Chapter 22
JACKSON
When she answers the door in shorts and a T, no bra, I almost lose it. She’ll never stop having this effect on me, instant lust, hunger, physical need. I almost drop the photo album that’s tucked under my arm.
“Are you trying to drive me nuts?” I say, sweeping one arm around her waist and pulling her in for a hug.
She clings to my neck and presses her lips against mine. I return with added pressure, passion boiling through me. My body responding. Hard. Fast.
I take a step back, smirking when she gives me a knowing smile. Light in her eyes, despite the emotion clinging to her. She takes my hand and leads me toward the staircase.
The doorman nods to us as we walk by him. Another failure point. What if he says something? Did he recognize me? I’m getting tired of this. But I’m not going to push her.
If it blows up, it blows up. We’ll deal with the aftershocks together.
Her apartment is as adorably nerdy as I expected it to be.
She’s got two Stormtroopers standing guard on both sides of a display cabinet with figurines from our physical media line.
I approach, looking at the Empire’s Fall pieces, the goblins, the elves, the spell weavers, the demons, and dozens of other fantasy creatures.
“It’s like looking at the past twenty years of my life,” I say in wonder.
“Your game has touched so many people,” she says warmly, laying her head against my arm as we study the pieces.
“What class did Noah play?” I ask.
“He was a fighter right until the end,” she says, sounding pleased I asked.
“So—a warrior?”
“Of course,” she says. She nods at the album under my arm. “Did you just happen to have that in the office?”
“It’s always there,” I reply. “It’s where I spend most of my time, so it makes sense.”
“Thirsty?”
“Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
We sit in her living room, which has two medieval-style tapestries hanging from its tall walls. I take a sip of OJ then place it on a Game of Thrones coaster, Tyrion looking smug and satisfied before I cover his face.
“Can I see?” she asks, gesturing at the album again.
I swallow. Almost don’t tell her… but I have to. “I’ve never shown these to anyone else. Not even Pete.”
“He’s your closest friend?”
“My only friend,” I reply honestly. “Somewhere along the way, I think I even pushed him away. When the bottom line replaced the passion, and money started corrupting everything.” I shake my head. “Listen to me—people would kill to have what I have.”
“Maybe if they didn’t know the full extent of it,” she murmurs.
I move closer to her, her legs brushing mine. I stare at her tempting thighs for too long, struggling to be a gentleman, to maintain control. I’m not here to jump her bones but to offer emotional support.
“I should’ve shaved, I know,” she mutters.
“How would I know if you’ve shaved or not?”
She tilts her head at me, then laughs. “Um, you were staring?”
“I was looking at your legs, beautiful, at how perfect they are. Thinking how difficult it is for me to sit here and not move my hands up, squeeze, massage, until I’m at your perfect pussy and I can feel how wet you are for me. Only for me.”
I’m shaking, getting dangerously close to unhinged.
She straightens her legs. “Look. Don’t you see these little black dots?”
I lean forward. “Yeah. Now that you mention it. I wouldn’t have otherwise, though. Don’t tell me you were getting self-conscious about that.”
“A little,” she admits.
I put my hand on her thigh, then slide down toward her knees, then past, bending at the hip so I can rub over her shins then back up to her knees and toward her crotch. “Nothing wrong from where I’m sitting.”
She looks at me with heat in her eyes. Wide, hungry. I know she wants it as badly as I do. She’s probably been thinking about it just as much as I have, that wild episode in the office.
“Be good,” she whimpers.
“Easier over text,” I tell her.
She reaches over and takes the photo album from my hand. “Can I?”
I nod, swallowing a lump of emotion.
I wrap my arm around her, holding her close as she flicks through the pages.
She doesn’t comment on every photo, which I’m grateful for.
The early ones are of my mother soon after giving birth to me, sweaty and glowing and happy.
Then, a couple pages later, I’m a toddler, and she’s got that darkness in her eyes.
“What happened?” Dakota murmurs.
“If you look at a photo and she looks miserable, it’s because my father was home from work. If she looks halfway human, he was away.”
“I’m so sorry, Jack,” she says.
I kiss her on the cheek. “Beautiful, at least we got a break from our monster.”
“Still—it’s awful.”
I shrug. “People have had it worse.”
“Hey, you told me not to downplay my emotions. The same goes for you.”
I look into her eyes, frank, assessing, and understanding. I’ve never felt so seen, not that I’ve ever wanted to be. Empire’s Fall has been my identity for years, the slice of me I’m willing to show the world. With Dakota, it’s different.
“Fair,” I admit.
“Fair,” she echoes, imitating my grumpy voice.
I chuckle and nudge her playfully. “I don’t sound that grim.”
“Hmm,” she says, laughing again. She flips some more pages, then gasps when she sees the picture of Mom standing outside her jewelry business. “She looks so happy. So proud.”
I blink, getting misty-eyed, before I swallow it down.
“She was. Look at her there, like a proud little girl, like nothing bad ever happened to her. I wish I could go back in time and support her more. Toward the end, she asked me to swing by after school. I said I would. Promised. But something came up. I can’t even remember what it was now, what was so important I had to stand up my mother. ”
She clings to me, holding me tightly. “Hush,” she murmurs, kissing my neck. “It’s not your fault.”
I hold her tight, then take the album from her.
“Are we done?” she asks.
“Look.” I show her the next page, which is empty. “When Mom passed, I told myself I’d fill the second half of this book with my own life. But then, well, life got in the way.”
“Life getting in the way of life,” she murmurs. “I know the feeling.”
“Maybe we can fill it,” I say.
“Yeah…” She turns away. “Maybe.”
I repress a sigh. I’m not going to push her. I can’t do that. Ever.
“Let’s see the little hero, then,” I say.
She brightens immediately. “Noah?”
“The legend who brought DakkyDuck into the streaming world.”
“I didn’t even say, did I?” she says enthusiastically. “He gave me that name too. When he was little, before we even started playing Empire—before Empire was out, I think—he said I laughed like Daphne Duck. But he said Dakky, and it stuck.”
I chuckle. “That’s great.”
She stands, walking toward her bedroom. I swallow as I stare at the thick width of her perfect ass. Calm down, bro. But I can’t. Not ever. Not with her. But wanting to jump her bones every single second doesn’t mean I’ll turn full animal. Not all the time, anyway.
“Not as fancy as yours,” she says, laughing as she waves her phone at me.
She spots my gaze going to her breasts, her nipples poking through the T as they bounce. She flushes, a secretive, seductive smile touching her lips.
“You’re easily distracted, goblin.”
“You’re very distracting.”
She sits beside me, opening her photos app. “I want to show you a video. I think you’ll appreciate it.”
I wrap my arm around her again, kissing the top of her head. “Let’s see it.”
She swipes through the favorites folder, finds it, then clicks play. A dark-haired, freckly teenage boy is sitting cross-legged on a living room floor, surrounded by Empire’s Fall figurines. They’re from the early days of our twenty-year-old game. Nostalgia hits me hard.
“Hello,” he says, enunciating his words carefully, clearly taking it seriously. My heart swells. “My name is Noah Mercer. I play a Paladin in the very gripping and enjoyable computer game, Empire’s Fall. I play with my cousin, Mara, and our best friend in the whole wide world, DakkyDuck!”
She sniffles from beside me, cuddling closer.
“This is a message to Halcyon,” he goes on, and I let out a shuddering breath. My eyes go misty again. “Thank you to everyone at Halcyon for making this interesting and challenging game. Thank you for making a whole world for me and my friends to play in. Thank you, Halcyon!”
“He loved it, Jack,” she murmurs, looking up at me with glistening eyes. Then she swipes through photos.
Noah, with one arm thrown around a woman I don’t recognize—Mara, I assume—and another around a younger, shyer version of Dakota. Then they’re at the fairground together, Noah biting into a giant ball of cotton candy. Photo after photo, showing their love, their closeness.
Then Dakota puts her phone down. “The next ones are of him in the hospital. I don’t want to look at those.”
“I understand,” I say. “I wish I could’ve met him. I wish I could’ve shown him what his favorite game became. Did he…” I pause, almost not wanting to ask it. “Did he send that video to us?”
“I’m sure you got thousands and thousands of messages back then,” she replies. “The game was just blowing up.”
And we had a tiny team for the scale of the project. Some days involved twenty-hour shifts, and sometimes it was twenty-four leading into another twenty-four, running on caffeine and vision.
“Dakota,” I say softly.
“Yeah,” she replies. “But that’s life. Not everything is clean. Or easy.”
“We know that better than most.” I hug her tighter. “How did he pass, if you don’t mind me asking? I know he was ill, but…”
“I’d prefer not to talk about that part,” she murmurs. “It was so painful. So unfair. It made me question life for a long time.”
“I know the feeling,” I tell her grimly. “Except, Noah didn’t choose to leave you.”
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
I kiss her again. “I’m sorry too, baby.”
We stay like that for a long time, as she sinks deeper and deeper into my embrace. It feels so easy when we’re like this. Just the two of us, fused together in the soft glow of her Anglerfish-styled lamp.
Soon, my eyelids begin to grow heavy. Just before sleep takes me, I hear her breathing softly beside me. It’s the happiest I’ve been in a long, long time, despite all the darkness we’ve shared. Or maybe because of it.