by BJ Harvey
Game Breaker: The Loop
Originally published in the Love in Transit anthology
ISBN: 978-0-473-39779-1 (Mobi)
ISBN: 978-0-473-39778-4 (Epub)
Copyright © 2017 by BJ Harvey
Cover designed by Najla Qamber Designs
Edited by Lauren McKellar
Formatted by Integrity Formatting
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Game Series Reading Order:
Game Player (Game #1)
Game Maker (Game #2)
Game Saver (Game #3)
Game Ender (Game #4)
Game Breaker: The Loop (Game #5)
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
About the Author
Other Books by B.J. Harvey
I swipe an eye shadow brush over my eyelid, blink at the wrong time, and end up trying to pretty my eyeball instead of the skin above it.
Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
Remember what Mom always says: “Everything happens for a reason.”
Dropping the brush into the sink, I snatch a wash cloth from the bathroom counter and scrub my eye like my sight depends on it—which it probably does.
I try positive visualization to calm my nerves: a hot beach, a fruity cocktail, soft white sand beneath me, crystal blue water for miles, and the gorgeous man I used to love lying next to me.
Shaking my head, I drop my chin and try the breathing thing again. What am I thinking?
I tossed and turned all night, dozing off at dawn only to sleep through my alarm. And when I finally did wake up, it was in a cold sweat, having dreamed of a life full of regret if I followed through with today’s two o’clock appointment.
Am I about to make the biggest mistake of my life? I always figured I’d get married, just not to my best friend and for money, nonetheless.
I have no other choice that I can see. It’s my last resort after exhausting all other possibilities.
My soon-to-be spouse—my best friend, Wyatt—would never do me wrong, and is stepping up to help by becoming my husband. Together, our combined income will allow me to borrow enough to cover my parents’ overdue property taxes.
Dad lost his job last year when the big finance firm he had been working for since I was a kid slashed hundreds of jobs after a scandal involving the CEO. With Mom in and out of hospital with Lupus, neither of them were bringing in any money. They lived off Dad’s severance package for a few months but then started to struggle. What I didn’t realize until a month ago was just how bad things had gotten. When I found out that a lien had been put on the property by a tax buyer and a huge sum of money was needed for my parents to clear their house title and be able to sell their place, I felt compelled to do something.
As soon as I found out, I went online and applied for any and every loan available. When that failed, I met with my bank manager, then my boss, trying to find a way to raise the money I would need to save the house.
I even tried to sell my car, hoping that any payment to the government would be better than no payment. My father put a stop to that particular option almost immediately, telling me in no uncertain terms that I either stopped what I was doing or else he’d lock me in my cotton candy pink bedroom to teach me a lesson. When I retorted that he wouldn’t be able to do that if he didn’t have the house, he muttered some rather unmentionable words under his breath and walked away.
It was the truth though, and both Mom and Dad knew it.
Last weekend, when it appeared that all hope was lost, I drowned my sorrows with copious amounts of gin and tonic. When Wyatt came home from his hospital shift where he works as a pediatric nurse, he found me white girl wasted on the couch with a bowl of potato chips in one hand and tissues in the other while I sobbed over Bride Wars.
But being the amazing human being that he is, Wyatt sat down, pulled me into his lap and cuddled me while we watched the prince find his princess. Then he made me a strong coffee, effectively poured it down my throat, and asked me to spill the beans.
So I did. I told him everything.
That was when he shocked the shit out of me and asked me to marry him.
When I asked what his boyfriend Mark might think about it, he shrugged, and said, “Sez, if I’m going to marry a woman, you’re the only one I want it to be.”
Of course at the time, I was totally on board the wedding train. The next morning I had a little trepidation but knew it was a good compromise because together, our combined income would definitely qualify us for a big enough loan, and I could help my parents out and save the house.
But when I woke up this morning, a seemingly normal wedding-day Wednesday, there was a deep ache in my chest, the likes of which I hadn’t felt for years.
Opening my eyes, I stare at myself in the mirror and catch the reflection of my alarm clock in my bedroom.
“Shit!” I shriek, clutching the towel wrapped around me as I run into my bedroom, grab the black garment bag from inside my closet door, and carefully lay it on my bed before throwing my towel to the side.
It’s then I glance up and meet the very wide eyes of my teenage boy neighbor across the street whose living room window looks straight through my open curtains.
He stands there frozen with a huge goofy grin on his face while I scream bloody murder and scramble to find my towel, slipping on a wayward sock and kicking my nightstand in the process, bending my little toe the wrong way.
Now I’m naked, jumping on the spot like a kangaroo with my leg bent as I hold my foot, trying to ease the pain. Giving up on regaining any dignity, I drop to the floor and crawl around my bed to my window, jerking my curtains shut before collapsing front first on the floor.
Not going to be able to look that guy in the eyes again, that’s for sure.
My cell phone rings from the bathroom, and with a defeated sigh, I hoist myself up off the floor to go fetch it.
“Hey Wyatt,” I say, struggling to catch my breath.
“Sez, you okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” I’m lying through my teeth here.
“You were kind of weird last night, more than normal, so I wanted to check in. Are you on your way?”
“No,�
�� I reply with a huff. “I woke up late after barely sleeping, then flashed the neighbor’s son, and I now have a potentially broken toe.”
“What?” he says with a laugh. “How did all of that happen?”
“Because I’m Sarah Mason, that’s how. What time are we supposed to be there?” I grab a lipstick tube out of my cosmetics case and cradle the phone against my shoulder as I mindlessly swipe it on.
“I told you yesterday, hon. We need to be there at two o’clock. I’m taking an hour off work. Are you okay to grab a cab?”
“I was just going to catch the L.” I drop the lipstick and pick up my mascara, rushing through the process and not really concentrating on what I’m doing before dropping it, grabbing my perfume bottle, and spritzing some on.
“You do know you’ll be wearing a wedding dress, right? You haven’t forgotten that fact?”
I shrug. “It’s not like it’s a big poufy gown with a long train. It’s a formal white dress that just happens to be what I’m getting married in.”
“Sez, hon…” Wyatt’s voice goes soft. “We don’t have to do this if you’re having second thoughts.”
“We do have to do this, Wyatt, and you know why. I love you like a brother and in…” I pull the phone from my ear to look at the time. “Shit! I’m so freaking late. I’ll see you there at two… maybe…”
“Okay.”
I giggle, a genuine smile forming on my lips. “Alright, soon-to-be hubby, let me go so I can get dressed and leave.”
“See you there.”
“I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me, Wyatt. I hope you know that?”
“I do. And I really hope you know that I would do anything for you. I mean, what’s a wedding between besties?”
“Exactly,” I reply.
“And Sez?
“Yeah?”
“Don’t forget the tiara. If you don’t wear it, I swear to God I’ll stand you up at the altar. Runaway brides won’t have anything on a runaway gay groom.”
“But—” I don’t get to voice my protest because Wyatt has hung up on me.
Dammit.
Twenty minutes later, I’m dolled up in my totally not obvious white dress with nude-colored pumps and a small purse containing my phone, keys, and train card.
Looking at my watch, I squeak at the time, knowing I’m cutting it close. I poke the elevator button desperately, checking the display to see which floor it’s on. One of the downsides to living in a relatively tall apartment building is the high traffic volume for the two lifts. Generally, I get lucky though, as one is normally going up while the other goes down.
Five minutes later, I realize that the numbers aren’t moving—like, at all—and I moan loudly in frustration, turning to the nearest wall to start banging my head against it.
“Hey, Sarah. Don’t you look nice,” a voice from beside me says.
I turn to see my neighbor from across the hall. “Thank you, Mrs. Perry.”
“Are you waiting for the elevator, dear? Because there’s a sign down in the lobby saying they’re both down for maintenance.”
“Oh fu… fudge.” My cheeks heat up at my almost curse but thankfully, the old lady just smiles at me before looking down at my feet.
“I’m afraid we all have to take the stairs in the meantime, but I think you better take those pretty shoes off first. You won’t be able to walk by the time you get to the bottom.”
My eyes drop to my shoes as I release a sigh of defeat. She’s right, of course. I’ll never be able to get down six flights of stairs in these heels. “Good idea. I’ll be a lot faster in bare feet.”
“Just watch out around the third floor,” she says with a grimace. “It’s a bit… messy down there.”
“Thanks for the heads up. I better get going if I’m going to make my train.”
Her head jerks back. “You’re catching the train in that? Oh dear, you should call a cab.”
“It’s okay,” I say, not even believing my own words as I move toward the stairwell. “I don’t mind catching the L, and it’ll take me right to where I’m going.”
“And where’s that? A hot date? Back in my day, a man would pick up his lady friend if he was courting her.”
Not wanting to explain my current life story, I decide that a bent version of the truth is best.
“I’m meeting him there. He’s a busy man,” I say hurriedly. “Now I must be going. Thanks again, Mrs. Perry. Have a good day,” I call the last part over my shoulder as I’m already halfway through the stairwell door.
Six floors later, I’m breathing like a pack-a-day smoker and sweating like one as I reach the ground level and slip my pumps back on.
Two minutes after that, I’m taking the stairs leading to the train platform two by two—a feat for anyone, let alone a woman in a dress and heels—and quickly touch my card to the turnstile just in time to see my train pull in.
Breathing out a huge sigh of relief, I move with the crowd onto the train and find an empty seat, checking to make sure it’s clean—ish—before sitting down.
As the train takes off, I grab my phone out of my purse and see a text from Wyatt.
Wyatt: Running late but I should get away from here in time.
Me: I’ve just got on the L…
Wyatt: Did you remember the tiara?
Me: Sorry, Dad.
Wyatt: We’re about to be married. Don’t start calling me Daddy just yet.
Me: I hope you don’t expect me to consummate the marriage.
Wyatt: Hell no! You’ve got all the wrong body parts. Besides, Mark is looking forward to being the other man.
Me: I bet he is. See you soon.
Wyatt: With bells on… or a suit… depends on my mood.
I grin as I put away my phone, trying not to think about the fact that in just over thirty minutes’ time, I’ll be meeting Wyatt outside City Hall, and walking out married a little later.
This definitely isn’t how I imagined my wedding day to be. I’ve had the same little girl dreams of my big day for years now.
At one time, I knew without a doubt who the man I’d marry was going to be. My childhood sweetheart from the age of twelve to nineteen. The man who had been my first crush, my first kiss, my first time, and—unfortunately for me—the one behind my first heartbreak.
The last time I saw him was sixteen years ago on my nineteenth birthday. It doesn’t mean I ever forgot about him though. What girl forgets their first everything?
The train slows down and pulls up to the next station, and I deduce that there’s only four more stops until I need to get off.
Why does that thought make my stomach twist in entirely the wrong way? I should be relieved. I should be thankful. I should be able to freaking breathe.
I place my purse in my lap and my clammy hands on the handrail in front of me, taking slow, measured breaths to stave off what I assume can only be a panic attack.
Why is this affecting me so much? It’s not like Wyatt will screw me over. He’s a good guy—a great one—and he’d never do me wrong. That doesn’t negate the fact that my first wedding is going to be to my gay best friend, not the love of my life.
It’s not supposed to happen like this. I’m supposed to meet a guy, date said guy, get to know him, learn to trust him, and sleep with him. Then, after a while, he’d ask me to move in with him—or we’d get our own place, whatever worked—and when the time was right, he’d do this big grand gesture of a proposal, I’d say yes, and we’d plan the perfect wedding.
Not apply for a wedding license a week beforehand and get married on my gay best friend’s lunch break.
My first marriage was always going to be my only marriage, not a case of ‘get it out of the way so I can move on to the next one’. Besides, it’s not like there are prospects on the horizon, this might be my only chance.
The train comes to a stop once more and my calming exercises are definitely not working. I try the positive visualization crap again to no avail, my breaths
coming harder and faster.
“Are you okay there?” a voice behind me asks, the deep, panty-melting tone doing amazing—but totally inappropriate—things to my nether regions.
I turn my head and look up to be met by deep blue eyes I recognize instantly.
My forthcoming wedding is the last thing on my mind. The man in front of me seems to have appeared at the mere thought of him.
I hear Mom’s voice in my head again. “Everything happens for a reason.”
“It’s you…”
My eyes widen in surprise as I take her in. Sarah Mason, my biggest regret and my longest-held dream.
It’s really her. Sitting down in front of me, her chocolate brown hair splayed down her back, a few wayward curls draped over her shoulders, a gorgeous fitted white dress with thick straps and a low V covering her torso.
“Cameron?” Her green eyes are as big as saucers as she takes me in, head to toe. “How long have you been back?”
I grab hold of the overhead rail and lean into the pole next to me. “I left the army after my third deployment a few years ago.”
She purses her lips, her eyes drifting away but not before I see the flash of hurt in them, and I feel like a prize asshole for not looking her up before now. That’s not to say I haven’t thought about it, but with getting my head straight, and settling back into civilian life, I wasn’t yet ready to make that move.
I was always going to see her again, though. Sarah Mason was mine before I enlisted and was always going to be mine when I returned. Those green eyes of hers haunted me the entire time I was away, and I knew once I was man enough, I’d have to hunt them down.
Taking the empty seat beside her, I turn her way. “Sarah…”
When she meets my gaze, her expression is filled with sadness. Definitely not what I want to see.
The last time we saw each other was the day before I left for basic training—one of the worst days of my life.
I chose the army to escape the clutches of my megalomaniac-father and image-obsessed mother. It was either that or forever live my life under their thumb, a life where my choices would never be my own. Enlisting was my big ‘fuck you’ to both of them, the real estrangement came just a few years ago.