by Kelsie Rae
Quik_Q182: NVM. Forget I said anything. How’s the weather?
BeatlesBoy_41: LMAO you’re pulling the weather card as a topic change? Uh-uh. Sorry, Kitten. Not going to work.
I nearly swallow my tongue when reading his message. Surely, I’m seeing things.
Quik_Q182: Did you just call me Kitten?
Crickets.
Nothing.
Nada.
The anger is pulsing through my body in thick waves. I can practically taste it in the heavy air. I don’t know if my mind is playing tricks on me, or if I jumped to the wrong conclusion, or if I’m making connections that aren’t really there. But Julian’s lack of response to my message makes me want to hit something. Namely him.
My phone buzzes, immediately pulling me from the verbal assault going through my head that’s directed at Jude/Julian. I roll my eyes. Instead of seeing a message through the Flinch platform, I’m greeted with an old-school text message.
Jude: Are you coming to practice tonight?
My brows furrow at the insane coincidence I just experienced. It’s either that, or Jude/Julian is one of the ballsiest guys I’ve ever met. Or maybe he’s a coward for using his alternate personality to contact me? I can’t decide.
Gah! I’m so confused!
Hesitantly, I answer, keeping my message short and sweet. If I type anything else, it’ll probably come out bitchy, and I’m still not sure if I’m crazy or not.
Quin: Yup.
Jude: Sounds good. If you could come early, I’d appreciate it. It might be nice to finish up our little chat.
My eyes bug out of my head. My mind is trying to remember if we had an unfinished conversation from when we last spoke three days ago... or if he’s talking about my conversation with Julian. I’m about to rip my hair from its roots as I go back and forth. On one hand, maybe I really am going crazy, and there’s absolutely no reason for me to be having a giant meltdown on my bedroom floor. Maybe I’m seeing things. Maybe kitten is a common term of affection. Maybe pigs can fly? On the other hand, maybe Jude and Julian are the same person. Maybe they’ve been lying to me for kicks and giggles, and I’ve had absolutely no clue the entire time. Sure, it’s only been a week, but that’s not the point!
“Dammit!” I curse before mentally chastising myself. Honestly, I’m too pissed to care. I need to hit something!
And a Redbull. I need a Redbull. Stat.
My hands shake from pure rage as I stab out a response.
Quin: Wanna expand on what chat you’re talking about?
Jude: You know, the weather?
My jaw hits the floor.
No. Freaking. Way.
Quin: ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!? I’m going to kick your ass when I see you, Jude. Or Julian. Or whoever the hell you are! Seriously, you better run, asshole! I am so freaking pissed at you!
I hit send while staring daggers at my phone, hoping they’ll be transported through the cell towers along with my heated message. Dad might be disappointed by the language in my last message, but seriously? What the hell?
A few minutes of silence go by, the seconds ticking away on the grandfather clock down the hall. I begin to wonder if he’s going to ignore me, which only makes me angrier. My knuckles turn white as I squeeze the phone in my hand. Thankfully, just when I’m about to throw it against the damn wall, it dings.
Jude: I’ll see you at the team meeting, Quin. It’s mandatory. Don’t let our private life mess up your professional career.
Smoke may or may not be coming from my ears after reading his stupid text. How dare he tell me what to do! And how dare he sound so damn detached after I’ve opened up to him the way I have!
Argh! I pull at the roots of my hair once more, trying to gain a semblance of control.
It doesn’t work.
I’ve always been dang good at staying away from people, and this is the biggest reason why. The very moment I start to let someone, or “someones” in, this happens! See? I keep those barriers up for a freaking reason. If I hadn’t lowered them, I wouldn’t even be in this unbelievable situation!
Slowly, the anger starts to dissipate and is replaced with a deep, overwhelming sadness.
I’m hurt. No. I’m beyond hurt.
He lied to me. He’s been lying to me. My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I squeeze them tightly while praying they don’t fall. Please let me stay strong.
Apparently, nothing is going to go my way today. The salty tears ignore my pleading, sliding down my cheeks in a steady stream. Instead of fighting the unbearable emotions like I normally do, I let them win. I let them envelop me. I grab on to the bitter sadness, the deep ache in my gut, the anguish in my heart. I offer my brittle soul up as sacrifice, allowing the anguish to shred me to pieces.
I’ll replace the mask I wear around people when I see him tonight. The mask that says I’m just a normal girl who likes to play video games. The one that hides the real me from sight. Because apparently anytime she’s allowed to come out, she’s thrown to the wolves.
But for right now... all bets are off.
Chapter 9
Jude
Bugger. I’m in deep shite. I’ve never felt so awful in my entire life. To say I didn’t mean for this entire situation to happen the way it did would be a massive understatement. It wasn’t my intention to have Quin develop a relationship with BeatlesBoy_41. Even now, I don’t exactly know how it happened. But would I change it? I’m unsure. Not because I enjoy hurting Quin or misleading her. It’s because she gave Julian a glimpse of the amazing beauty she is underneath her impenetrable armor. She let me see the funny, smart, creative creature she truly is. She’s hurting, and she has no one to turn to. And that’s all on me.
The question is, how can I make amends? How can I explain myself? How can I make her understand?
I’m already in the conference room, anxiously awaiting Quin’s arrival. Though I’m unsure whether or not she’ll actually make an appearance. I won’t be surprised either way.
My only hope is that Gateway Guardians means enough to her that she’ll put up with my measly existence for a few hours. Even though she’d likely prefer to stab me with a fork.
I’m sitting with my eyes glued to the glass doors of the conference room as my leg bounces sporadically, giving away my impatience and self-doubt. I may have fudged the meeting time in hopes of talking to Quin before the rest of the team arrives. As I look at my phone, noting the minutes that eke past, I know it was all for naught.
Thirty-five minutes later, Marcus and the rest of the gents take their seats around the conference table. Each of them turn on their rigs and log in. They’re all laughing and chatting without a care in the world, but I don’t hear a single word. My eyes are still glued to that damn glass door, anxiously waiting for her arrival.
“Jude. Jude!” Marcus repeats, nudging my shoulder to garner my full attention.
“Pardon?” I ask as I tear my gaze away from the entrance and glance at the Team Lead.
“Quin already texted me, saying her dad was having a few issues. She should be here any minute though, so no worries. Why don’t we start a game without her, and she can jump in during our second round? Do you mind playing Sneak?”
I lick my lips in hopes of moistening my dry mouth. Finally, the words seem to register, and I nod in agreement.
After signing in and playing like rubbish, their Tank takes me out with a single shot.
Cursing ensues around me. Everyone is pissed at my game-losing mistake.
“Dammit, Jude. What the hell were you thinking?” Trevon asks, his tone laced with frustration.
I hang my head in shame. “Sorry, gents. It appears my mind is elsewhere today.”
Marcus nods in understanding before his eyes shoot to the door. My gaze follows.
“Speaking of,” he mumbles under his breath.
Quin is at the door. Her hair is in a side braid that hangs over her left shoulder, her black beanie in place. She’s wearing the same black hoodie t
hat swallows her whole and black yoga pants that stick to her like a second skin. Her alabaster flesh is covered in pink splotches, and her normally vibrant eyes are puffy and dull. She doesn’t say a word as she enters. Her gaze is firmly glued to the PC in front of her. She takes a seat, slips her headset on, and signs in while ignoring everyone in the room.
Her teammates take turns examining the broken girl in front of them before scanning the rest of the group. The question is clear in their eyes. “What the hell happened to her?”
Marcus simply glares in my direction. The wanker knows something is up and assumes it has something to do with me. He’s not wrong.
“Good to have you, Q,” Marcus says. His tone is kind. Patient. The tone you would want to hear from a friend and a leader.
Quin’s gaze remains glued to her screen, but she nods slightly, acknowledging she heard his comment.
“Yeah, Q! Jude just played Sneak and butchered the hell outta our game!” Jonah interjects.
“Seriously! No offense, Jude, but where the hell were your master Jedi skills? I expected more from you!” Ronny teases, trying to lighten the mood.
Trevon snorts at Ronny’s Star Wars reference.
My focus remains on Quin as I take in every miniscule detail. She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek, and her eyes are as glassy as the surface of a pond. I’m sure she appreciates the warm welcome she just received, as well as the dig at my lack of gaming skills. However, I don’t think she likes being the center of attention, and I want to save her from it. I’ll do anything to make her feel better.
“Bug off. Let’s get the game going, shall we?” I interrupt, trying to get the tossers to focus for a few minutes. It’s a surprisingly difficult feat.
Thankfully, Marcus assists me by taking command and getting game two started.
Quin plays surprisingly well throughout the rest of practice, not questioning a single order. She’s officially a robot, running on instincts alone. I’d be proud if I didn’t know that she was dying on the inside.
As soon as they complete their second game, Marcus makes a few minor adjustments. After he finishes, Quin practically jumps from her seat and makes a mad dash for the exit that would make a jackrabbit proud.
Without a word, I follow her down the hallway and to the lift. She pushes the button over and over again, hoping to speed up its ascent.
I grasp her elbow lightly before she wrenches it away, practically spinning from the sheer force.
“Don’t touch me,” she spits. Her tone is like ice, freezing me in my footsteps.
“I need to speak with you, Quin,” I tell her gently, praying she’ll listen.
The stubborn lady simply glares and folds her arms over her chest, the motion creating an invisible barrier between us.
“I have nothing to say to you, Jude. Or is it, Julian?” she adds sarcastically before rolling her glassy eyes to emphasize her point. She’s trying to stay strong, but I can see how close she is to crumbling.
“I didn’t lie to you, Kitten. I swear it. I made a massive mistake, and I want to apologize. Please let me explain,” I plead. I’m not above begging. Hell, I’ll get down on my knees if I need to.
She bites her lower lip. Her inner struggle is written plainly on her beautiful face.
I take advantage of her turmoil, stepping closer and gently laying my hands on her elbow once more. This time, she relents and allows me to touch her. Her posture is as rigid as a marble statue.
“Would you like to get a bevvy with me?” My words are hushed. I’m afraid that if I speak too loudly, she’ll come to her senses and reject my proposition. I’d expect nothing less from a lady with such thick, impenetrable walls built around her.
Despite our close proximity, she refuses to look into my eyes. Slowly, she blinks. The movement causes a tear to slide down her smooth cheek as she attempts to process my simple question. Hastily, she unfolds her arms and wipes at the salty liquid with aggression, like she’s angry at herself for showing such vulnerability.
After a moment, Quin nods, giving me her consent. The lift opens, and she enters while I follow closely behind. The enclosed box is suffocating as we slowly descend to the main floor.
Thankfully, we’re in Vegas, and there are bars on every corner. Because of this, we don’t need to search for long before we find a place that sells copious amounts of alcohol. The particular establishment we stumble upon is relatively quiet, with dim lighting and a scattering of tables and booths. The area is perfect for the inevitable groveling I plan to perform.
Hesitantly, I place my large hand against Quin’s lower back and guide her to a table near the back. We both take a seat before ordering our drinks when the waitress arrives. As soon as she leaves, I commence my apology.
“I believe I owe you an explanation,” I begin. “I think I should start from the beginning. I’m not sure how much you know about my career as a professional gamer, but the community is much different now than it was before. It was less cutthroat back then and didn’t require as much time as it does today. I started playing recreationally, and knew a friend who recommended I create a Flinch profile. I only had a handful of viewers in the beginning. But because of the lack of competition, I quickly excelled. I’ve always had a knack for video games, and Gateway Guardians came rather easily to me. I played because I enjoyed it, and the extra paycheck was just the cherry on top. I was invited to join the Summoners, which was a British gaming team at the time. I know you’re rather young and might not remember them.” I pause, smirking at Quin because of my innocent ribbing. “But I was extremely excited. Ecstatic, actually. Unfortunately, I quickly learned that a game I played for recreation had turned into a job, and I stopped enjoying it. I stopped playing for me, and I started hating Gateway Guardians because of it.”
I take a sip of my ice-cold pint. The alcohol creates a pleasant burn down my throat and into my gut. “After I retired from playing professionally, people were pissed. They couldn’t understand why I would quit when I was at the top of my game. They didn’t grasp that it stopped being fun because I was forced to be there. Anytime I would sign on to play a game for enjoyment, I’d get a slew of comments from fans and critics. Some would beg for me to return professionally. Others would threaten to harm me or my family if I ever came back to the game. It was ridiculous.” I shake my head as memories of that dark time hit me like a ton of bricks. “So, I created a separate account. One where I was a nobody. One that my friends and enemies alike wouldn’t recognize. I’m sure you can assume what my username is for that particular account.” I look pointedly at her, making sure she’s paying attention to my long-winded explanation.
“I enjoy watching less experienced gamers play. In fact, I enjoy it more than watching the bigger names. I’m not sure why, but I love to see them develop their craft. It reminds me of when I first started out, and I miss that feeling. One day, I stumbled upon your account. You only had a handful of followers, and I was intrigued. You were” —I correct myself— “You are fascinating to watch, and I’m not the only one who thinks so. It doesn’t hurt that you are gorgeous, but I’m being honest when I say that your game playing is unique. You see things that other gamers don’t. So, I started watching and following your journey. One day, my business partner, Derrick, made a comment about trying some new marketing techniques. I suggested we sponsor Team AFK for the championships, and he agreed. I want you to know that this was before you were invited to join them. I don’t want it to seem like I was stalking you or anything, Kitten. In all honesty, I never imagined I’d meet you in real life.” I clear my throat, feeling a little shy at my confession. “Anyway, at our first meeting, I felt a pull to you. An invisible link that I couldn’t ignore. I made an arse out of myself because of it. Maybe I was even ‘fangirling’ a bit.” I use my fingers to make air quotes around the word fangirling, while knowing Bree would get a kick out of it if she were here to witness my groveling along with my American terminology.
Thinking of my fr
iend back home seems to lift the weight on my chest, allowing me to continue. “I became even more intrigued by our interactions. One day, I saw you playing on Flinch again, and you won. Again.” I smirk. “Impulsively, I messaged you. In all honesty, I didn’t even think you’d reply. But I’m incredibly glad you did.” I reach for her hands that are playing with her half-empty glass. Her touch seems to center me. By some miracle, she allows me to rub my thumb across the palm of her hand before grasping firmly. “Our messages became the highlight of my day, and I looked forward to any morsel you’d throw at me, eating them up like a starving animal.” A blush creeps under my stubbled cheeks. “But I want to clarify that I never lied to you. My real name is, in fact, Julian. My parents named me after Paul McCartney’s son, planning on calling me Jude for short. They’re huge Beatles fans and loved the song, ‘Hey Jude.’ Not many people know that story, but it’s true. If you need to contact my parents for confirmation, I’ll happily give you their number,” I plead.
“You might not know this, but you’re a different person behind the keyboard than you are in reality. You’re more open, more willing to share little bits of yourself that you keep hidden in real life. And I started living for those little bits you’d throw my way. I didn’t plan on it getting out of hand. I didn’t plan on anything, actually. But to say I’m sorry for our nightly conversations would be a lie. They gave me a glimpse of the lady I’m pining after, and I wouldn’t regret those for the world.” My eyes hold hers from across the table as they try to portray my sincerity. “I am so sorry for deceiving you, Quin. I can’t apologize enough for what I did. Even though it wasn’t intentional, it’s no excuse. I don’t know what I can do to prove it to you. All I want to do is get to know you. To get under your silky skin the same way you’ve gotten under mine. Would you possibly be willing to give it a go? Will you forgive me?”