Page 43 of The Games We Play
At some point, Penny got up and grabbed a snack, didn’t ask if I wanted anything, which I didn’t expect her to. The clock crept past midnight, and she flipped through the pages of her book, snacking as if I weren’t sitting right there, waiting—pleading—for some kind of opening.
I stared at her, watching every little movement, every blink, every flick of her fingers against the pages.
Then, to my surprise, she spoke first.
Closing her book, she wiped her hands on her pants and leveled me with a look.
“Why did you get married?”
The question hit like a sucker punch. My breath stalled, my mind reeled. But I caught myself, masking my reaction.
She was curious.
That was a good sign.
I swallowed hard, my voice steady but low. “When my dad got sick, I left. Moved to Vegas for a while.” I hesitated, running a hand down my jaw. “I needed a break from… everything. Mostly the pressure I knew I’d be under. I don’t know if it was the right choice, but?—”
“What pressure?” Penny asked.
I exhaled, dragging my fingers through my hair. “With his diagnosis, I assumed the bar would be mine when he died. I’d already been running most of it, but it was still his.Still his responsibility. But with him gone, it would all be mine.”
I ran from the weight of knowing that. I knew that if shit went south, it would be me left to deal with the debris. I was immature, and instead of growing up, I decided to bolt.
Penny nodded, her expression unreadable.
“So, how did Mimi happen?”
I leaned back, rubbing a hand over my face. “I worked at a bar on the Strip. It was loud, busy, nothing like Faircloud. It was easy—not a single thought about home. Mimi worked there, too. She also ran from something in her hometown. We spent most of our shifts together, talking about our experiences. We got close, became friends.”
Penny’s eyes were locked onto mine.
I took a breath and forced myself to continue.
“One night, we got too drunk, and in true dumbass fashion, we thought it’d be funny to run off and get married by Elvis. We’d seen so many couples come in and do it that we figured,why not?” I shook my head, letting out a humorless laugh. “Sober me could’ve answered that question. But insanely drunk, younger me? Not a damn chance. It was a joke. A stupid, reckless joke.”
The truth was, I hadn’t even realized it was real at the time. I thought it was just some Vegas bit,something fake for the tourists. I had no clue a fake Elvis actually had the legal power to marry someone.
Dumb.
I wassodamn dumb.
Penny didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just studied me.
“Why did she show up that day?”
“She wanted toactuallyget married. Went to file the paperwork, and turns out, she already was.” I dragged a hand down my face, feeling the exhaustion deep in my bones. “I swear, I didn’t even know it was legally binding until she showed up.”
Silence stretched between us.
Penny sat still, her hands pressed together in her lap, her lips barely parted.
I ran a hand through my hair, the weight of it all settling on my chest.
When I came home, I lived for years without knowing what had really happened in Vegas. Dad got better—sort of—and stubbornly hung on, living much longer than the doctors predicted. That damn old bastard never gave up.
He didn’t know I’d gotten married. He never knew the mess I’d created for myself, the mess that ended up costing me so much. Even in the end, he still left the bar to my sister.
“I can’t give you the bar, dumbass,”Lizzie had said earlier, and it finally made sense. She knew. It wasn’t just because I ran.
