The Game Changer

by Scott Hildreth

  I knew that Michael and my father were somehow involved with one another, but had no idea of the intricacies of their relationship, be it business or otherwise. Instead of feeling relieved at my father’s admittance of knowing Michael, my heart began to race.

  “I want to ask you something else.”

  “Ask.”

  “No more lies, right?” I asked.

  He shot me a confused look, then chuckled. “Says the girl who’s lying about her family name.”

  “But no more. Not from me, and not from you. Right?”

  He shrugged. “What?” His mouth twisted into a smirk.

  It was the same as him agreeing to telling the truth.

  Kind of.

  “Is he the man who saved Peter?”

  He tossed the napkin onto the island, turned toward me and sighed. “He and his men, yes.”

  I knew it!

  I filled with gratitude about Michael having saved my brother, and then, I began to swell with pride. After a moment of relishing in the feelings, it dawned on me that my father now knew Michael and I were seeing one another, and he hadn’t demanded that I stop. Nor had he promised to crucify him or toss him in the same river he threatened to toss everyone else in.

  He didn’t give me a lecture about Michael being American and me being Italian, and how our family’s heritage would cease to exist after me if I married a white man and bore his children.

  I’d gone far enough for one night.

  Well, almost.

  I swallowed hard. “He’s a good man, Papa.”

  “He’s an honest man.” He nodded. “He’s a good man, yes.”

  I wanted to ask if my father’s dealings with Michael were limited to the rescue of my brother. I wondered if there was more, and if so, what exactly it might be. As much as I wanted to ask, I opted not to push matters further. In time, I would find out exactly what their business dealings were.

  “He means so much to me.”

  He spread his arms wide and grinned. “I only want for you to be happy.”

  I hugged him, nestled against his shoulder and sighed. I couldn’t believe it. The things I had expected him to do and say hadn’t happened. As certain as I was that he was going to demand my respective other be Italian and Catholic, he didn’t. Considering his demeanor and the slight smile he was wearing, I decided to drop the bomb I had held in reserve.

  The big one.

  “We’ve been seeing each other for a long time, Papa.”

  He continued to hold me, but didn’t respond.

  “And he doesn’t know about you. About my family. He knew nothing all along. He still knows nothing.”

  “You must tell him,” he said. “What you’ve done? It’s shameful.”

  Lying to Michael left me feeling shallow, selfish and shameful. Hearing my father say it, however, pained me in a much different manner.

  I struggled to stay focused. “I know. I’m sorry.” I broke his hug and looked him in the eyes. “Papa?”

  His slight smile stayed glued to his face.

  “He, um. He proposed to me,” I said in a broken whisper.

  His eyes conveyed his confusion. “What do you mean?”

  My lips had gone completely dry and my throat was tight. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, swallowed and hoped my response didn’t change his accepting nature.

  Here goes...

  “He asked me to marry him.”

  He stumbled backward, and came to rest against the stool I had been sitting on. After lowering himself into the seat, he buried his face in his hands. “Padre celeste. La mia unica figlia prediletta. Sposata con un uoma?”

  My heavenly father. My only beloved daughter. Married to a man?

  He lowered his hands slightly and revealed his eyes. In that short time, they had become welled with tears. I’d never seen him so overcome with emotion, and I couldn’t tell if they were tears of joy or tears of anger.

  He bit into his quivering lip and met my worried gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. Don’t apologize.” I wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know what to do. “What’s wrong?”

  He wafted his hand in front of his face. “Your mother. She will faint when she hears.”

  He didn’t seem angry at all, but I had never seen him so overcome with emotion. I decided to simply ask. “Are you happy?”

  He nodded eagerly. “Very much so. I’m sorry.”

  Oh my God.

  I couldn’t believe my ears. There was no way that I had taken all the meaures to keep the truth from Michael only to have the revelation to my father—who was the entire reason for my secrecy to begin with—go without incident.

  “But you’re happy?” I asked.

  He stood, wiped his eyes with the tips of his fingers and nodded eagerly. “You’re my only daughter. What else could I be? But we must...we must fix this. With him.”

  “No, Papa,” I said. “I must fix this.”

  Chapter Five

  Michael

  I pushed myself away from the table and exhaled a sigh of accomplishment. I glanced at the serving dishes that were still half-filled with food, and then at Terra. “That was great. I can’t believe I ate that entire bowl, but I couldn’t stop. What was it again?”

  “Carbonara,” she said. “It’s comfort food. Pasta, bacon, eggs, cheese and black pepper.”

  “You can make that anytime. I loved it.”

  She grinned. “Thank you.”

  I liked having Terra in my life—and in my home—much more than I would have ever imagined. Knowing she was willing to spend the rest of her life with me was reassuring, but having her do the things she seemed to naturally desire—cooking, laundry, cleaning the house—since we got back from Belize was something that I wasn’t used to.

  It was almost as if I had a mother and a wife.

  Maybe she acted no differently than most other soon-to-be-married women, I didn’t know. I did know that after having her in my life, doing without her would prove next to impossible.

  I stood, and immediately felt bloated and overfed. “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

  “No,” she said in a demanding tone. “Let me get it. Relax.”

  I reached for the bowl of pasta. “I’m perfectly capable.”

  “I know you are.” She slapped my hand playfully. “Please, let me get it. It makes me feel useful.”

  To be honest, helping her with the dishes would have probably been painful. I grinned and sat down. “Fine. I’m too full to move anyway.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.”

  “So far, I’ve liked everything you’ve taken the time to make. And don’t you dare feed any of that to Hank.”

  “He likes pasta.”

  “You’ll make him fat,” I said. “And it’s too damned good to feed to a dog.”

  “Nothing’s too good for the Hankster.”

  “I mean it, Terra.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She kept me on my toes. It was impossible to predict what she might do or say next, which I would have never guessed to be an attractive feature, but with her, it was. Her unpredictable nature was one of many qualities that she possessed that made her adorable.

  “I mean it,” I said over my shoulder.

  “You said that already. I’ll just wait until you’re at work. He’ll get his pasta.”

  At the rate she was going, the poor dog would weigh a hundred pounds in a month. At one point, I had to stop her from feeding Hank danishes and doughnuts as a midmorning snack.

  As she cleared the table, my eyes drifted around the living room. I laughed to myself about her sneaking the dog pasta while I wasn’t looking. After a moment, I imagined the house filled with people—a
ll celebrating our engagement—and realized I needed to organize something soon.

  Although Terra was undoubtedly excited about our upcoming marriage, she had yet to discuss her expectations regarding any arrangements for a party or celebration.

  “When you’re done, let’s talk.”

  “I was going to talk to you about that,” she responded.

  “About what?”

  “About talking.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “You were going to talk to me about talking?”

  “As soon as I was done with the dishes. I was wanting to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Just stuff.”

  “I have some things I need to talk to you about, too.”

  “Okay.”

  She finished the dishes, and then sat down across from me. After a few silent seconds of nothing but nervous glances, she buried her face in her hands and let out a muffled sigh.

  Confused as to why she seemed so upset about my wanting to talk, I decided to ask. “Is there something going on that I don’t know about?”

  She lifted her head from her hands. “Just give me a minute.”

  She looked uncertain of how to proceed. I searched my mind for anything that I had done that would constitute such a look, but came up short. Puzzled as to why our otherwise wonderful evening had all of a sudden turned solemn, I leaned forward and prepared to pry her thoughts and feelings out.

  Before I had a chance to speak, she began.

  “You know,” she said. “When we met?”

  “When we met?”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Just let me talk. This might take a while.”

  “Okay.”

  “When we met, I was excited and intrigued by you. And I was scared—”

  “Scared? Why would you be—”

  She forced a sigh.

  I raised my hand in apology. “I’ll be quiet.”

  “I was scared you’d reject me if you knew the complete truth. At least then. After a while, I wanted to tell you the truth, but I never found a way to do it. I don’t have a shoe store. That’s not where I get my money. But I’m embarrassed about how I do get it, so I made that story up. At the time, it was innocent.” She shrugged. “As innocent as a lie can be, I guess.”

  A lie is a lie.

  My eyes fell to the floor as I struggled to make it taste good enough to swallow.

  She paused. It seemed she was waiting for my approval before she continued. I hadn’t given much thought to her shoe business, and had assumed what she told me about it was true. Now that she admitted that it was a fabrication, it made sense. She never seemed to devote any time to the business, and allowed it to simply run itself. I began to feel foolish for believing her in the first place, and wondered if my infatuation with her played a part in me being blind to what was clearly in front of me.

  I cocked an eyebrow and waited for her to proceed.

  Her eyes fell to the table. “I’m a trust-fund baby.”

  A sigh shot from my lungs.

  That made perfect sense.

  She looked up. Her worried expression remained. “Are you going to say anything?”

  “Why did you tell me you had a shoe business?”

  “I thought you’d think I was a brat if I told you the truth.” She started to stand, hesitated and then sat down. “At that time—on the second night that we met—all I wanted was a chance. I didn’t think you’d give it to me if I told you the truth.”

  “If you told me your family was wealthy?”

  “If I told you I didn’t earn the money.”

  I leaned back in my chair and studied her. The skin under her eyes was swollen, as if at any moment she was going to be reduced to tears. I didn’t like being lied to about anything and had always felt a liar couldn’t be trusted. Her lie wasn’t told with malicious intentions and, considering all things, was rather innocent.

  I suspected she truly did it for the sole reason of preserving her position with me during the onset of our relationship. In short, it wasn’t as big a deal as she was making it out to be. And although I didn’t necessarily lie regarding my explanation of my occupation, I certainly hadn’t been forthright with the complete truth.

  I sighed, met her worried gaze and grinned. “Forgiven.”

  “Thank you.”

  My acceptance didn’t seem to change the way she felt. She seemed to be growing even more worried with each passing second.

  “Is that all?” I asked.

  She drew a long breath. “No. There’s more.”

  After a short but rather emotional pause, she continued. “I told you... I didn’t tell you the truth about... I...”

  She was clearly upset. Very much so, in fact. I stood, intending on walking around the table and comforting her. She raised her hand in clear opposition to my approach. “No, please, sit down. This... This isn’t going to be easy.”

  “What isn’t going to be easy?”

  “Please,” she demanded.

  Reluctantly, I sat.

  “I told you... The reason I told you...” She drew another long breath. “My name isn’t...

  “My real name...”

  I shook my head and stared back at her. “You didn’t tell me what your real name was?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  My mind began spinning. Was she an agent of the law, and I was so in love that I didn’t see it? Was she a mole for the mob, and, ultimately, Agrioli’s way of getting into my life?

  I shot her a quick glance.

  There was no way. She may have lied, but all in all, she was innocent. Or at least I hoped she was.

  It was quite possible she had used her maiden name, or that she had changed it for some reason.

  Or so I hoped.

  “Did you change it?”

  She buried her face in her hands. When she looked up, she was crying. “My name. My last name. It’s...

  “My real name is Terra Agrioli.”

  Chapter Six

  Terra

  Waiting to tell Michael the truth was the worst decision I had ever made. Telling him early in our relationship would have saved both of us a tremendous amount of grief. I now wondered if there was any way I could salvage my relationship with him.

  He jumped from his seat and shot me a glare. “Agrioli? You’re an Agrioli?”

  “I knew this was how you’d react. I didn’t tell you—”

  “You lied.”

  “You lied, too, Michael. You told me you were an investor.”

  “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” he shouted. “I am an investor. I invest in firearms. You didn’t ask for an explanation. When you did, I told you the truth. I asked your fucking name. You said it was Wilson. It’s not. You lied.”

  “Okay. I lied, but I did it because—”

  “I don’t care,” he fumed.

  “You what? What do you mean, you don’t—”

  “Go.” He pointed to the door. “I don’t want you here.”

  “What? Go?” My face flushed and I felt hot all over. I wanted our argument to end, but fully understood it wasn’t going to come easy. “Where do you want me to go?”

  “I don’t give a fuck. Just leave.”

  “Like, leave?”

  “Yeah. Leave. You fucking lied to me. Go.”

  I remained remarkably calm, considering the turn our conversation had taken. I drew a shallow breath, exhaled and attempted to reason with him. “We’re engaged to be married. I’m not leaving. We’re going to talk, and we’re going find a way to work this out.”

  “Work it out?” he bellowed. “There’s nothing to work out.”

  His arms were crosse
d, and his face was contorted into an awful scowl. Nevertheless, we needed to find some way to resolve what I had so gracefully fucked up.

  “What do you mean, there’s nothing to work out?” I asked. “There’s everything to work out.”

  “No, there’s not. Every day, I deal with people I can’t rely on. When I come home at night, I need to come home to someone who I know I can trust. A cheater will always cheat, a thief will always steal, and a liar will always lie. You lied to me.”

  I stared back at him, completely lost as to how I should continue.

  He huffed out a sigh and turned toward the kitchen. After he took a few steps, he hesitated, and then spun around. “Did he send you to me? Anthony? Is that why you’re here?”

  Oh my God.

  I hoped he wouldn’t make such an assumption, but then again, I wasn’t completely knowledgeable about his dealings with my father. After digesting what he had said, I realized he was far more angry than I had realized. Angry and jumping to crazy conclusions.

  “No. No. No,” I shook my head. “That’s not at all what happened. You saved me from my ex-boyfriend, remember? You pulled into the parking lot while he was dragging me to his car. How in the world could that be a setup by my father?”

  “I tell you what.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key fob. “You can do whatever you want. But I’m done talking to you.”

  Then, I watched in horror as he stormed past me, burst through the door leading into the garage, and left.

  Chapter Seven

  Michael

  I sat at my desk with my jaw—and my fists—clenched. I wanted to be alone, and although I had been free of late-night visitors for a few hours, that was no longer the case.

  Glaring at me from the other side of my desk, Cap broke the silence. “You can’t out-sit me, we both know that.”

  Once, while in combat, Cap sat in wait for a high-value target for 72 hours. Three days without speaking, eating a meal or so much as repositioning himself. He was a determined man, and he was right—I couldn’t out-sit him.

  “Talk to me, Tripp.”

  “Nothing to talk about.”

  “I beg to differ with ya,” he said drily. “There’s plenty to talk about.”