Chapter Forty Five
I’ve made two startling discoveries in the past forty-eight hours.
First, the whole outside world thing isn’t as bad as I previously thought.
From the art studios where I’ve made excuses for Meg’s absence, to the lacrosse pitch where the team were surprisingly open to my teaching technique.
All I did was stand beside the Coach and repeat the instructions he was whispering into my ear, but the players seemed to appreciate my manners.
Samson, please pick up your feet. You look like a minotaur with a limp.
Danny, do try to stay out of Mitchell’s way. You’re too pretty for another shoulder to the face.
Claire, looking stunning out there. The sweat sheen is practically glowing against your skin.
All very well received, and I’ve even been invited to join the jocks for drinks later. I made my excuses of course, as I have a whole one-man pretense to keep up, but it’s nice to feel wanted. That brings me to discovery number two.
I’m a fucking incredible boyfriend. Top tier, award-worthy, the best. I mean, who else would reserve every other room in a motel so their girl had to be in bed with her most hated rival, and then sext her into a frenzy?
This guy, that’s who. Everest wanted to see where Meg’s desires lie, and I won’t win by default.
I’ll give her every chance to explore, and wait to see where her head and heart is at when she gets back.
Also, in the name of being the best, I unlock the door to Meg’s dorm, tossing her keys and my phone on the desk before setting down a paper bag. I’ve already delivered a matching one to Everest’s study, talking to the empty walls with stern words just in case anyone was listening.
It was easier than I thought to infiltrate the infamous Calloway frat house, telling Everest’s boys that he has the flu and that he’s ordered them all to fuck off. They either weren’t that concerned or just really wanted a day off from his rule, because they all practically ran down the driveway.
Wriggling out of my zip hoodie and tossing it on her bed, I settle into Meg’s desk chair.
I swing in a full circle before switching on her computer and pulling the contents of the bag free.
The scent of potato and leek fills my senses, the takeaway cup of soup warm in my hands.
It’s not exactly Michelin star dining, but it’s all part of the ruse.
You see, Meg and Everest have been struck down with a particularly nasty illness, poor little mites.
A stomach bug that is expelling itself out of both ends, and me being the selfless soul that I am, have taken it upon myself to be their only contact until the infections have passed.
Not that anyone else has offered, although my descriptions of their ailments were rather graphic.
Just like yesterday, I did my rounds this morning.
Strategically placed appearances, a few well-timed comments, even a brief stop by the cafeteria where I made a point of loudly complaining about how Meg refused to see a doctor despite looking worse than death.
The spreading rumors did the rest. People love a bit of drama, even when it’s just the flu.
Propping a foot up on the edge of the desk, I blow lightly across the surface of the soup before taking a careful sip.
The computer hums quietly as it powers up, and I open Runeborn when it does.
With all this time to waste and no way to contact Meg, I might as well work on powering up her avatar.
It’s just like my mom used to say. Dedos ociosos s?o para o trabalho do diabo. Idle fingers are the devil's work.
Beyond the window, voices and laughter filter from across campus.
My gaze sweeps across the dark sky, a sense of melancholy setting in.
Now that the day is over and my role as a cheery distraction is no longer needed, I’m able to give space to what I’ve been suppressing since the moment I woke up.
Nerves curdle in my gut, the soup doing little to ease them once they’ve started fluttering around in there.
She’ll be fine. If anything, should a problem arise, I have no doubt it’ll be Everest screaming like a little bitch and Meg carrying him to safety.
Soup set aside, I set on equipping Meg’s avatar with a full set of armor, attempting to distract myself from the soul that’s missing from the room.
Being surrounded by Meg’s smell, Meg’s things, Meg’s space, reminds me how much I miss her.
How much I hate not knowing where exactly she is and if she’s okay.
My eyes slide towards my phone. It shouldn’t be too much longer before I hear from one of them now.
They might have been out of contact since this morning, but I’ve routinely hacked road cams along the route to check they were making good time.
Then, once I’d found them, I wiped the surveillance footage, thus strengthening all of our alibis.
Once Laura is back and safe, we can start building a narrative on how she escaped before tipping off the police on Harrison’s location.
He’ll be arrested, Laura and Meg can sleep easy, and my hard drives survive another day without being investigated.
I shudder at the thought. One warrant and one person tech fluent will have me strung up for a long list of fraud, blackmail, system breaches, identity spoofing, and then some.
No thanks. Not after finally stepping out from behind the screen and realizing I quite like existing in the real world.
Luckily, Meg and Everest are on the case and with my preparations, nothing can go wrong.
Leaning back in the chair, I drag a blanket around my shoulders and settle in for a long night.
Meg’s been slacking on her game, her XP far too low to level up anytime this century.
That’s where Thiago the Heroic comes in.
Donning the headset, I flex my fingers over the keyboard, drowning out the rest of reality as I begin methodically working on the side quests that have been abandoned halfway through.
The glow of the screen washes over me, the familiar music pulling me into a trance.
It’s just like the good old days, except there’s not a crusty tube sock on the floor and no coffee machine in reach. Memo to self, get Meg a coffee machine.
Click after click, I defeat goblins and steal their loot, packing out Meg’s inventory with a faint smile.
She’s going to be so impressed the next time she logs in.
The harpies present a bit of a challenge, given Meg’s knack for rushing through the storyline without leveling up, but I know their weaknesses.
Strike, duck, slash, defeat. It’s all so predictable, unlike what’s happening out there with her.
My jaw tightens at the thought, fingers pausing for just a fraction of a second before I force them to move again, faster this time.
She’s a big, brave girl, she could take on the entire world if she had the desire to.
Rolling my shoulders, I queue up the next upgrade, bringing my focus back to the screen.
I grind out a few more levels, clean up her stats, and let the illusion of normality settle back in.
Right up until a sudden, aggressive banging crashes against the door hard enough to bleed through the headphones. I freeze mid-click, eyes narrowing as the sound hits again, louder this time. Slipping the headset aside, I frown at the wood rattling on its hinges.
“Tech nerd, I know you’re in there!” A voice booms, somewhat enraged. Tilting my head towards the door, I stare at the shadow looming beneath the frame. Surely the jocks didn’t want me to join them for drink this badly?
Slowly, I slide the headset down on the desk, the muffled sounds of the game fading into the background as I push up from the chair, dragging the blanket tighter around my shoulders. Opening the door with a lazy flick of my wrist, I stare upon the man who has so rudely interrupted my gaming time.
“Reid, isn’t it?” I greet, leaning casually against the frame.
I act as if I haven’t done a deep dive into his history, although there wasn’t much to note.
No social media, nothing relating to his past before his stint in rehab.
If anything, I would go as far to say Reid Wilder isn’t even his real name.
Before me, he doesn’t move aside from the rigid rise and fall of his shoulders in time with his labored breathing.
Up close, he’s taller than I expected, biceps tense beneath a long sleeved flannel shirt that covers his tattoos.
There’s paint smudged faintly along his knuckles, a trace of ink smudged on his cheek as if he was in a fight with his canvas.
His white hair is flattened by a beanie hat, flicking out at the edges.
All he needs is a skateboard and he’d be the epitome of every punk-rock music video.
Keeping his storm-gray eyes fixed on me as if I’ve personally offended his existence just by being here, his nostrils flare.
“What are you up to?”
“Up to?” I echo back, raising a brow as I glance into the room and then back at him.
“Can’t a guy use his girlfriend’s room to eat soup and level up her inventory?
” I gesture loosely over my shoulder toward the glowing screen where the avatar stands frozen in place.
There’s no use pretending Meg is here, not that I know what business it is of his.
Reid’s gaze doesn’t bother to slide past me, as he appears to already have the answers he was seeking.
“I’ve been trailing you all day,” he accuses, his jaw tightening.
“First you pick up Meg’s coursework, then you lead a lacrosse practice, drop off food at the Calloway place and now you’re here.
So I ask again, what the fuck are you up to?
” I blink once, then let out a low whistle, sinking my shoulder further into the doorframe.