For The One (Gaming The System Book 5)

by Brenna Aubrey

  “Good night.” I felt a weird lump in my throat as I watched him go. William was stubborn…resolved. I’d already worked those things out about his personality. But he was a man, and he was obviously attracted to me. How long could he hold out? He wasn’t a superhuman, after all. I’d respect his wishes while secretly hoping he had a weak spot somewhere in there.

  Alex entered from the kitchen moments after the door closed. She took one look at Heath spread out on the floor and said, “That doesn’t look comfortable. Can you do me a favor and grab the extra pillow off my bed? I’m gonna get a blanket for him.”

  When I got back into the living room, she was crouched beside him, trying to roll him over. “Ugh, can you help me with this? I want to put him on his side in case he gets sick, but he’s so damn huge.”

  Heath was at least six-four and extremely well built. He must have weighed two-fifty, at least. And Alex was a slight five-foot with a curvy build. I was taller, but stick thin. I had no idea how the two of us were going to move him, but somehow we managed.

  “I’m exhausted,” I said, stifling a yawn. “And I have the regional market tomorrow. I’m hoping to make some decent money doing readings.”

  “At twenty bucks a pop for fifteen minutes work, I’ll say! I’d do it too if my mom wouldn’t lose her shit about me playing with cartas del Diablo. Speaking of which…when do you start full-time at that? And when are you going to quit the refugee center? I bet they’re bummed you’re leaving.”

  Yawning loudly, I didn’t meet her gaze when I said, “I’m about to pass out, cutie. Let’s chat tomorrow.”

  I turned to go into my room, but Alex followed me inside. “They don’t know you’re leaving yet, do they?”

  Reaching into my t-shirt, I unhooked my bra and pulled it out of my sleeves. “They will…soon.”

  “Still don’t have the courage to break it to them?”

  I shrugged. “They know I’m strapped for money and they can’t give me a raise. I don’t have the heart to even ask. They’ll understand when I tell them I have to move on.”

  Alex cocked her head to the side. “It’s not just about the money, though, is it? Are you really feeling antsy to move on, or is this all just some weird philosophy of yours? It’s like you’re that lady in the movie Chocolat. She always went where the wind took her, too.”

  I rolled my eyes. Romantic notions were Alex’s bread and butter. “We’ve been over this before. I do need the money so I can make it back to Maja’s wedding.”

  “Hopefully with the tiara.”

  My heart lurched. “Yeah, hopefully.”

  “So how’s William coming along? Is he any closer to being able to win the big duel?”

  I sighed. “He’s getting there, but I’m hoping to take him to another crowded place. Problem is, it needs to be something entertaining enough to entice him. I’m thinking the movies or...I don’t know.”

  “Why not Disneyland? It’s five miles away.”

  I sighed dreamily. “You know how much I love that place, but…I don’t have the funds to go to Disney right now.”

  She shrugged. “That’s easy. I can still bum discount tickets off my former colleagues. I think you should go for it. After all, it is the happiest place on earth, right? Who could say no to that?”

  Chapter 12

  William

  I shake my head as I grip the steering wheel tighter. “No,” I repeat.

  “But it’s Disneyland! Who could say no to Disneyland?” Jenna asks.

  “I just did.” I keep my eyes on the road and stop at the red light. Jenna is laughing, but I can’t tell if it’s at my answer or me. Maybe both.

  “When was the last time you went?”

  The memory of that visit flashes through my mind. I was six. My mother had started taking us for regular visits again but had insisted that she couldn’t handle me for long periods of time. Things had gone all right until that horrible trek through Adventureland.

  We’d been walking very close to the Jungle Cruise ride when shots were fired—from a cap gun. I was terrified by the sudden loud noise and unequipped to overcome my fear. I couldn’t breathe, and when she tried to pull me along, I’d refused to walk, lying down on the ground while other park guests filed around me. I’d screamed and cried as she dragged me alongside her, cursing the entire time. Typically, when I had my episodes—my mom called them “meltdowns”—she became mean, yelling and calling me all the same things the kids at school called me.

  “Why do you have to be such an idiot, Liam? I brought you and your sister here to have fun, and now you’re ruining it. Britt’s crying because of you. Stop it right now.”

  “Hey.” Jenna puts her hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I tense and then shake my head. “I don’t have good memories of that place. Especially the Jungle Cruise.”

  She turns and looks at me. “Well then, we could make some good memories. What about the Indiana Jones ride? Or the new version of Space Mountain? Were those there the last time you went?”

  I shook my head. We’d never made it to Tomorrowland. My mother had called my dad and insisted he come get me. She’d spent the rest of the day there with Britt and hadn’t brought her home until the next day. I’ll never forget overhearing her telling my dad about how much fun they had together after I left. Or the words Britt said to me as she handed me candy that she’d bought with her very own spending money.

  “I’m sorry, Liam. I wish you could have gone on more rides with me.”

  I’d always wondered why my sister was sorry. My mother wasn’t.

  She’d never tried to take me again after that, but continued to take Britt a few times a year. In fact, I was rarely invited over to my mother’s house, and when I was invited, it seldom happened. Dad had tried hard to make me feel better, saying those were special father-son days. But he’d never succeeded. The only thing I felt was broken…so broken not even my mother could love me.

  “I’m sorry, Wil. Do you want to talk about it?”

  I blink, surprised by the realization that I do want to talk about it. “I had a bad experience at Disneyland as a child. And then my mother…she took my sister there often, but not me.”

  Jenna shifts her eyes back to the road, her hand slipping down my arm. “Oh. I’m sorry. Did she do that a lot? Favor your sister over you?”

  “She didn’t know how to handle me. It was difficult for her.”

  “You don’t have to make excuses for her, William. And that statement makes it seem like you blame yourself for her shortcomings.”

  “I do. And how is stating the truth making excuses for her?”

  “Because the way you state it shapes how you think—about her and about yourself. When the voice inside your head is saying negative things about you, then you have to find a way to change it.”

  “There are no voices in my head, Jenna. Just pictures. Lots of pictures.”

  “You have feelings.”

  I signal a right turn at the stop sign and follow through. “Yes, I have feelings too.”

  “You also have the power to rewrite your history, you know.”

  Her words run over me like a rushing river. I picture stacks of history books and an ancient parchment with an old-fashioned quill and ink. “I have no idea what that means,” I say as I pull into the parking lot at the Yorba Regional Park—a beautiful, natural space situated along the bank of the wetlands of the Santa Ana River.

  “It means you can change those negative associations and your attitude toward past events. You can change your perspective. Like…you can reprogram and frame those memories in the context where you’re not blaming yourself, because you weren’t to blame.”

  I turn to her, and for a split second our eyes meet. Her gaze stabs through me like a pointed lance. “Do you do that? If you did, maybe you wouldn’t have to run away to a new place.”

  Her mouth drops open and then snaps shut, her blue eyes wide. I don’t move a muscle while I wait for her answer. He
r face flushes dark and she turns to gather her bag before climbing out of the cab of my truck then slamming the door—too hard. I slip out of my seat and go to the back of the truck. She faces me there, her arms stiff, her fists balled up, her face still flushed. She’s just as beautiful as ever, and every time I notice, it makes it hard to swallow and sometimes hard to breathe.

  “That wasn’t nice of you,” she says between her teeth.

  “What?”

  “What you just said.”

  “About how you run away? Why does the truth make you mad?”

  “Because I’m not running away.”

  “So you’re…walking away?”

  She blows out a breath and her eyes roll up to the sky. “You make me crazy.”

  “I get told that a lot.”

  She licks her bottom lip with her small, pink tongue, and I immediately think about how it felt to have that tongue in my mouth. I’ve kissed exactly three women in my lifetime. One was a girl who said I was her boyfriend in high school, even though we never went on dates. Another was my roommate for a few years when I first moved out. She tried kissing me on different occasions and had made a similar offer to Jenna’s last night. I’d told her no, too.

  And now the third—Jenna.

  But her kisses were different. It felt like I was drowning and waking up and suffocating and winning an impossible victory, all at the same time. It was overwhelming but also calming. My body felt like it was on fire and shivering in ice, standing perfectly still and also speeding incredibly fast down a racetrack.

  I want that feeling again. I want her. And not just her kisses. I want everything. Everything she offered me…and more.

  But I don’t want it once. I don’t want it for a week or a month, or even a few months. And that’s what will happen, too. I’ll be left here alone, burning for more of her.

  I don’t like that I feel like this already—that she has this much power over my thoughts and feelings. It makes me feel vulnerable. I don’t like that feeling.

  “I’m sorry you’re angry,” I say. And I really am. “I just speak the truth. I say what’s on my mind, and I have no idea when it’s appropriate or not.”

  She’s looking down now, fiddling with something in her bag. I know she’s brought her Tarot cards to do fortune readings for people who pay her. I wonder if she believes they are true. Maybe she follows what the cards tell her. Maybe they are what make her move on. “Is it the cards?”

  She looks up at me. “What?”

  “Do the cards tell you to move along? You’ve attended two different colleges, and you just dropped out of your Physics program without finishing. According to Alex, you’ve never spent longer than three or four years in one place. And you are leaving again soon. So if you aren’t running away, then why do you move on?”

  She shrugs and I start pulling items out of the back of my truck. Everything is meticulously labeled so that it’s easier to deliver the goods. Shovels here, buckles there, gardening implements for Anita, our herbalist. She loves to use period-authentic gardening tools.

  Jenna has her head turned, looking out over the park, when she begins speaking to me between clenched teeth. “I’m not running away. Maybe I’ve made it my life’s goal to continue challenging myself to experience new things.”

  “Maybe? So you aren’t sure?”

  Her eyes close and she’s muttering under her breath. It sounds like she’s counting. Her face blotchy, she spins around and walks away, calling over her shoulder that she’ll see me later when she doesn’t feel like hitting me.

  I doubt she could hit me very hard, or even that she really wants to. But I frown at the thought that I’ve angered her. As usual, I have no idea how I did it.

  Once I’ve gathered all my items, I make my rounds, finding my friends from RMRA at various booths where they’ve spread out their wares. Among others, there’s a spinner, a weaver, a seamstress, a woman who makes authentic woolen stockings and a silversmith who designs jewelry. Ann, an international student from Somalia, has ordered some new buckles for the leather belts she makes and sells. I’m still a beginner so it took me a few tries to get them right, but I’m pleased with the final results.

  We’ve gotten permission from the city to spread our items out on tables in one corner of the park. The public wanders by to look at the booths, as do members of other RMRA clans in the area, who bring their own wares to sell or barter. I don’t sell my items, since I don’t need the money. I do it for the fun of learning how to craft things in an authentic manner. It makes my fellow clan members happy, and I don’t have many friends so I take this seriously. They are friends I don’t want to lose, so I try not to think about the possibility that if I lose this duel, I will lose them.

  I see Doug in the distance. He’s using a whetstone to sharpen weapons and tools. Like me, he doesn’t need the money, but he charges anyway. He’s stated many times that people won’t value his work unless they pay him for it.

  As I move from table to table, people ask me about the duel. Word has gotten around that I’ll be banished from the community if Doug wins. Many are upset with him for demanding such unusual terms. But I’ve accepted it, because if I lose again, I won’t count myself worthy to be among them anyway.

  “Sir William!” says Thomas, our miller and baker, who has freshly baked artisan bread at his booth. He hands me a roll of sweet bread. “Break your fast with me.”

  “Good morrow, Thomas. I don’t have time. Lots of deliveries today.”

  He nods and looks at me for a long moment. “Is it true what they’re saying about the terms of the duel with Sir Douglas?”

  I nod, unsurprised, as this is the third time I’ve been asked a variation of this question. “It is.”

  He begins talking and his words start to hit like waves on the beach, because I’ve just spotted Jenna’s bright blond hair in a booth across the way. She’s speaking with Agnes, our master seamstress, and admiring the gowns hanging at her booth. There are many beautiful, bright fabrics, but the dress that seems to have caught her eye is various shades of blue. It’s the color of the sky at the top then gradually darkens into a deep cerulean, and eventually to midnight blue at the bottom. It has laces up the back and long, flowing sleeves in the style of a medieval lady’s gown. The wind catches the skirt in the breeze, and I watch as Jenna runs a hand reverently over the fabric.

  I picture her wearing it. How the cornflower shade at the waist of the skirt would match the blue of her eyes. How the sky blue near the neckline would make her skin glow. She’s already beautiful, but in that gown she would look like an angel…or a fairy princess. I could paint her portrait as if she were wearing that gown, but it would be better to see her wearing it in real life.

  She’s laughing along with Agnes before she turns to walk away. After I finish my conversation with the miller, I make my way over to the seamstress’s booth.

  “Sir William! Well met,” she says, giving me the typical medieval-style greeting.

  “Well met, goodwife.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any requests for you today. Those hangers and hooks you made for me a few months ago are working quite well. I think your craftsmanship is getting so good, you’ll work yourself out of business soon.”

  Her words surprise me. “I would never do less than my best.”

  “Of course, of course. Now what can I do for you, Sir William? Are you looking for new garb? A doublet perhaps?”

  I look at the exquisite dress that Jenna was just admiring. “I want to purchase this gown.”

  “I don’t think it would fit you.” Agnes smiles.

  “No, it’s not for me. I’d like you to tailor it so it fits Mistress Kovac.”

  Her facial expression changes, but I have no idea how to read it. “I’d love to do that. Would you want it to be a surprise? I could find an excuse to get her measurements.”

  I reflect on that for a moment. I don’t like surprises at all, but I know that many do. And it might be n
ice to see what effect this surprise would have on her. Perhaps it might convince her to stay. Because ever since last night and the long hours I spent awake remembering the feel of her against me, I know that this is what I need. For her to stay. For her to be mine.

  And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen, even if I have no idea right now what that will be.

  “I would like for her to have it in time for the Beltane Ball at the Festival. Is that possible?”

  Agnes smiles widely. “More than possible. I could even make you something to match.”

  I think about that for a moment, unsure how Jenna would interpret such a gesture. Wearing matching clothing might make her think I’m claiming her. Then again, I want to claim her.

  If she’s going to try to run away and never come back, then it’s up to me to make that decision impossible, or at least extremely difficult.

  “Yes, that would be fine,” I tell Agnes.

  “Sounds wonderful. I’ll take your measurements at the next meeting.” I pull out my wallet and hand her two hundred dollars as a down payment. “I’ll bill you the balance on delivery.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Before I leave, I remind myself to say, “Thank you.”

  I look down toward the end of the row and see that Jenna is now sitting at a table with her friend, Caitlyn, who traces people’s silhouettes for a small fee. Jenna is flipping through her Tarot cards, but her eyes are on something else. I follow her gaze and see that she’s watching Doug, who is speaking with a new member of our group, a dark-haired woman named Glynnis.

  I wonder what Jenna is thinking. Is she angry to see her former boyfriend talking to another woman? Does she still have feelings for him? How strong were her feelings for him?