Chapter 34
CHAPTER 34
OLIVE
“ W hich way?” Liam calls out, and I point in the direction the reindeer ran.
Christmas Tree Row is immediately crowded, something I’m equal parts thrilled about and frustrated by. If we could’ve had ten extra minutes, we might’ve been able to take care of this issue before we let people in.
“You guys go up that way.” Liam tells the teenagers, pointing in the direction of the trees behind the row of booths. “There’s a taller fence that way, maybe we can corner them there. I’ll see if I can head them off on the other end!”
The kids start up the hill, and I absently think they are both going to be completely useless in helping corral these reindeer.
They’re massive. Like discount moose.
Liam tosses a quick glance in my direction, then turns to go.
“Wait!” I call after him. “I’m coming with you!”
“Are you nuts? These things could knock over a car!”
I don’t listen and jog up next to him. He starts to protest again, and I shoot him a look.
He shakes his head, losing the silent argument, and we race into the trees toward the cut-your-own lots. Liam stops abruptly, and I see a downed tree in our path along with a few others splayed to the side. He turns toward me and holds out his hand to help me over it. I stop and look at it, then at him. He doesn’t say a word, yet the look on his face communicates plenty.
I slip my hand in his and gingerly step over the fallen tree, then drop his hand and pick up the pace again. In the distance, I see one of the reindeer. The way it runs, it almost looks like it’s just happy to be out of its pen and taking its human friends on a little jaunt.
“There!” I point in the direction of the animal, and we follow it.
“Look, Olive,” Liam says, still walking fast. “Can we talk?”
“We’re catching reindeer.”
“I know, but—” He stops moving, grabs my hand, and turns me to face him, then promptly stops talking.
Classic Liam.
“What you said—” I snap my jaw shut, then force myself to go on. “I’m going to make this quick because there are more important things happening right now.”
“Yeah.”
“What you said really sucked.”
“I know.”
“It hurt my feelings.”
“I know.”
“It made me want to throw darts at your picture.”
“You have a picture?” He frowns.
“No. But I could find one,” I say, chin out, trying to make my point.
“Okay . . .” he says.
My shoulders drop, and he quirks a brow, a silent truce passing between us. It’s that moment in an argument where you sense that everything will be okay .
“You’re not a cruel person, Liam,” I say. “But that was a cruel thing to say.”
He takes me by the arms and levels my gaze. “It was. And I’m sorry. But there’s a lot going on here that you don’t understand.”
A huge crrraaack followed by a crash come from our left, fifty yards away, and we both snap our heads in that direction.
We start moving that way, quickly.
I’m slightly out of breath, but we still need to talk. “Okay, so tell me.”
He turns and frowns at me, not slowing down. “Now? You want to do this now?”
Our boots crunch sticks and snow and dead leaves, and there’s a guttural hoot mixed with a grunt up ahead.
“Yes. We’re chasing animals that outweigh us by a few hundred pounds, in a tree farm that’s most likely closing, but yeah. Now.”
He stops abruptly and holds up a hand, forcing me to stop as well. He silently points up ahead, and I see the head of one of the reindeer, shaking from side to side, setting off the bells.
He brings a finger to his lips, letting me know to keep quiet. He whispers, “I don’t like talking, you know that.”
“Well, get over it,” I whisper-shout back at him.
We crouch and creep a bit closer.
“Fine,” he whispers. “What do you want to know?”
We hunker down near a row of trees, and I take him by the shoulders, turning him toward me.
“I want to know everything,” I say. “I want to know about your job and your game design and your life and your thoughts and your feelings. I want to know what happened that changed your impression of this place that you used to love so much, and I want to know why you won’t fight to keep it.” My shoulders drop like someone just unplugged a cork and let the air out. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me.”
He shakes his head and blows out a hot breath, steamy in the cold air. “You want to know the truth?” He looks at me. “You want to know about my job and about this place and my life?”
“Yes.”
He inhales slowly. “It sucks. All of it.”
I go still. I forget the market and the reindeer. I forget everything except this moment right here. This moment feels critical.
He sits on the ground, brushing the pine needles off his jeans, then takes his hat off and rubs his hair.
“I made a game. In college. I didn’t think it was going to be anything, I just did it for fun. But it turned out to be really, really good. I knew it was. I was sure of it. I felt like I was going to be one of those guys who did the whole thing himself.
“And along came Arcadia. I know you don’t know about them, but when it comes to mobile gaming, they’re it. They’re huge. They have some of the biggest games out there, and people like me would sell their left kidney just to be an intern there.
“They contacted me. I don’t know how they heard about it, but they wanted my game. That was more than I could’ve ever dreamed. They would distribute it, and in return, they’d give me some money and set me up with a job—no matter what. I have job security for the next ten years, developing with them.”
My eyes go wide.
“The payout covered all of my student loans, and that game, Castle Crusade —” He looks away and laughs, sardonically— “Sounds so stupid to say it out loud. I mean, it’s a game.”
I frown. “It’s not stupid.”
He looks back at me. “I was a kid and didn’t understand what I was signing.”
I wrap my arms around my knees, listening.
“I gave away all ownership and copyright to the game. I don’t own it. It’s no longer mine.”
“Oh my gosh.” I want to reach for him, but I hold back. His frown deepens .
“Yeah. It gets better. There was also a clause in my contract that said they also have the exclusive rights to all merchandise. I don’t get a dime for T-shirts or Funko Pops or the deal with LEGO. And it’s crappy, but they do have the rights to develop any sequels to Castle Crusade , whether I’m working on it or not.”
I feel horrible for him right now. I had no idea. I’m guessing no one does.
“A sequel’s in development. It’s my idea. My characters. My storyline. And I’m not working on it.” His pained eyes meet mine.
“They can’t do that,” I say, knowing full well that I have nothing but emotion to back up that claim.
“Turns out they can,” he says. “They can’t fire me, but they said they needed me on a different game. Didn’t ask what I wanted—just moved me.”
“Oh, Liam,” I say on an exhale.
“Yeah, so, you’re not the only one who knows a little something about failing,” he says.
I try to think of something, anything I can do or say that will help, but I come up empty.
“I hate my job, Olive,” he admits. “I haven’t said that out loud to anyone, not even to myself.” He goes quiet for a few seconds before going on. “I traded Castle Crusade for this job, and I hate it.” He shakes his head. “And other people would kill for it. Do you know how hard it is to get a job at Arcadia? At any big video game company?”
The question feels rhetorical, so I don’t respond.
“It would be crazy to give that up.” He shakes his head.
“Not if you hate it,” I say. “If you hate it, it would be crazy not to.”
“It’s the dream,” he says. “My dream come true—” He laughs, unamused— “and I hate it. I don’t want it anymore.”
I press my lips together. I don’t want to be that person who takes someone else’s problem and relates it back to myself, but if anyone understands this—it’s me. Because my dream blew up in my face. And I’m still paying for it. Literally.
But when our eyes meet, I see that he already knows that, even without me saying a word.
“And the farm?” I ask. “What happened?”
He looks out in the distance. “It’s dumb.”
“Feelings aren’t dumb.”
“I don’t like feelings,” he says.
“This is shocking,” I say, feigning surprise.
“The move.” He shakes his head so slightly I almost miss it. “It took me away from everything I loved. From my baseball team and my house and my school and my friends—” he looks at me— “and you.” He shakes his head. “My dad assumed this would be my future, and he never let up. Everything I did from the time I was thirteen was run through the filter of what the farm needed from me. I was expected to be here, to do this, to take up the family business. I missed out on internships. I missed out on time with my friends. I didn’t do anything except work here.” He sighs. “I should’ve been grateful, but I wasn’t. I resented it. I don’t like having my future dictated to me. Selfish, right?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I understand wanting to choose your own life. I mean, you’re not Prince William.”
He laughs. “Thankfully.”
“But aren’t they telling you what to do at Arcadia?” I ask carefully. “Isn’t your future still being dictated by somebody else?”
He sighs, and it’s obvious he hasn’t made that connection until now.
“Nobody’s telling you what to do about the farm now.” I reach for his hand. “This place, it is special. It’s magical. But our memories don’t change even if it goes away. So if they decide to let it go, then aren’t we the luckiest to have had such a charmed childhood? ”
He nods.
“Maybe . . .” I look away.
“What?”
“Maybe I don’t want to let go of Pine Creek because it means letting go of you,” I say. “How’s that for selfish?” I laugh to myself. “And Lacey’s plan, you’re right, it was crazy, and I got her hopes up, but—I got my hopes up too. I know it was dumb, but?—”
Before I can finish, I feel something wet drip on my cheek.
We both look up, and right over our heads is the oversized, drooling face of a reindeer.
I had forgotten all about it.
I immediately tense up, having an animal this huge this close to me, but it’s just calmly chewing, softly grunting, and acting like all of this is completely normal. Almost like it wants in on the conversation.
Liam puts a hand on my knee, holds the other one up in warning, then gently reaches up and takes a hold of the leather strap hanging from the reindeer’s bridle.
We slowly stand. The reindeer shakes his head back and forth, standing near us, calmly, like a pet.
I reach out and put a hand on its head, in the space between its enormous antlers, and give it a scratch. It leans into me, liking it, pushing me slightly.
I look at Liam, and he looks back at me and shrugs. “I guess we caught the reindeer.”
We head back toward the lot where Manny built the pen, leading the reindeer by the strap, who is more than content to follow.
Maybe, like us, he’s had enough of an adventure for the day . . . and it’s not even ten in the morning.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” Liam says as we trudge through the rows of trees. “As soon as I said it, I wanted to take it back. ”
I meet his eyes. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”
“Good.”
“And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Lacey’s plan sooner,” I say. “Actually, I’m not sorry about that. She asked me not to, and I didn’t want to betray her trust.”
He nods. “I get it.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I say. “It doesn’t sound like the council wants the city involved, so if she can’t find private investors, the plan dies.”
He stops, and the reindeer stops behind him. With his free hand, he takes my gloved hand and kisses it. “Can we not fight again?”
The big animal snuffs a breath behind us.
I move closer and press my body against his, wrapping my arms around his back. “If we never fight again, then we never get to make up.”
His smile is wicked as he goes in for a kiss, and I surrender to it, because I missed it—and I missed him. Because he said something thoughtless and apologized and I want to put it behind us, not hold onto it and let it ruin something good or wreck me inside.
Mid-kiss he’s yanked away from me because he still has his hand in the strap attached to a four-hundred-pound animal, that seems to be getting bored.
He laughs as the reindeer yanks again. “Okay, okay, fine,” he says to the reindeer, “I got it. We’ll go, it’s weird kissing in front of you, anyway.”
I smile as we start walking again.
“I didn’t have ‘catch a loose reindeer’ on my to-do list today,” I say.
“It’s always an adventure with you.” He gives the reindeer a tug. “Let’s get this guy back.”
We fall into step next to each other, tracing our path back the way we came. Liam takes my free hand in his. “What are you thinking about?”
“You set up my booth,” I say. “Thank you.”
He nods, then looks at me. “You shouldn’t be making coffee. You should be making art.”
I glance at him. “I’m starting to think that just because something doesn’t go the way you want it to, if you learn from it, it’s not really a failure.”
“And what if something doesn’t go the way you want it to, and you’re just not sure you want it anymore?” he asks.
“Also not a failure,” I say with a shrug. “Life moves us at the speed its supposed to.”
“Do you really believe that?” he asks.
I squeeze his hand. “I really do.”