Chapter 3
three
. . .
Maci
I’m tired of rejection.
Letter #50 Glitch
Sometimes the door doesn't open because you knock. Sometimes it opens because you finally believed you belonged on the other side.
Letter #51 Rune
You’re so much more eloquent in letters. Why?
The crack of a bat echoes across the park followed by cheers from the packed bleachers. Tyler rounds second like he's already won the College Baseball Championships.
To be fair, the regional championship game is tied in the bottom of the seventh, and my little brother has just driven a ball deep enough to score the winning run.
The crowd loses its mind, and my father nearly launches himself over the railing. Since Lauren had a soccer match out of state, Mom grabs me, jumping up and down.
Tyler pumps his fist before pointing toward the stands as if thousands of people showed up specifically to watch him.
Which, according to Tyler, they probably did.
The game ends minutes later in a celebration of screaming teammates, flying hats, and enough testosterone to power a small city.
An hour later we're gathered at the team picnic in the park.
Every folding table is buried beneath food, coolers, and half-empty trays as players, families, girlfriends, and friends spill across the grass.
Parents pose for pictures with their sons, everyone still riding the high of the win that punched their ticket to Iowa for the championship round.
Tyler and his teammates have turned one corner of the celebration into their own social media studio, passing the trophy from player to player while someone films them reenacting the game.
Players relive every inning as if nobody had witnessed it themselves.
The park is buzzing with activity and somehow I still feel alone.
Not lonely—there's a difference.
I love my family and love this town.
But while everyone else discusses batting averages, college scholarships, and next season's roster, my mind drifts toward software architecture problems I haven't solved yet.
A retention system I've been sketching.
A community engagement loop that could improve player interaction.
Three bugs buried inside a prototype that have been irritating me for nearly a week that I want ready to show in case I get an interview with Synatrix.
None of those are conversations I can have here because nobody understands them.
And that's okay, mostly.
"You're doing the thing again."
I glance up to find Chase dropping onto the empty picnic bench beside me, one leg swinging over the seat like he belongs there.
His dark sunglasses hide his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tips upward, which makes the accusation feel less like a question and more like proof he’s already convicted me.
"What thing?"
He rests his forearms on the table and angles his head toward me. "The staring-into-space-while-mentally-building-something thing."
"I'm not building something."
He says nothing. Just waits. It is deeply unfair how effective silence can be when used by someone attractive. "And we lost her," he says at last.
I blink. "Lost who?"
"You." His grin spreads. "You're talking in code again."
A laugh slips out before I can stop it, mostly because he’s not wrong and partially because he says it like being strange is interesting instead of inconvenient.
Especially then.
He leans a little closer, lowering his voice as if we’re discussing a secret play instead of whatever disaster is happening inside my brain. "What are you working on?"
I launch into an explanation before I can stop myself.
Five minutes later I'm using a ketchup bottle, three napkins, and a paper plate to explain player retention psychology.
Most people would've walked away after thirty seconds, but Chase nods like I'm discussing something fascinating. Because to him, apparently, I am.
"That's actually brilliant."
Heat creeps into my cheeks. "You're just saying that."
"No. I have absolutely no clue what half those words mean, but you lit up talking about it."
Something in my chest softens.
That's the thing about Chase. He doesn't need to understand everything. He just makes me feel understood.
My phone vibrates against the table. Unknown number. But it does have the location on the screen, Austin, TX. Not that it means anything. Plenty of scammers ghost phone numbers all the time.
I stare at it too long and the call drops. A few seconds later it rings again.
Chase glances down. "You gonna answer that?"
"Probably spam."
"I don’t think spammers call back immediately,” he says with a sly smile.
I sigh and stand before walking a few feet away from the crowd. "Hello?"
"Is this Maci Hart?"
My stomach tightens. "Yes."
"Hi, Maci. This is Dara calling from Synatrix Global Interactive."
Everything around me goes quiet. I no longer hear the laughter or the conversations happening around me. All of it fades.
"We received your application for the Creative Strategist position."
My pulse kicks harder.
"Oh."
Professional. Sound professional, not like the woman who spent half the night rereading the job posting.
Not like the woman who almost didn't apply.
Not like the woman who recognizes Synatrix as one of the most influential gaming companies in the world.
"Oh?"
She laughs softly. "We'd like to schedule a phone interview with the current lead developer, and you’ll need to fill out our technical assessment form."
I grip the phone tighter. "Absolutely."
"Wonderful. Also, Mr. O'Ryan reviewed your application personally."
The words hit me strangely. Mr. O'Ryan. Everyone in gaming knows the name, although he’s not one to be in the spotlight.
Witt O'Ryan.
Founder.
CEO.
Legend.
The man practically built a digital empire from his bedroom. Other than that, he stays out of the spotlight. Doesn’t talk much of the games he played that inspired him. He’s a bit of a mystery.
For a second I forget how to breathe.
"He... reviewed it?"
"He did. And if the other phases of the process go smoothly, you’ll interview with him personally the following week."
A thousand questions race through my head.
Instead, I manage, "Thank you."
The phone interview is scheduled for Monday, and she asks that I fill out the form tonight, so that their team has ample time to look over it and prepare their questions.
When the call ends, I stare at the dark screen in my hand. I think my life just changed.
"Maci?"
I turn to find my entire family and Chase staring at me.
Apparently walking away from a celebration to answer a mysterious phone call has attracted attention.
Tyler narrows his eyes. "Was that a boyfriend?" he asks, arching one brow.
“No,” I bark out a laugh.
Even though Chase and I aren’t dating and haven’t even kissed, Tyler shouldn’t have said it.
Mom immediately stands. "Was it a job?
"Maybe."
“I don’t know why you’re not happy where you are. It’s a Fortune 500 company with stock options and retirement. Jobs like that are hard to come by,” she says, instantly making me defensive.
Dad straightens. "What kind of maybe?"
"The interview kind." And within seconds I'm surrounded. Questions fly from every direction.
Where?
What position?
When?
Are they paying travel expenses?
How long?
What company?
When I finally say Synatrix Global Interactive, the entire table goes quiet.
Even Tyler.
"Wait," he says. "The gaming company?"
"Yes."
"The giant gaming and streaming company?"
"Still yes."
His eyes widen.
"Does this mean you'll finally make a game where I can hit home runs?"
I roll my eyes. "You already think you're the main character."
"Because I am, Mace."
Several people laugh. Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand. I guess since it’s still a big company, it makes her happy. Dad's smile couldn't be bigger if I'd won the lottery. I’ve finally impressed them.
But it's Chase who catches my attention. He's standing a few feet away, watching me. Proud. Like he expected this all along.
When our eyes meet, he gives me a single nod. The kind that says:
See? I told you.
The knot that has lived in my chest for months loosens slightly. Because maybe I can do this. Maybe I belong somewhere bigger than this town. Maybe I've always belonged in Austin, two hours away.
Later that night, I sit on the edge of my bed in my noiseless house. No more baseball or interview celebrations so I open my computer and fill out the assessment and reality settles in.
Austin. Synatrix. Witt O'Ryan, the GOAT of gaming.
The future suddenly feels terrifyingly real.
My gaze drifts toward the nightstand, toward the drawer. I already know what's inside. I slowly pull it open and the unfinished letter waits exactly where I left it.
The envelope.
The folded pages.
The words I couldn't bring myself to start, much less finish.
I unfold the first page, and the old ache rises before I can stop it.
I don't finish the letter.
I don't wad it up or throw it away.
I just place it back in the drawer and slide it shut, letting a long exhale escape.
For the first time, closing that drawer doesn’t feel like giving up. It feels like standing in the quiet after one door shuts, waiting to see what opens next.
My phone lights up against the nightstand.
Technical Assessment received. Interview Monday confirmed.
SGI must have an automated process that works at any time of day, and I would expect nothing else.
Too excited to sleep, I work on getting all the lingering architecture plans that need to be completed for my current company.
Why?
Because things are about to change.
I believe.