interested in budging or even hearing that the games they listed weren’t all that old. At this rate, they weren’t going to be ready to launch in January as the two had hoped. They didn’t even have box art.
“Maybe.” Ayan was never willing to admit their mechanics had any issue.
“Look, guys, I get what you’re sayin’. The agrarian theme is strong in Eurogames, but that’s not necessarily somethin’ to emulate. Let me talk to Rashae.”
“We didn’t even agree to hire her.” Ayan scowled.
Uh...yeah they had.
Declan grit his teeth.
“Not entirely true. We agreed to look at her work, consider her ideas.” That was John, always softening his friend’s blunt speech.
Declan had detailed notes and a recording of the conversation. They had liked Rashae’s art work—before they’d known who the artist was. He couldn’t possibly show her those recordings though. Was it a gender thing? Was it race? Was it because she was an unknown, untried game artist? Was it the cut of the money? She wasn’t charging them for the work she was doing. That was huge. Ballsy. A real risk taker. He didn’t know what their deal was, and it was starting to piss him off.
“I’ve got to go.” Ayan’s image flipped off. He’d said he had a hard end time of nine o’ clock, but Declan had hoped they might accomplish something before the end of their window.
“Sorry, he can be pretty abrupt,” John said.
“That’s okay. I hope you understand all I want to do is put the best game possible out there.”
“We do. Our concerns are more about what’s going to sell and how to produce it economically.”
Meaning, cheap.
They wanted to spend as little as possible and get as much as they could.
It only confirmed that John and Ayan didn’t care about what they were doing, so long as they got the money. Declan was beginning to think seeing this project through to the end might be a mistake. What if there were problems with production? Shipping? Fulfillment? If John and Ayan only wanted to make a buck, there were a world of quality control issues that might let slip.
John made nice for a few more minutes, then hung up.
Fuck.
Declan flipped through his notes.
He knew what a good game looked like. How it played. He’d turned down two other solid campaigns because he’d hoped this one would score in a big way. And now...he wasn’t so sure he’d made the right choice.
Rashae had the back-up plans. They’d be safer, less buzz worthy, but they were in line with what the guys thought they wanted. Declan could salvage this. But he’d have to break the news to her that the cyberpunk design hadn’t worked, and he didn’t want to. He’d really thought they were on to something.
He picked up his phone, frowning at the number of notifications.
What blew up tonight?
Every single one w
as from Rashae.
They’d gone from exchanging professional emails to connecting on just about every social media platform there was.
You’re coming with us for Christmas.
That wasn’t much of a request.
Killer snowdrifts in Georgia?
He hit send and scrolled through the texts. The phone began to ring before he’d read more than two or three.
“Hello?”
“Come to Georgia for Christmas. Please.” Her voice was strained and polite.
“Wouldn’t that be a little...weird?”
“Not any weirder than this holiday is going to be already. Please? I need someone in my corner.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, just Sam and Oliver getting engaged, and Lily rage dating some guy that looks like Oliver. She’s bringing him.”
“Sounds...dicey.”
“If by dicey, you mean crazy, then yes. Lily is determined to make this miserable.”
“What’s her deal?”
“Lily?”
“Yeah.”
“Apparently, she’s been mooning over Oliver for years and is only just now telling anyone about it. She’s being a brat. Someone else is getting attention, and she doesn’t like it. Fuck, I’m making her sound like she’s this awful bitch. Which she is right now but she’s not. It’s just...”
“Family.”
“Yeah.”
Declan hadn’t celebrated the holidays in years. He was rusty on the traditions, what it felt like to be surrounded by warmth and people. He wasn’t sure he was capable of that anymore.
“I don’t know. I might just make it worse.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor.
“Inconceivable.”
“I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”
Rashae laughed, the first easy sound that’d come over the line all night.
“You said you didn’t have plans.” Her voice was softer. More like the woman he was getting to know. “Come on. Come with us. I don’t like the idea of leaving you here on your own, and I could really use back-up.”
“I don’t...”
“My dad wants to play Scythe.”
The Gamer and the Geek (Gone Geek, #4) Page 9
