“You aren’t trying hard enough,” she said. “You can’t just sit in your house, playing video games. You’re not a kid, for God’s sake! You should go out, date. Get married.”
His eyes widened, and he was surprised enough to stop looking at the wall, turning to her. “Married? That’s a little excessive, isn’t it?”
She sighed, shaking her head. “Never married, never dating in college, never dating since Sheryl. At fifty.” She looked both mournful and frustrated. “People talk.”
He turned back to the wall, trying to draw a connecting line between the two x spots he’d marked. Then he took out his measuring tape, hoping that he’d gotten the right-size piece. “So let them talk?” he suggested.
A quick glance showed her scowl had deepened. “It’s a small town, Aiden,” she said. “And I have to live here.”
You know, you really don’t.
But that was not the conversation he was going to have with her now.
The thing was, she loved Fool’s Falls. Her church was here. Her friends were here. She’d scattered his father’s ashes in the Bureau of Land Management forest that he’d loved—which Aiden wasn’t quite sure was legal, but up here, folks looked the other way.
“I went to Deb’s party.” Aiden said, trying for deflection. She was nice, Deb. Not his type, but . . . nice.
His stomach knotted uneasily. She was perhaps too nice.
His mother turned down the TV, and he suppressed a groan. “So you’re dating?” she asked eagerly.
“What? No!”
The dog started dancing between his feet, which would be cute in any other circumstance, but not when he was trying to deal with heavy boards and a drill, especially as someone not very handy.
“Stop that, Prince Albert.” He held up the first board replacement for the shelf. He wasn’t sure if he was doing this right. He needed to put up the side pieces first. He got the braces screwed in, glad that he seemed to be hitting something solid. “You know, Mom, the shelf might’ve fallen because the books you had on it were too heavy. Do you really need these old encyclopedias?”
“Don’t change the subject. Is there something wrong with Deb?”
“No. She seems like a kind person. Really . . . outgoing.” He huffed out a breath. “I’m serious about the encyclopedias, Mom. You might want to think about weeding out some of this stuff.”
“I like all those books.”
“When was the last time you read any of them?”
Two bright spots of color flared on her cheeks. “Dammit, Aiden! What are you doing with your life? It’s like you’re fifteen again!”
He couldn’t help it. He’d tried so hard to be patient, to keep cheerful, to help her, but something just snapped.
“Mom, I am currently retired. I sold my half of the company, remember? To Malcolm!” He didn’t mean to, but his voice sharpened, turned loud. “I came back here to take care of Dad! And now I’m trying to take care of you!”
It was the absolute worst thing he could’ve said.
“TAKE CARE OF ME?” she shouted back. “I’m not some . . . some child! How dare you!”
At that moment, he would’ve given his entire savings—and they were substantial—to take the words back. Even more than that if he could somehow port to his house, playing Blood Saga.
As his mother started shouting vitriol, he focused on the shelf, tuning out the worst of the insults.
Looks like I’m texting Boggy again.
It was funny. One senior citizen was driving him up a wall, while another was quickly becoming his best friend. Of course, his official best friend would probably always be Malcolm, but Aiden was honest with himself. Malcolm was married, he had kids, and he was running the business by himself at this point. He was on another track. While Malcolm tried to stick with the Blood Saga missions, he was slowly stepping away from his guild responsibilities and playing less and less. Aiden missed his friend, but he certainly didn’t blame him.
That said, Aiden couldn’t see himself having a heartfelt discussion with TheFerocity or even Gandalf. They were too young, too . . . frivolous. They lacked life experience.
Boggy, on the other hand, was someone he enjoyed talking to, as well as playing with. She was an octogenarian who cursed like a sailor, fought like a shield-maiden, and had both no filter and no tolerance for bullshit. Which she’d proved many times. At this point, whether there was a group mission or not, he found himself either doing dungeon runs or just exploring with her every night. Once, they’d just hung out in the guildhall for over two hours, typing back and forth.
He kind of wished his mother was better friends with her, so maybe Boggy could talk some sense into her. Although he could only imagine what kind of conversations they’d have.
“Are you listening to me?” his mother demanded.
Braces in, he picked up the solid plank of oak that he’d chosen. Moment of truth. Time to put it up. “Let me get the shelf up, Mom,” he said firmly.
“Sometimes, I think that you just do things to hurt me,” she snapped as he placed the thick piece of wood up, then took a step back. It looked . . . okay? Like a shelf? He supposed that was the best he could hope for.
That is, until there was a creak, and a snap.
“Shit!” he said as he saw the long, heavy board start to fall—right toward the little puffball of a dog.
Everything was instinct from that point on. He moved forward, scooting the mop-like creature out of the way with his ankle before he got hurt—just before the heavy board slammed into his own foot.
“GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKER!” he shouted as pain erupted, shooting up his leg from his instep.
“Oh! Oh!” His mother was at his side in a second as he shoved the board away. “Are you all right? What happened?”
He stared at her for a second. “It . . . the board . . . really?” he asked, his voice strangled. “What happened? Really?”
“I mean, why did the board fall?”
“I have no fucking idea,” he snarled. “I don’t know how to build stuff.”
His mother waved her hands like frightened birds. “Give me your keys, I’ll drive you—”
“No, you won’t,” he growled. “Just . . . call for an ambulance. I think I broke my foot.”
CHAPTER 14
TREACHEROUS CHECKPOINT
Maggie sat in her office, trying her damnedest to stay focused. She’d taken to exchanging texts and GIFs with Otter during the day, stuff that had nothing to do with Blood Saga. She wasn’t sure if he was texting her during class or what, but she was starting to smile every time her phone chimed with a message notification. Which was strange, she had to admit. For the past few weeks, she’d grown from just enjoying the guild to playing with Otter every day to texting and messaging him and hanging out with him in the guildhall. She spent more time with him online than she did with Mac, and she texted him more than she did Rosita.
She tried not to think about it too much. Her connection with Otter was weirdly intense. It was just . . . he seemed to get her. He was mature, and sort of artlessly wise. And relaxed. She desperately needed relaxation in her life. He was a good friend.