“You must be Taylor.” She extended her hand. “I’m David’s mom, Donna.”
Sigmund was David Brooks in reality, but Taylor couldn’t think of him as anything but Sig. She nodded, feeling uncomfortable. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s bitching about the hospital food, of course. And he’s upset at me because I’m hovering.” She grimaced and then pressed a trembling hand to her cheek. “Of course I’m hovering. He’s all I’ve got.”
“Of course,” Taylor said soothingly. She squeezed Ms. Brooks’s hand. “This must be so hard for you. Is there anything I can do?”
The woman’s smile was wan. “Convince him not to do this again?”
“That’s my goal.” She didn’t know if she would achieve it, but she’d damn well try. “Can I get you anything? Do anything?” Taylor looked around helplessly. “I should have brought flowers—”
“They won’t allow them,” Ms. Brooks said. “And I might sneak down and get a cup of coffee, if that’s all right with you. They’re going to keep him here a few more days for evaluation, and I don’t want to leave.”
“Of course.” Taylor gave her a warm smile. “Take all the time you need.”
The woman nodded and picked up her purse, then headed down the hall. Her steps were tired, her shoulders hunched, and Taylor’s heart ached for her. She turned to the door, knocked softly, and then opened it.
The room inside was white, cold, and bland. A tray of uneaten hospital food sat on the bedside table, and the TV flickered in the corner of the room but no sound was on.
In the bed was a boy who seemed far too young. Maybe fourteen or fifteen.
Jesus.
Here she’d thought—well, she’d assumed—that Sig was her age, maybe a year or two younger. He was almost half her age. Just a kid. He had shaggy brown hair, a thin face, and the same small, rounded shoulders his mom did.
He looked over at her with a bored gaze and then his eyes widened. He sat up. “Tay?” There was a look of mixed horror and shame on his face.
“Hi, Sig.” She gave him an awkward smile and wave. “I wanted to come and visit you once I heard what happened.”
He slumped back down in the bed. “I didn’t want you here.”
“Because I’d find out that you weren’t who you said you were?” She moved to the side of the bed and slung her backpack off her arm. The motion knocked the bedside table over, and she had to surge to grab the tray before it spilled in his lap.
Sig chuckled, sitting up a little. “Well, if I didn’t think it was you before, I’m sure it’s you now.”
“Har de har.” But his laugh made her feel a little better, and she sat down next to him. “How come you lied? About living in New York instead of Milwaukee? And your age?”
He shrugged, looking down at his hands. There was an IV taped to one arm and his nails were short and chewed. “I don’t know. I’m always home in the daytime—homeschooling, you know—and you mentioned you were working from home. So I said I was, too.” His mouth crooked in a half smile. “Didn’t imagine you’d show up here.”
“How could I not?” she snapped, her temper getting the better of her. “You’ve harassed me every day for the last year and a half, insisting I get online. You stalk my Facebook profile. You send me flowers. You tell me you love me and then you try to kill yourself when you find out I’m engaged! What the hell, Sig? How can I not feel responsible for this? You’ve spent the last eighteen months telling me you’re going to hurt yourself if I don’t spend time with you, and the one weekend I’m away, you try this?”
He stared at his hands, silent.
She sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry. I’m just . . . tired. It’s been a shitty week.”
“Mine, too.”
A small, horrified laugh escaped her, and it turned into a sob. “You can’t do this to yourself, okay? You can’t do this to yourself, and to me. It’s not healthy for either of us.”
“I know. Don’t cry.” He picked up the box of Kleenex on the table next to him and offered it to her. “Mom’s been filling my ears for two days now. I didn’t think she’d care, but I guess she does.”
“Why wouldn’t she care?” Taylor grabbed the tissue and dabbed at her face.
He shrugged. “She just works all the time. When she comes home, she’s too tired to talk to me. You’re all I’ve got.”
“What about your dad?”
“Never been in the picture.” He picked at his blanket. “You and the guild are all I have.”
“Sig,” she said softly, and reached out to squeeze his hand. “I’m just a character in a game. That’s not real life. That’s us hiding behind our screens and escaping. You and me both. And it needs to stop.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, but his thin fingers curled around hers. “What are you hiding from?”
“You name it. Bills? Student loans? A shitty job? The fact that I’m an abject failure in my career that I paid way too much for?” She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s easier to just turn on the computer and be someone else, but over the last few weeks, I’ve realized that I’m missing out on a lot.”
Sig made a face. “Because of him. Brunhilde.”
“Loch,” she agreed, and had to blink hard to stop from crying again. “He . . . he turned out to be a bit of a dud.” She tried to smile, failed, and decided to keep talking. “But I learned something really important when I was out with him. I didn’t have time to be on the computer and I felt . . . alive. I met with friends. I went to dinner. I went to the Excelsior con. I even went rock climbing one day. And I don’t know . . . I’ve felt more alive in the past few weeks than I have in the last eighteen months.” She shrugged and gave his hand another squeeze. “Playing Excelsior so much made me lose track of life, and while that was good for a while, I’m ready to stop hiding.”
“Are you quitting?”
“Probably.” She gave him a weak smile. “I made Madrigal the new guild leader.”
He rolled his eyes. “That guy? Seriously?”
“He’s really good with newbies. And someone needs to take over while I’m gone.” She gave his hand an affectionate little shake. “I think you should quit, too.”
The bleak look returned to his face. “And do what? Stare at the TV?”
“Do something. Get out of the house. Join a club. Go to a support group. Get a part-time job. Something. Anything. It’s just . . . you can’t let online people control your life, Sig. And I can’t, either.” She bit her lip. “I was pretending online, too, you know. Pretending I had everything under control. That I could handle being there for you all the time and juggling my job and still managing to get by. And you know what happened?”
“You got fired?” he guessed.
She nodded.
“You did miss a lot of work.”
“Someone was emotionally blackmailing me to be online with him.”
He gave a rueful nod of his head. “Yeah, guess I was. I’m sorry, Tay.” He squeezed her hand again. “You’re my best friend, you know.”
She smiled. “We can still be friends. Just friends. But I’m not going to be playing as much as I used to, so we’ll have to limit it to texts.”
Sig gave a heavy sigh. “If it makes you feel any better, my mom already said I can’t have my laptop back for three months and until the doctors are sure my depression meds have me leveled out.”
“Your mom’s a smart cookie.”
He hesitated. “I’m sorry I made you lose your job.”
“I’m sorry I let things go on for so long.” She gave him a searching look. “Do you . . . do you really want to die?”
His mouth crumpled a little, and she passed the Kleenex back to him. “I just . . . I get so down, and then there’s no one there for me.”
“Well, you’re getting help now. I can’t promise that every day will be a
wesome, but you’re going to have the right medication to help you, and your mom is there for you, and I’m still your friend, no matter what. All right?”
He nodded again, and put his hand back on hers. Then he turned it over slowly. “No ring?”
“I told you he was a dud, didn’t I?” She tried to smile, but it felt really, really damn hard at the moment.
“If he doesn’t love you, then he’s a dumbass.”
“On that, we’re both agreed.”
Chapter Thirteen
Taylor ended up staying in Milwaukee a week. It was good to have the distraction so she wouldn’t think about Loch. Of course, she thought about him anyhow. The hurt she felt at his betrayal was still fresh, and what really sucked was that she missed him. She missed his smile, his teasing, his touch. She felt betrayed, of course, but she also felt . . . lonely. She’d have given him whatever he wanted if he’d been truthful with her, and instead, she just felt used.
She hated that she missed him. She should hate him, right? She should be filled with rage and justified anger at the way he treated her. Instead, she just felt . . . sad. Every night, she cried herself to sleep, hugging her pillow and wishing it was one of Loch’s big arms, and then she hated herself for still wanting him.
Her days were spent with Donna and Sig. Donna—Sig’s mom—had missed several days of work already and had no one to sit with Sig at the hospital while he recovered. Taylor volunteered and purchased every computer gaming magazine in the gift shop so they could mock some of the upcoming releases. They watched TV together, and she slept on the chair in his room while his mom went out. Sig seemed to be getting better, but he wasn’t keen on the doctor’s recommendation of ongoing therapy. Both Donna and Taylor had to press him hard to get him to even see the psychologist. After one session, though, he seemed a little more bright-eyed, and he hadn’t shunned Taylor’s suggestions of finding a local gaming group to hang out with.
“These guys play Magic: The Gathering every Friday,” she told him, handing him a flyer she’d ripped off the wall of a nearby comic book store. She’d spent a couple hundred dollars—all on her groaning MasterCard—to get Sig some backlist issues of a comic she thought he’d enjoy. “You should join them. I bought you some cards you can start with, too.”
He studied the flyer dubiously, then handed it back to her. “I’ve never played Magic. No one’s going to want to show me the ropes.”
“Oh, please. There’s always a few tools there, but most guys are usually willing to show you how to play. I promise.”
He was still unconvinced, so at Taylor’s insistence, they dropped in on the comic shop together and chatted with the sales guy. A quick drop-in turned into a three-hour play session. It turned out that the kid behind the counter—only a year older than Sig—also played Excelsior, and they’d played cards and chatted away the afternoon.
Sig declared that he’d go for Friday Night Magic as long as his new buddy Matt would be there, and Taylor sent up a silent prayer that Matt would be a good friend and not a douche. Already they’d decided to raid together in Excelsior, and Donna had said she would allow it, provided he didn’t panic.
Eventually, Taylor had to go back to New York. She helped Donna straighten up the small apartment, took Sig out for dinner, and then gave them both a dozen hugs at the airport as she readied to leave. “You know I’m only a phone call away, right?”
“I know,” Sig said, but he still looked sad. Poor kid.
She hugged him again. “And if you feel down, you talk to your therapist. And you go out and get some fresh air, all right?”
“Yes, Mom,” he mocked, rolling his eyes at her. “Don’t let that guy treat you like shit, all right?”
“Yes, Mom,” she teased him back.
***
“So how was Milwaukee?” Gretchen asked as they met for lunch the day after Taylor returned to New York.
“Well, I can’t say it was good because he did try to kill himself, but I think it was . . . cleansing?” Taylor shrugged and nibbled on a breadstick, crumbs going everywhere. She absently swiped them away. “We talked about our issues and I think we came to a better understanding.”
“I still can’t believe that it was a kid, and that he was blackmailing you.”
Sometimes Taylor didn’t believe it herself. “I just let things get out of control, you know?” She looked down at her chest and was surprised to see the sea of crumbs there. Jeez. Loch would have made a joke about her klutziness and offered to brush them off for her, but Loch was gone. She felt a pang of hurt and forced a bright smile on her face. “The good news is that he’s scaling back on the game and I’m quitting for a while.”
“That is good news.” Gretchen snagged a breadstick for herself and then gave Taylor a concerned look. “I just don’t want you to blame yourself for the situation, okay? People can be very self-destructive and you can’t save them unless they want to be saved. Look at my sister Daphne. She’s been a wreck for years.”
“I thought she was getting better?” She surreptitiously brushed at her breasts, wiping away the remnants of the breadstick. Gretchen didn’t talk about Daphne much, but Daphne also wasn’t in the wedding and Gretchen’s other sister Audrey was, so she knew there were issues.
“She’s out of rehab and is working through some therapy stuff, but how do I know if it’ll stick? It hasn’t in the past.” She shook her head sadly. “I’ve had to dissociate myself from her because it hurts too much. That’s why I’m warning you. People determined to destroy themselves will, regardless of what you do. The more miserable ones just try and bring others down with them.”
Taylor pursed her lips, thinking. “I guess. He’s young, though, and just lonely. I hope he’s smart enough to take the steps he needs to.”
“I hope so, too.” Gretchen leaned forward, a devilish glint in her eye. “By the way, don’t think you’re going to get away with not telling me what’s going on between you and Loch. The last time I saw you two, you were super cozy.” She rubbed her hands gleefully. “So now I want all the deets.”
Oh, god. Taylor gave her a falsely bright smile. “We didn’t work out.”
Gretchen sat back in her chair. “Not work out? You two were practically smooching at the table when we went to lunch a few weeks ago! What happened?” Her eyes widened and she leaned in. “Please don’t tell me that you couldn’t fit him in around your computer game schedule, because I might have to kill you.”
Taylor shook her head. “That wasn’t it.” Her lip quivered, and then she grabbed her napkin, because damn it, she really did not want to cry again.
Gretchen’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god. What did he do? Now I really need the details.” She waved the waiter over. “We’re going to need more drinks for this.”
Over the course of the next hour, Taylor drank margaritas, wept into her napkin, and told Gretchen about Loch. About the one-night stand that was just supposed to be for one night and wasn’t. About hitting her head and staying with him for a few nights that turned into a week. About Loch hiring her to be his assistant. About him taking her to the convention. His proposal. About her discovery of the truth when the text message came in, and the confrontation with Loch that had confirmed her worst fears: That he didn’t want her, he just wanted someone who the royal family would disapprove of. By the time she was finished talking, she was wrung out, more than slightly tipsy after three strong margaritas, and was nibbling on a brownie cheesecake she was splitting with Gretchen.
“He’s a jerk,” Gretchen slurred, clutching her amaretto sour. “You want me to kick him out of the wedding? I figure the groomsmen have been a revolving door anyhow. What’s one more?”
“Nah.” Taylor hiccupped. “I don’t wanna ruin your day. Plus . . .” She gave a wistful sigh. “He’d look really good in a tux.”
Gretchen nodded solemnly. “He does have a mighty fine ass. I mean, Hunt
er’s is better, but I’d prefer no one look at that one but me. He’s gut the cutest lil’ scar on his right butt cheek.” She took another sip of her drink. “But I didn’t tell you that.”
“Didn’t hear a thing,” Taylor agreed. She licked the salt from the rim of her last margarita, since the waiter wasn’t coming by to bring another. “You know what’s sad? I should be super upset over Sig and how he’s a kid and tried to kill himself over me, but the thing I’m really upset over is Loch.” She wiped a salt crystal off her finger. “Makes me feel like a really bad person.”
“Why? I think it makes sense. He broke your heart.” She tipped back the last of her drink and fished the cherry out of the bottom of her glass. “Much like this waiter is going to break my heart if he doesn’t bring me a freaking refill.”
“Mmm.” Taylor stared at her own empty glass sadly. She could drink another margarita, but getting home without falling over would probably be a challenge, especially if Loch wasn’t there to lean on. He’d always been at just the right spot to pick her up before she fell over her own two feet, and made her feel pretty instead of klutzy. Too bad it was all an act. “I would have married him, you know.”
“Hmm?” Gretchen leaned in.
“If he’d told me he wanted to have a goof wedding that wasn’t legit? That he just wanted a green card or something that would keep him off the throne? I’d have done it. Just for fun and to swan around as his wife for a time. I’d totally be his baroness. I don’t care about being a legit wife or anything.” She stared morosely down at her empty glass. “But the way he went about it . . . I feel used. Like he was just using me for sex. Or like I was another servant who could hand him his socks when he couldn’t find them for himself.”
“His socks?”
Taylor sighed. “Yeah. He’s pretty helpless sometimes.” She sniffed. “He wanted an unsuitable wife and I guess I was really unsuitable. That part hurts the most.”
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