The Game

by Kira Blakely

  She showered and dressed in a nice dress, brushed her hair until it snapped and shone, then put it into a neat twist low on her neck. She put on a bit of lipstick and mascara and checked her nails.

  As usual, she needed a manicure. She did the best she could with a file and cuticle cutters and a buffer then called it a day. Clarissa, her mother, would notice immediately that the manicure was not professionally done, but unless, provoked she would likely not say anything.

  “Good thing I chose closed-toe shoes,” Hope muttered as she paced nervously along the confines of her living room. “God knows I need a pedicure.”

  She really did. She kept her toenails painted and trimmed, but she could use a good pedi, and she knew it. Just one more thing she never had the time or money for.

  She always made time for Jackson though.

  That stopped her in her tracks.

  She had been making time for him, something she simply had never done before. Most guys were put off by her work, the hours she kept in the lab, and the often absentmindedness that hit her when she was struck with an idea that she had to puzzle out in her brain.

  Jackson was willing to put up with all of that. He was willing to meet her at odd times and to not see her for a few days at a time when things were going full circuit at the labs and she was caught up in something.

  He was a prize, and she was lucky to have him.

  But for how long?

  Eventually, he was bound to want more and she was not sure if she would ever have it to give to him. If she hit a major breakthrough, her working life would only get more hectic and she would have no time at all for him. No guy was going to sit on the sidelines and wait it out, not when the waiting could be that long.

  Jackson was gorgeous, and he was rich. He was every girl’s dream date, and that was before they got to know him as a person. He would have no trouble at all filling the hole she would leave behind.

  The doorbell rang. Hope stood there, shaking. She did not want to lose him.

  That thought careened around her skull, screaming against the sides of her brain and echoing all the way down to her heart. She did not want to lose Jackson. She wanted to be with him in every way, but if it came down to it, she was going to have to choose between him and the research that meant so much to her.

  And which would she pick? If she truly wanted him it should be an easy choice, shouldn’t it?

  The doorbell rang again. Hope called out, “Coming!’

  She went to the door and opened it. Jackson stood there. He looked amazing in a set of tailored black slacks in Italian wool, a matching jacket, a crisp white dress shirt, and blue and gray-striped tie. His hair, freshly cut, was combed back neatly, and his body gave off the faintest whiff of expensive aftershave and soap.

  Hope said, “You look…wow.”

  He said, “I was just about to say the same for you. If I am not mistaken, that is the same dress that caused us to miss out on our first dinner date and end up having dinner at The Pit.”

  She looked down and burst into laughter. “It is. You love The Pit though.”

  “I love their pizza,” he replied, and then he gathered her into his arms. He gave her a long, slow kiss and then, when he lifted his head, he said, “Damn, now I am wondering if your folks would be upset if we were late.”

  “They would be really upset.” She stepped back and wiped a bit of lipstick off his mouth with the ball of her thumb. “The wailing would go on forever. The first course would be utterly ruined. The cook would weep in the kitchen, and the house would shudder on its foundation.”

  Jackson shot her an amused glance, “Well, shit. There goes that plan then. Are you ready?”

  No. She was not ready for this. Not for her folks, and not for the emotions running through her. She was not ready for the truth that was beating at her heart and brain either.

  She had fallen in love with Jackson, and being in love with him could threaten everything she had worked so hard for. If she was forced to choose between him and her research, she had no idea which she would choose, and so she had no way of knowing if what she felt for him was real and solid or just an infatuation that would die out eventually or if it was, as she suspected, really love.

  Jackson asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  No, no she was not okay at all.

  ***

  The ride to her parents’ house was a long one, and she said, “I should have met you here, I think. It would have saved you the drive in and back.”

  He chuckled. “It’s okay. Besides, I figured maybe I could talk you into spending the night at my place since it is closer and you have yet to see it.’

  She had never seen his place. More confusion swirled in. Part of her did not want to see the visible reminder of his wealth and success. The other part of her knew she was being unfair and that she had forced him to make all the effort.

  Guilt struck. She said, “I am so sorry. I have made it all on your side, haven’t I? I mean, it’s never me that makes the drive or…or anything. That is so not fair, and I am sorry.’

  “No big deal.”

  “It is a big deal,” she insisted. Her mind seized on that. If she really cared for him, then why had she not made the effort he had made? Instead, she had let him do all the heavy lifting to see her. “It was a terrible thing to do and I…I have to make a better effort to put in as much as you are.”

  Yes, but why bother if this thing was going to end just because she had such a huge workload, and because that program of his might just be the thing that caused her to have zero time to make the effort that she should have been making all along?

  His hand met her knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Is this the street?”

  “Yeah.”

  The subdivision was nestled behind a guarded gate. They pulled in, and the guard took their name and checked it off a list before opening the gate. They drove inside the grounds of the community, and Jackson took the car down a long and winding road lined with houses that loomed large against the starry night sky.

  The same feeling she always got when she went to her parents’ home took over. Hope had to remind herself to breathe and that she was a grownup and that nobody had the right to dictate how she lived her life, but even as she tried to do that, she found herself worried again about her and Jackson.

  The house her parents lived in sat on three rolling acres, and it was naturally, the biggest one on the cul-de-sac. The lumped-together styles, the brick and stone façade, the whole conventional look of it, masquerading as high end made her cringe inwardly.

  Jackson parked and turned the car off. She took a long breath and said, “I better warn you. They can be awful.”

  Clara’s car was already there, and that made her feel slightly better. She and Clara might not be exactly close, but at least Clara tried to be an ally in the never-ending battle Hope was caught up in with Robert.

  They got out and went to the door. Jackson held a bottle of very nice and expensive wine in one hand and her hand in the other. That hand steadied hers as she knocked and waited for the housekeeper to let them in.

  She saw the frown on Jackson’s face as they waited, and she knew he was wondering why she even had to knock. If her parents had been normal people, she never would have had to, and if she had a good relationship with them, she would never have felt like knocking was necessary. She would have just opened the door and walked in.

  She knew that her knocking was a dead giveaway, but since he was about to witness her fucked up family firsthand, she saw no reason to say anything about it.

  The door opened and the housekeeper ushered them in and took their coats, hanging them in the closet nearest the door before telling them the family was waiting in the den.

  They walked through the long hallway lined with priceless works of art. Jackson was silent, and so was Hope. Her spirits dropped a little lower with each step, and by the time they came into the den – the one they all referred to as
the small den, despite its massive size – she was sick and shaking and cold.

  Robert and Clarissa were in their usual places in two hooded club chairs set near the fireplace. They were perfectly and formally dressed, of course. Clara stood near the window, a drink in one hand and a tense expression on her stunning face.

  Robert stood as they entered and said, “Well, there you are. We were getting worried that we would have to wait for dinner.”

  It was exactly one minute to seven. Hope said, “Of course not. Jackson, these are my parents, Robert and Clarissa, and this is my sister, Clara.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Jackson said, but his tone was subdued and his hand still holding hers tightened around her fingers just a tiny bit, giving away his own nerves.

  She knew he felt out of place. Hell, she felt out of place there. She should never have asked him, she thought miserably.

  Jackson gathered himself up though. He stepped forward, and said, “I brought wine. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Robert took the bottle even though Jackson had extended it toward Clarissa. “I do not,” Robert said with a wintry smile. “This is a wonderful vintage, and very thoughtful.”

  The housekeeper stuck her head back in to announce seating was ready.

  They followed the others into the massive dining room, the table all set with formal place settings and a plethora of silver and crystal. Robert handed off the bottle and they sat.

  Silence spun out, thick and weighted.

  Robert asked, “So tell us again what it is that you do Jackson.”

  “Not much right now.” His smile was wide. “I am retired in a way, but I am slowly starting to seek out new opportunities.”

  Uh oh. Hope wanted to cover her head because she could see what was coming, and she knew she should have warned him.

  Robert’s eyebrows went up. “Oh? A bit young to be retired, aren’t you?”

  “Not when I just sold my gaming platform to MetaWorks.

  Robert leaned back, a look of greediness on his face. “I read about that deal. One of the largest in history as I recall.”

  Hope did not dare look over at Jackson. She barely dared to breathe.

  Jackson spoke casually. “That is what they tell me, but history is not fully written yet, so I bet someone will get a bigger deal sometime in the future.”

  Robert toyed with his water glass. His eyes sharpened. “As I understand, you had already sold a very successful…er…”

  “App,” Jackson supplied.

  His voice was smooth. Hope could not tell if Robert was irritating or angering Jackson just yet, and she began to sweat lightly.

  “App,” Robert said. “Interesting. You should consider investing that money and soon, if you have not already.’

  “I have not,” Jackson returned calmly. “I have not quite decided what I want to do with it to be honest.’

  Now Robert was all animation. “You should talk to him, Clara. That girl there – she is a financial genius. Hell, if I could afford her, I would be on her client list.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle that had a savage edge below it. “She is one of the best in the business, and I have to tell you, going with her would make sure you got a good return and made money, too.”

  “Thanks,” Jackson said.

  Hope found air and dragged it into her lungs. Her leg pressed against Jackson’s as she tried to communicate her regret and apologies.

  The maid appeared with the starter course, a thin and clear soup laden with finely chopped herbs. Hope picked up her spoon but could not manage a single bite. Jackson was eating his though, and she took that as a good sign even if it wasn’t.

  Her eyes went to his fingers. The hands that could drive her crazy in bed and create programs beyond anything she had been able to imagine. God, she loved those hands, and she was beginning to think that she loved him, but she just was not sure how he felt about her or how long that love could last if she made a breakthrough in her research.

  Clara asked, “How are things at the lab?’

  Hope said, “Good. Great in fact. Jackson here created a program that will make research so much easier. Well, it will free up a lot of the time of my staff and give me the ability to see the larger picture and present a more cohesive plan to the grant board.”

  Robert set his spoon down on the plate below his soup bowl. A frown marred his forehead. “I cannot believe you are still clinging to that plan. I keep telling you to get out of that college research lab and into a company lab. You need the money that would give you, God knows, and it would be nice to be able to tell our friends that you’re finally meeting your potential.”

  Clara said, “Dad, she’s happy there, and it sounds like she’s–”

  Robert interrupted. “Happiness will not buy you a home, and let’s face it, Hope, so far you have not even made enough money to afford the things that everyone should have. You are getting older and you have got to start thinking of your future.”

  “I am thinking of a lot of people’s futures.” The words were soft but firm. “I want to help people, not corporations. I don’t want to be a part in a faceless machine that cares only for its bottom line.”

  Robert shook his head. “I have no idea how you came about such nonsense. It must have been inherited from your father. Your mother here had good sense.’

  The words stung despite her having heard them so often.

  Robert appealed to Jackson, “Do you think she should try for something far grander in scale?’

  “I think she has a rather grand plan as it is,” Jackson returned in a biting tone. His leg met hers and she found a shaky breath. Jackson added, “Besides, as long as she is happy, I do not see why it matters.”

  Did he mean it?

  From the start of their relationship, Hope had always worried that Jackson would one day find her work to be worthless. That he would think, like her father, that she was wasting her time trying to help people instead of trying to help herself.

  Robert shook his head. “Now see that is what I do not understand. Did you know that when I met Clarissa she was living in a tiny rental house and working two jobs just to make ends meet? It was a dead end, and I think we can all agree to that. Now she has everything she could ever want and need. Her first husband was a man who wanted to do what only made him happy, and look where that left you and her, Hope.”

  Her face burned. Her eyes went to her mother but Clarissa, as usual, sat impervious and calm. How in the hell could she do that? The constant belittling of the life she had had before she married Robert should have enraged Clarissa, but she seemed to take it as what she owed for having been given the amazing opportunity to be a rich man’s trophy wife.

  Anger simmered and roiled in Hope’s heart. She said, “My father believed very much in what he did.”

  To Jackson, Robert said, “He was a musician. Go figure. Hope, I am only trying to get you to see that you have to do better for yourself. I mean…well, let’s not beat around the bush here. You should want to be as successful as the rest of your family.

  “Take Clara for instance. She made nearly a million dollars this year, and she is set to make that next year, and she is the youngest person in her firm. And a woman. That is because she has applied herself most diligently.”

  “Dad, Hope applies herself, too. Just in a different way, and can we not discuss my salary in company, please?” Clara’s voice was filled with the same resignation it always held at these stuffy and awful dinners.

  The second course arrived – a grilled chicken breast served with steamed vegetables and new potatoes. Hope did not even bother picking up her fork.

  Tears wanted to come, but she held them back thanks to years of practice. How her mother had married that ogre was beyond her. How she put up with being belittled and scoffed at every single day of her life was beyond Hope, too, but Clarissa did it. Hope had escaped as fast as possible, but every single month she came back here just to be put through this misery, and for what? Why? Why i
n the hell did she do this to herself, and why had she invited Jackson to come along and be a partner in the misery?

  Well, that last bit was easy to answer. She had hoped his being there would make Robert back off of her. That had most certainly not happened, however.

  11

  WHAT THE FUCK kind of freak show had he walked into? Jackson was angrier than he had been in a very long time as the plate of chicken and vegetables met the table in front of him.

  Hope’s stepdad was not just an asshole. The guy was a sadist. Jackson had been around enough bullies in his younger life – having been tormented by most of them – to know a bully when he saw one, and Robert was a bully. A well-dressed, rich bully, but a bully all the same.

  And her mother! Jesus Christ!

  His mom had had her problems. God knew she had had her problems, but even when she was at her worst levels of addiction, she would never have let someone talk to him like Robert was talking to Hope.

  It was like Hope’s mom was willing to just sit there and take whatever she had to – and for what? So she could eat off fine china and sit at a table that would have easily seated three dozen people in a house so ugly and gaudy that it could have made the cover of Tacky House magazine?

  Even his house, as big as it was, was not like that monstrosity he currently sat in. To compound matters, he remembered all too clearly that decorator that Dawson had sent out to his house saying that there were two kind of rich people: those who thought expensive meant good taste, and those who knew better. It seemed her parents fell into the former category, because all the things that decorator had declared forbidden were on full display there in that house.

  He knew Robert had grown up in some small town in another state and had made his own fortune, and he could respect that, but there was no way he could respect or even like a man who was a bully, and who was willing to bully the people in his own home.

  Jackson had an almost unholy urge to slug the bastard right in his nose just to shut him up.