Rise

by Piper Lawson

  “When’s Max coming back?”

  If I’d ever wanted to know what it felt like to be a parent, I was learning. Not because I’d spent any time with the new addition to the Titan family.

  Because the rest of the team—the grown-up part—seemed to be experiencing separation anxiety.

  I folded my arms and surveyed the room of developers, my gaze landing on Muppet. His ruddy face was colored with longing and impatience.

  “When he’s ready. It’s been a week. We have a room full of professionals. Let’s focus on getting back on track with our timing for Omega.”

  “By having staff meetings?” Jimmy, the oldest guy on our team at forty, sounded dubious.

  I fought off a wave of frustration.

  At first when I’d sent the email asking everyone to convene, there’d been some confusion. Probably because Max usually checked in with people one-on-one, then he and I’d talk.

  “We’ll stop having meetings when you can tell me we’re back on schedule.”

  A noise at the door to Titan’s suite had me, and the team, turning to look.

  The blond woman striding in wore sky-high heels at the end of her mile-long legs and a suede trench coat. Her curly hair exploded over her shoulders.

  Charlie crossed the Pit and leaned a hip against the doorframe of our conference room.

  “What happened to your face?”

  A few snickers sounded and I resisted the urge to touch my nose. Since my face’s encounter with Sam’s fist yesterday, I’d started to turn purple.

  “Would you believe I got in a fight?”

  “At a bar, no. Over whether Zelda or Doom is the best video game of all time? Yes.”

  “Super Mario Bros,” I replied.

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Tonight’s slow at the club and I want to offer you guys a booth. In case you wanted to have a drink for Max and Payton.”

  Before I could respond, every single person around the table did some version of ‘I’m in’.

  I glanced at the empty can of Red Bull on the table in front of me, wishing the team could muster as much enthusiasm for doing their damned jobs. “Sounds like it's a go.”

  “Are we done?” Muppet asked.

  I grunted. “Yeah. Get back to work.”

  I shifted out of my seat, tucking my computer under my arm. Charlie followed me to my office.

  Since Payton and Max had gotten together, Payton’s best friend and former colleague Charlie had become a friend of mine too. She worked PR at a local comedy club and ran a profitable social media business on the side.

  “So about those drinks at LIVE. Mr. Humorless coming?” I asked.

  She crossed to my desk, pausing to nudge a pointy-toed stiletto against the beanbag chair in the corner.

  “Avery’s busy pandering to the masses at work. I figured when he got promoted to director at Alliance, he'd have more control over his life.”

  I nodded. “Common misconception. The higher you go, the more people decide you're worth fucking with.”

  To everyone’s surprise—except Payton’s and mine—Charlie had come out about dating her former boss after years of tormenting him. It was about as fucked up a fairy tale as you can imagine.

  “You need someone, Riley.”

  I shrugged it off. “I’m fine.”

  “No one keeps themselves in that kind of shape for themselves.”

  I barked out a laugh as Charlie popped a hip on to the corner of my desk. I opened my phone to scroll through emails for anything urgent.

  “What’s got you grumpy, Wonderboy?”

  “We set up Max’s email to forward to me this week. I had no idea he got so many offers. Opportunities. Things that would get us exposure, partnerships.” Money. “He never forwards them. It's almost like he doesn't want to evolve.”

  I stopped scrolling when a new email caught my eye.

  * * *

  Thanks for your help yesterday. I made a couple more attempts. Let me know what you think.

  -Sam

  * * *

  I opened the attachment and my abs tightened under my dress shirt.

  The first image was the title character and the villain facing off. Tension leaped off the page and even without knowing the story, you knew instinctively that winning meant life or death.

  The second was the title character, standing alone on a hilltop.

  The posture should’ve made her look strong. Instead she was vulnerable. Her wings tucked behind her like she was ready to sleep or to put down her armor and rest forever.

  It took me that long to realize the images were in charcoal. There was no color, but even without it, they were alive.

  “What’re you looking at?” Charlie asked.

  I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the reaction. “Phoenix was optioned for a movie. I’m trying to source concept art that doesn’t make Max want to stab his eyes out.”

  She rounded the desk as I pulled up my desktop computer. With a few clicks the two sketches swallowed up the screen.

  “Damn,” she declared. “Those are hot. Who drew them?”

  “Someone Max and I went to high school with.”

  “This someone have tits?”

  “It’s not about tits.”

  Charlie slanted me a look through knowing eyes. “It’s always about tits.”

  “I respect her,” I corrected, and it was true. “She’s talented as fuck. And she has this way of seeing the world…like she has X-ray glasses or something.” I studied the drawing again, trying to explain. “She can find things in objects, people, that you don’t see at first. She pulls them out, captures them on the page. And you wonder how you never saw it all along.”

  “She seen your face yet?” She cocked her head, sending curls bouncing.

  I pointed to my nose. “Her latest masterpiece.”

  Charlie’s mouth curved. “Oh, honey. Bring her for drinks tomorrow. Rocky and I are going to be great friends.” She reached for a gummy bear in the bowl on my desk and popped it into her mouth before turning for the door.

  I studied the images on the screen, side by side. The characters locked in battle and the phoenix sitting—beautiful, alone, and silent.

  It was a dystopian Da Vinci, rendered in charcoal.

  Validation filled my gut, a kind of triumph I hadn’t felt in a long fucking time.

  I’d been right to push for this. One hundred percent.

  It was worth the money. And the bruising.

  I pulled out my phone.

  * * *

  Riley: These are good, Sam. Really fucking good.

  * * *

  Dots appeared almost immediately.

  * * *

  Sam: I’m glad. I think something clicked for me at around 3AM. If you like them I can start working on the real thing tomorrow in color

  * * *

  Without permission, my brain pictured her painting at three in the morning.

  The overhead light would be off, I decided. Her desk light on.

  Was she wearing the same clothes as when I’d seen her?

  Or did she go to bed first. Had she been lying between the sheets, awake and restless, only to get up again and paint.

  What did she wear to bed?

  The fact that my brain went there bugged me.

  I stared at the text bubbles.

  Charlie was wrong. I wasn’t interested in Sam. We’d had our chance once, and it didn’t happen. For a million reasons.

  Which was why there was no reason not to invite Sam to LIVE. She was working with us. She and Max were friends.

  * * *

  Riley: We’re going for drinks to celebrate with Max and Payton after work tonight.

  * * *

  Riley: The whole staff at Titan’s coming. You in?

  * * *

  My heart beat faster in my chest as I watched the screen on my iPhone. The dots started. Stopped.

  * * *

  Sam: When and where?

  10

&nbs
p; Unfinished business

  Few atmospheres can match the vibe at LIVE. The bar was small, intimate. A square room with a stage and a dozen tables that made you think of cabarets and showgirls.

  I was the first person in our group to discover the comedy club, though Charlie was now tightest with the co-owners, Jack and Mia since she ran their PR. Mia was also a headliner once a week, though she swapped off every other month to do shows in LA, New York or Montreal. Her punk-short hair, dyed hot pink this month, was at odds with her dry humor. It didn’t matter. The woman slayed.

  I looked around the circle at the corner booth by the bar Charlie’d scored for us. It was a cozy fit for eight, but when Max and Payton appeared with the carrier in tow, a cheer went up.

  Max pulled up in front of the booth, setting the carrier on the table. We peered in at the sleeping bundle.

  “It doesn’t bother him in here?” Thea asked.

  Payton shook her head. “He’s got baby headphones”—she pointed to the device over the baby’s ears—“and it’s dark enough in here. Unfortunately he got Max’s sleeping habits—not long enough.”

  Charlie careened over on leather-clad stilts that passed for legs. She set a tray of full shot glasses plus a salt shaker and a bowl of lemons on the table with a flourish. “On the house.”

  “Who is going to consume those?” Payton mused as Charlie leaned in to hug her.

  “Not you, honey. So everyone else,” Charlie said as she pulled back.

  She disappeared as quickly as she’d come, and the team peppered Max with questions about life as a parent.

  “It must have been a strange week,” a voice said at my ear.

  I turned to find Payton studying me. “I should be saying that to you. Is Alliance knocking down your door asking you to come back yet?”

  “I thought it would feel weird being off work, but honestly it’s been so busy I’ve barely noticed. When you have a child, everyone has an opinion. Questions. But the reality is people get it. The time it takes. The not sleeping. The uncertainty. They don’t get what it takes to run a company.”

  “Yeah, well. That’s the world we live in.”

  “Max knows it too. Even if he doesn’t always say it. Thank you for picking up the slack.”

  I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a sideways hug, her dark hair tucking under my chin. “You’re welcome.”

  The knot in my chest eased a little, and I relaxed into the music that played through the sound system.

  Over the next hour, the group caught up. A few of the shots were downed.

  Eventually Payton excused herself to feed Tristan in Charlie's office. I watched her go, and my gaze landed on a figure hovering by the door.

  I saw Sam a moment before her gaze locked on mine. Her jacket tucked under her arm, she wore brown leather pants and a sweater the color of snow with a scoop neck.

  “Nice to see you, Daddy Donovan,” she commented as she approached our table.

  “You too,” Max said. “Thanks for helping with Phoenix. When Ry told me about the prototypes you sent, I couldn’t imagine they’d live up to the hype. But they do.”

  “Thanks.” She shot me a look. I ignored it, introducing her around the table.

  “Squeeze in,” I said when we’d finished, and she glanced at the only empty seat next to me. It was a tight fit, and her body pressed against mine.

  Friendly, I reminded myself as we did introductions around the table, and the conversation picked up where it’d left off.

  The group discussed everything from the new game, to the movie, to music, and of course, life as new parents. Sam seemed interested in all of it, never once looking lost and jumping into the conversation a couple of times.

  An hour later, Payton and Max said their thank yous before crossing to the door, Tristan’s carrier firmly in hand.

  The coders followed in a trickle of Friday-night excuses ranging from ‘need to get home to the wife’ to ‘going to a concert’ to ‘playing games with a friend’.

  “You got somewhere to be?” I asked when the rest of them had gone and it was just me and Sam. I realized I wanted her to say no.

  “Just checking on my dad when I get home. Caregiving doesn’t exactly lend itself to a scintillating social life.” She smiled.

  “He’s lucky to have you. I hope you know that.”

  She rolled her eyes, brushing off my words. “It’s just what you do.” She shifted to face me, her knee bumping against mine under the booth. “So your team is cool. But there’s one thing I can’t figure out.”

  “What’s that.”

  She took a sip of her soda. “Where you fit in.”

  I barked out a laugh. “Welcome to the club.”

  Back when I finished law school, I’d received an offer from the firm I’d articled with. They’d toured me around the offices, a strange courting dance meant to at once convince you this was the place to be, and also, prepare you for the grunt work of starting from the bottom.

  The offer was everything I could’ve wanted for a kid who, once, didn’t have a home. Six-figure salary. Supervision from some of the best partners in corporate litigation.

  I turned them down.

  Because the same week, Max showed me the first version of his game, Oasis.

  What I saw in that game had me walking away from the offer as a first year associate, and everything that came with it.

  (Okay, I did keep the suit.)

  “It’s strange,” she went on. “You could fit in anywhere you wanted to. Which begs the question.”

  I raised a brow and she leaned in.

  “Why do you want to?”

  I glanced past her toward the empty stage. The stool and mic setup that would be in use this time tomorrow for amateur’s night. “Why do I want to what?”

  “Do this. Titan.”

  When Max had shown me that first demo of Oasis, I didn’t just see entertainment. A challenge to occupy your mind and fingers for a few hours.

  I saw an empire.

  The barriers to us, two guys sitting on a couch staring at a screen, getting there were just that; walls to scale. Hurdles to vault. Ladders to climb.

  And though Titan will always bear Max’s name, it’ll have my fingerprints. And every hour I put in, every decision I make, every corporate legal job I could’ve had instead… it’s all worth it when I see who we are.

  She shifted. “Yesterday at my house you said something. That writing the story behind Phoenix was a passion project. Is that what you'd really like to be doing?”

  I shook my head. “No way. Omega’s going to be our first game with facial recognition. Which means when you frown, the game gets easier. When you smile, it gets harder. Max is also doing some R&D for motion capture. Controlling the avatars with your movements.”

  Her eyes widened, and I realized they were lined with something because her lashes looked even darker than usual. “Sounds like Star Wars Jedi shit.”

  “Exactly. It should hit our next game after this one.”

  “Intense.”

  “Yes and no. It’s easy to get caught up in making the latest game, making it faster, or cheaper, or a crazier experience or whatever. We could be so much more than a gaming company, Sam.” I hesitated, trying to put my feelings into words. “If a game is a magic show, the gameplay is just the smoke. The lights. The explosions. Facial recognition, motion capture, VR… none of that is what has people on the edge of their seats. What sends shivers down their spine.”

  Sam watched me, lips parted like she wanted to drink it all in.

  I’d forgotten how addictive it was to be the center of her world, even for a moment.

  “Phoenix isn’t about wings, or explosions, or battles.” I leaned forward, my biceps flexing under my shirt. “It's about being human. It’s about the journey. Losing everything only to rebuild it from the ashes. Realizing you can only rise after you fall.”

  I hadn't meant to say the words but they'd spilled out of me, lik
e things always had around her. If I'd been wondering if I'd built up some kind of immunity after all these years, now I knew.

  Her lips curved in a slow smile. “Wow,” she drawled. “Very poetic. I see how you get girls.”

  I reached for one of the remaining nachos, lonely on a huge plate that'd been full an hour ago, and popped it in my mouth. “Come on. I’m opening my heart to you and you’re giving me shit.”

  She tilted her head. “That’s why you should never open your heart,” she said, her voice sounding different than it had a moment before. “The world might rip it in half.”

  Before I could respond, her phone vibrated on the table in front of us.

  Fucking Jonathan.

  “Did you open your heart to him?” I asked.

  “I didn’t open anything to him,” she said, the wryness back. “I’m not the girlfriend type. I never have been.” When she leaned in an inch, I could smell her shampoo. “What about you? According to GQ, you're single.”

  “But I am definitely the boyfriend type. Anniversaries, birthdays, romantic dates…this guy delivers. I’d rather know someone before I know someone.” I flashed a grin. “If you know what I mean.”

  Her low laugh had her shaking her head. “You would say that.”

  “Well, aren’t you two adorable.”

  Sam turned toward the voice, and I leaned back in the booth as Charlie popped a hip on the table.

  “Sam, this is Charlie. Charlie, Sam.”

  “You’re the one who did those drawings. And who messed up Ry’s face.”

  Sam looked Charlie up and down. “It was a misunderstanding.”

  “It was inspired. He looked hot with bruises.” I shot her a warning look, but Charlie pressed on. “Tell me. In high school, did every girl secretly have a crush on him?”

  “Not every girl. I heard the interest level went up considerably after he spent the summer working on Max’s uncle’s boat.”