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Last night’s revelations were a massive gut punch but also frighteningly eye-opening. After the bartender kicked us out for my unplanned upchuck, we sat in my car, devising a plan to move forward.
“We must keep playing the game. If we go rogue and abandon the club, Ben will hunt us down, our secrets will come out and our targets could get hurt,” Hudson stated in the most rational tone he’d had all night.
So, here I am at the Rose Tavern, waiting for my “target.” That sounds so fucking twisted. I’m almost shocked that I’m here, given my history. This is the part where I usually take off running—skip town. Oh, that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it—I even started packing a getaway bag when I got home last night—but in the middle of tossing in my T-shirts, I stopped and thought about the situation. I can’t run forever, at least not from Ben, and he needs to be taken down. Plus, deep down, I know Ben would find me, eventually. I mean, he found out about Chrissy, Jovie, and only God knows who else. He apparently has eyes and ears everywhere, so I may as well stay and fight. What on earth have I got myself into?
“Hey, buddy, you’re back. Good to see you. Boneyard’s Hop Venom again?” Mark the bartender says, disrupting my unruly thoughts.
“Yes, please. Thanks for remembering.”
Mark nods his head and then begins to pour my beer. I’m impressed he remembered me from the single time I was here, and he even recalled my drink order.
I can’t help but wonder if Kade’s been back since Evie.
I nestle myself onto one of the cozy handcrafted barstools. I allowed myself extra time before Ivy is due to arrive to gather my thoughts and take in a little liquid courage before the shit show of my life continues. I didn’t have time to prepare a list of questions to seek out Ivy’s secrets—I have more significant problems on my mind—I will simply have to wing it tonight.
Mark slides my beer over to me. I give him a friendly smile before returning to my maddening thoughts. I’ve been digesting the information from yesterday, and one thing is crystal clear: Ben is playing us as pawns in his sick and twisted game. That’s all we are to him. A game piece, like the tiny thimble in Monopoly, moving us around the board. Some players have even been to jail, and Ben is the only one with the get-out-of-jail-free card. And then there is Emmy. Is she a pawn too? Is she a player in this game?
Today at work, I could barely think. Luckily, Emmy had the day off, so I had time to figure out what to do with her. I replayed the past few weeks in my head over and over until I wasn’t sure what was real anymore and what I’d fabricated. Everything seems so unreal that nothing makes sense. The lies, deceit, and games have woven themselves into a web that I’m stuck in. Ben is the spider, and we are all the little bugs wrapped tight, connected in fear while stuck in the nearly invisible fibers of Ben’s twisted mind.
I would never have pegged Emmy as a pawn, well, that is until her little slip-up about Jovie yesterday. I would’ve had no reason to suspect Emmy of working with Ben, and Hudson’s revelation could have simply been written off as a fucked-up coincidence. But now I know there is no limit to how twisted this game is.
Hudson and I decided I would feel her out, and if it comes to it, just ask her point-blank. That wasn’t the initial plan, but after much deliberation, we realized we need to pull the Band-Aid off fast and see what’s under it. If she’s stuck like us, then she’s likely to be eager and happy to help us out. But if it’s the other way and she’s voluntarily working for him. . . Well, we will cross that bridge when we get there, but I can’t see the latter being true. God, I hope not. I trusted her.
Then I have the Chrissy situation. I mean, holy hell, what a bombshell. Hudson gathered from Chrissy that she has just moved to the adjoining town, but she didn’t say anything to Hudson about being in a relationship or having a fucking fiancé, for that matter.
Ben gave Hudson Chrissy for a reason. Ben knows Chrissy is my weakness, and he found all of this out in a matter of a few weeks. Things are not adding up.
I take a long gulp of my beer and grab a handful of communal pretzels from a bowl near me. I chomp angrily on the salty snack.
Hudson is a lot like me, whether I want to admit it or not. We are both insecure but have good qualities that we overlook. He could be easily manipulated by Chrissy, and Chrissy enjoys toying with weak men; it’s a self-confidence booster for her.
But what is bothering me is, what happened to her fiancé and why and when did she move? Knowing Chrissy, she would have posted every aspect of her engagement on her socials, right down to the very last detail, because that’s who she is. But the only thing I saw on Socialite was a simple announcement. Nothing else. No wedding-dress shopping photos. No champagne toasts with her girls. Nothing. Unless Chrissy has changed her ways, which I highly doubt. Also, there is the fact that Chrissy would never give up her parents’ house. Not just for sentimental reasons but status.
Maybe there is a simple reason they broke off the engagement—it happens— but if that is what happened, and she needed a change of scenery, why Clear River? Does she know where I am? Is she looking for me? No, that’s silly, it’s been two years, and if she wanted to find me, she probably could have by now. Look how easily Ben found out my secrets. I clearly wasn’t hiding as well as I thought.
When I told Hudson she was engaged, he said there was no mention of that on her feed now or when he did his recon work. It’s simply gone. Chrissy never mentioned it to him. He said their conversation was cutesy and nothing too flirty, but she did agree to meet him easily. He didn’t have to twist her arm, or anything and he was shocked by this. It was almost a little too easy.
I need to know why Ben chose her for Hudson. What’s his endgame with all of this? I told Hudson I was going to watch his date from afar. I’m curious about Chrissy. I need to see her without her seeing me. But that’s Thursday’s problem. Today is Ivy. Tomorrow is Emmy. Wednesday is Ben. This is a vicious cycle. Life was simpler just a few short weeks ago. No club. No dead girls. No game.
“Max, is that you?” an airy voice asks from behind me. A chill runs down my spine.
I give myself a mental pep talk. OK, Max, you got this. Yes, it’s part of the game, but it’s also a chance to be someone different and practice for the real thing. That is if I ever get the opportunity to have a real date. As long as Ben and this game don’t completely implode my life.
I get up from my chair like a gentleman and extend my hand to shake hers. She reaches in for mine, but I can tell I’ve caught her off guard. She’s not used to this proper behavior. Everything is casual nowadays. I know that I’m the odd one. Everyone is doing the same thing, but me. I’m drowning in this new world.
Be confident Max. You got this.
“You must be Ivy. It’s so nice to meet you. Gosh, you’re more beautiful in person,” I find myself saying without premeditative thought. It was a true statement; the girl was very pretty but still not my type.
“Oh, stop, you’ve got me blushing,” Ivy gushes as she flips her beachy waves behind her shoulder.
“Should we get a table?” I ask.
“Yes, absolutely,” she says with a bright white smile.
After we get our table, we order Ivy her first drink and me my second. I realize that I don’t know what to say to her. We really didn’t have anything in common, but then I remember this is a game, and everything I say is all a lie. I feel bad lying to Ivy, but I have to play along. I doubt Ivy will have any real feelings for me, so it won’t hurt her.
Then a horrid thought hits me right in the gut. If Chrissy was chosen for Hudson because of me, then who does Ivy belong to? She must be here because of another member. We are all pawns, even our targets. Maybe I can ask questions to get her to tell me about her previous boyfriend? I don’t waste time, and I dive right in.
“How is a girl like you single?” I ask flirtatiously.
“I guess I haven’t found the right guy,” she replies, letting out an uncomfortable laugh.
“Oh, so when was your last serious relationship?” I press. After all, this is more of a fact-finding mission for me than a date.
“What is this? An interview? That’s a little too forward for a first date, don’t cha think?” she says with a smile and takes a drink of her IPA that the waiter had brought over.
“How about you start by telling me more about yourself? After all, you were pretty vague. I’m here because I’m intrigued and want to know more about you,” Ivy says, quickly turning the table on me.
This is not going as planned, but I have to go along with it to keep her interested and find out why she was chosen for me and who she belongs to.
Time to play the game, Max. I’m surprised at how quickly I select my lies.
“I graduated with a degree in history from Oregon State a few years back. I didn’t do anything with it, though. Then I kind of bummed around Portland and enjoyed the art and music scene for a year before settling in Clear River.”
“Why history?” she asks. If I were her, I would have asked about my time in Portland. That sounds much more interesting, but whatever. It’s all a lie, anyway.
“The past is fascinating. The future is what’s scary,” I respond.
She wrinkles her flawlessly tanned nose. I suspect she doesn’t like my response. So, I elaborate to see if that changes anything.
“We can learn from the past. To avoid making the same mistakes, but the ignorance of most people leads to a frightening future.”
She bites her lip and takes another sip of her drink. Completely disregarding my statement. She doesn’t even try to banter or even disagree.
I can’t even lie myself into being a confident man. It’s no wonder I can’t get a real girl. I’m drowning. This is supposed to be my chance to try and I’m failing.
Ivy gives me a blank stare, as if she’s looking straight through me. Ignoring everything, she jumps in, “So, I went to UCLA for marketing. I mostly do social media marketing for startups,” she says while running her fingers through her long, wavy blonde hair. “I work for myself,” she continues, “and I love it, and I’m quite good at it.”
Is that what she calls getting to know me? OK, whatever, but I’m not surprised by her response. Of course, that’s her job. I can’t help but roll my eyes. Luckily, she has already diverted her attention and has her head turned down toward her phone. Can’t miss any precious notifications. I haven’t checked mine all night, and the world hasn’t ended. Ivy keeps her head buried in her phone and barely looks back up at me.
When the waiter comes over to take our food order, he actually has to wait for her to finish typing on her device before she even acknowledges his presence. We both order the Rose Tavern signature burger with steak fries. At least we really do have that in common.
As the server walks away, it’s clear that Ivy’s lost interest in our conversation. How does Ben think I’m going to pry a secret from this girl? She’s hardly said two sentences to me.
“The building is on fire. Should we toast some marshmallows?” I say jokingly in an attempt to catch her attention.
“Yeah, sure. Sounds good,” she mutters back, clearly not listening to a word I’m saying.
Is this a normal date nowadays? I haven’t been on one in years. Do people still talk to each other? I glance around the restaurant and see several couples placed around us—all ages. At least one person is on their phone at each table.
“I’ve got two signature burgers. Can I get either of you any ketchup or anything else?” the waiter says when he returns a few minutes later. The service is definitely speedy.
“No, I’m good. Thanks,” I respond.
Both of us look at Ivy, and she doesn’t say a word. I find it rude that she doesn’t even thank the waiter for bringing the food.
“Great burger,” I say after the first bite.
“Yep,” she responds and then glances back at her phone.
I know Ben will make me pay for my mistake. This shit show of a date is going to cost me.