Page 106 of Trip Me Up

He pointed his fork skyward. “Which allowed me to play with race cars. And make a shit-ton of cash.”

“Cash is weak, too.” I stabbed at my tamale. It wouldn’t fit in my belly with all my disappointed hopes.

“Hey, what if we tried it? I could fold you into the company as a skunkworks. A side business on the down-low. We could collaborate on designing games. Cash might be boring, but it’s pretty useful for staying out of Mother’s house.”

I set my plate on the bench. “I—I had an idea. What about games based on books?” The idea had tickled at the back of my brain since I’d listened to Niall’s first book and I hadn’t wanted to leave the world of the wood elves. I’d even sketched out some ideas about a role-playing game based on the novel.

“Other companies already build games based on books. There’s even a few doing those choose-your-own ending immersive books.”

“Yes, but with A.I., we could take it to another level. Unscripted. Adaptive. We’d partner with the authors.”

Jackson sprang up. He always thought better on his feet. “It’s a great idea. License the content. Hire the authors to be story consultants. Maybe reuse some of CASE’s code. Wait—you went all sad for a minute there. What’s that about?”

I felt like someone had ripped out my spine, leaving me floppy like one of Bilbo Baggins’ stuffies. I slumped forward, my elbows on my knees, and buried my face in my hands. One author had supported the idea; now he wanted nothing to do with me. “Niall.”

“Do I need to kick his ass?” he growled. “I knew that aw-shucks farmboy shit had to be a ruse.”

I raised my head. “No, if anyone needs ass-kicking, it’s me. I hurt him, Jackson. I hurt a lot of people.”

He leaned back on the bench and gazed out at the sunny university grounds. “Maybe working with authors would soothe your guilty conscience.”

“I want to make amends.”

He nodded. “That’s the spirit. Take action. Once you’ve got your shit together, you’ll be ready to go after this guy, too. Show him he was a tool for letting you go.”

Fuck. Just like Mother, he’d seen the pictures from Vegas.

I found my spine again. I filled my lungs with air and let it out in a short burst. “You’re right.”

“That the carrot top’s a tool?”

“No. About taking action.” Was I brave enough to stand up to Martell? To everyone who had expectations of me? I could do it if I had help. Being independent didn’t mean I had to be alone.

“Of course I’m right. I’m almost always right.”

“Jackson. Listen. I need your help. With something that could be just the tiniest bit illegal.”

“Yeah? Sounds like your M.O. these days.”

“Shut up.” I punched his shoulder. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“I’m in. What are we going to blow up?”

Oh, only my whole world.

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