Page 74 of Wicked Little Game
“I already told him I need more time.”
“I know. The problem isn’t Rockwell. There’s a new guy,Sanders, completely over-motivated idiot. Works with the General for two fucking weeks and he’s after our asses, Sam.”
“Sanders?”
“Yeah, he introduced himself a week after you left. Fucking moron, dragged Max through the dirt in our last meeting because he wasn’t happy with one of his reports. Rockwell tries to get his ass fired or at least transferred so that he can annoy someone else, because I threatened to pay him a visit if he talks to Max like that one more time.”
I’m so on edge that I finish my cigarette with concerningly few drags, putting it out with more force than necessary.
“Wrap this up, Sam. Sanders will send someone else if he thinks you can’t get the job done, and you can bet your fucking ass it won’t be one of us. Rockwell will hold him off, but I don’t think you have more than a few days.”
“I’ll take care of it. Thanks for letting me know.”
We end our call because Logan isn’t the type for pointless small talk.
Fuck.
I can’t go in there and sit next to Ruby like everything is fine right now. I need to come up with a solution that will satisfy Rockwell and the higher-ups, but I also need to come up with a solution for Ruby. Packing my things and leaving with the intel I gathered so far would be the best one, but I just can’t.
“Everything okay with your grandma?,” she asks, with sincere concern on her face as I walk back inside and I feel like throwing up.
“Yeah, she got a new lawnmower. You okay down here? My head hurts like hell, I’m gonna go to my room,” I say as I walk up the stairs. I think she said something, but my thoughts are too loud to even hear her.
For the next two days, I avoid her. I barely leave my room, scraping together bits of information that are simultaneouslyenough to keep the pressure off of Rockwell, but not enough to justify them ordering me back to base.
I barely see Ruby. I go to the kitchen when she’s asleep and if I run into her, I try to keep our interactions as short as possible. She looks like a kicked puppy whenever I excuse myself after talking to her for not even two minutes, but doesn’t press the issue. Like she’s used to being treated like that, and it makes me feel even worse.
My attempt to get myself out of the trap Sanders put up for me doesn’t work as I had hoped it would, because on the third day, Rockwell calls me.
He sounds tired and stressed and he speaks in that fatherly tone of voice he always uses when he has bad news.
“They’re breathing down my goddamn neck, Sam. If it was for me, you could take all the time you need. Look, if you need time off, a sabbatical or how they call it, you know, to really get over the thing with Carla—”
“It’s not about fucking Carla,” I interrupt him, struggling to keep my voice down. “Sorry, Cap. I know you mean well. I just need a bit more time, a few more days.”
I pace around the bedroom, unable to stay in the bathroom where I had turned on the shower so that Ruby doesn’t hear me.
“We have so much good evidence, we shouldn’t start rushing this shit now,” I try to reason with him.
He sighs, sighs some more, and tells me I’m the reason for him going gray before he promises me to try his best to keep Sanders on a leash.
I throw my phone onto the bed, sitting down next to it while I bury my face in my hands.
This is exactly the reason I shouldn’t get emotionally involved.
I try to pinpoint the precise moment all of this went downhill. Was it at the country club? Was it when I draggedher home when she went out partying? Or was it because I gave in and fucked her?
The more I think about it, the more I realize it wasn’t one thing, but more of a culmination of irrational decisions that led to the downfall of my integrity.
I need a drink. To stop my running thoughts, and to stop feeling so goddamn much.
When I walk out of the door and run into Ruby, all color drains from my face. She glares at me, her death stare almost hiding the tears in her eyes.
“Please, let me explain.”
I don’t even know what I would like to explain, or where I should start to explain shit, but this seemed like the best possible approach.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Just leave. Get the fuck out of here and have fun with Carla or Cleo or whatever her fucking name is.”
