Let's Get Quizzical, page 16
“And that didn’t ever make you want to lash out? I think being so intense about it would have made me want to lie left and right.”
I feel her mouth tug into a smile against my stomach as she runs her hands over my chest. “That’s where we differ. I’m no rebel. All I ever wanted was Gran’s approval. I’m not perfect, but I try really hard to always be honest, and with my family history, dishonesty is the one thing that’s the hardest to overcome.”
I hold my breath, afraid that any movement will remind her who she’s with and what I did and why she doesn’t want to be with me. “I’m sorry—”
“You don’t need to keep apologizing for the same things. I’m not mad at you anymore. I’m madder at myself for the lies I told.”
I wince. Somehow making her lie for me felt far worse than if I’d been the one. I need her to know that at least it wasn’t for nothing. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have graduated. I might be getting my GED right now, instead of taking college courses. Hell, I probably would have struggled to get a job and wound up in jail alongside my dad if I’d gotten kicked out of school. I’m not advocating for lies in general, I’m just saying that one lie accomplished something great. You saved me.”
She nods, but I feel a tear splash onto my skin. “I’ve spent a lot of time beating myself up over that. Thank you. I’m glad it did some good. And if you think I saved you, then we’ve both had a chance to save each other, though your saving me was a little more literal. I guess we’re even now.”
She shifts so her face is in line with mine. I kiss her and taste the salt of her fallen tears. Thinking about her family and dredging up her past has her upset, and that is not what I was going for, but I’m glad I understand her and her family’s background better.
“I’m not keeping score,” I whisper, and kiss her again.
“Me neither.” Her returning smile is weak, not quite reaching her eyes.
“Something is still bothering you. What’s wrong?”
She bites her lip, considering. “There’s something I’m keeping from Gran.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“My grandfather reached out to me,” she whispers.
I work to control my expression. “Wow, when did that happen?”
“Just this week. Right after last week’s episode. He sent an email saying he wanted a chance to get to know me.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“Nothing yet. He sent a follow-up two days later, but I never read that one.”
I gently pull her hair out of her bun. “And how are you feeling about all this?” I run my fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp and twisting the strands.
“Mmm, that feels nice,” she says before taking a quiet, pensive moment while I play with her hair. “I don’t know … confused? I feel guilty about not telling my family, but also Gran’s in bad enough shape right now without the shock of his sudden reappearance. The timing is a little weird too, with us being on the show. Like, why now, after all these years?”
“That is a little odd,” I agree while continuing to twist and untwist her hair.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, so I’m just kind of … letting it sit until I feel ready to make a decision. I love my family so much. I don’t want him to come in and throw a wrench in that. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I don’t know. I might have felt differently if he’d done this when I was younger, but I’m thirty. He’s had his chance. If I’m his afterthought, maybe I don’t need to put myself through meeting him just to ease his conscience. Does that make me a terrible person?”
“Not at all. It’s perfectly reasonable for you to do what you need to do to take care of yourself.”
She nods and snuggles into me. “I just hate keeping it from Gran.”
“I know. But you don’t have to decide anything today, and whatever you decide, I’ll support you any way I can.”
She tips her head up to kiss me, then falls back against my chest with a yawn.
“Maybe we just call it a night? We’ve got the show tomorrow afternoon, and we want to be well rested.” I’d have gladly stayed up the whole night with her, our bodies entwined, but there’s time for that later. Sharing a bed with her and waking up next to her is good too.
“Please. I’m sorry,” she says.
“Don’t be.” I click off the TV. In the dark, I gently wrap an arm around her waist. She scoots against me, and a chip crunches under us.
We both laugh. “Maybe we should switch to the other bed.”
We get up, and I bang my knee on the doorframe, stumbling toward the other room. “Damn dark,” I mutter.
“It’s Eigengrau,” she says.
We pull back the sheets and lie down on the bed. I grin and kiss her cheek, then whisper in her ear. “That’s it. Talk nerdy to me.”
“That’s the name of the color when you open your eyes in the dark.” She shifts and settles against me.
I love this woman, I think. “Eigengrau,” I repeat back to her before we drift off to sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
ELI
Good luck today.
Even though it’s been over a year since my dad was in prison and without a phone, it’s still nice to be able to get casual texts from him whenever. It’s especially good to know he’ll be watching.
“Find another funny cat video?” Charlie asks from the driver’s seat, checking her mirror and wincing as the car lurches and pops over a bump on the way to the studio.
“Just a good luck text from my dad.”
Her whole face lights up, and she reaches over to squeeze my hand. I didn’t think I’d ever talk to anyone about what life was like while he was gone, or what it’s like now that he’s back. Having Charlie to open up to this week has been therapeutic in a way I could never have anticipated, and her understanding the significance of this for me … I take a deep breath to steady myself.
Charlie’s been back in my life for only two weeks, and I already can’t imagine a life without her in it.
Me: Thanks. Everything good there?
Dad: Yeah.
I frown. I didn’t expect much from him, but more than a single word update would be nice. I roll my thumb over the screen, debating whether I should press for more, but ellipses appear, saving me from the decision.
Dad: Call me after the show.
Shit.
“That was a quick change in mood. What happened?” Charlie asks.
It appears my emotions are fully on-sleeve today. Either that or she can read me better than I expected. She always managed to see through my rebellious teen act to the nerd who loved his classes back in high school; I guess it isn’t a surprise she can read me now, when I’m worried about Dad.
“I don’t know. There’s something my dad’s not telling me. He wants to talk after the show.”
“Shit,” she says. “Something’s up, but he’s worried that telling you before the show will throw you off your game.”
“Exactly.” It’s a lost cause now. I’m going to worry and conjure up worst-case scenarios, so either it’s terrible and I’ll be right, or I can find out and it won’t be as bad as I’m imagining. Better get it over with.
Tuning out the never-ending cacophony of car horns, I call him.
“’lo?” His voice is gruff and low, worn with the kind of gravel that a life of hard choices and even harder consequences brings. He sounds tired and cautious.
“What’s going on?” I skip pleasantries, because even in LA traffic it only takes so long to get to the studio. If I’m going to need to come to grips with whatever he tells me, I’m running low on time.
He sighs, and it’s long and drawn out. I can picture him stretching his neck around wherever he is right now, buying himself time to respond. Charlie squeezes my hand before returning hers to the wheel. In the mirror, her brown eyes brim with concern.
“I didn’t want to mention it until after the show. I don’t want you to worry,” he says.
“Too late. I’m worrying.” I don’t even know what to expect. I focus on the lingering sensation where Charlie’s hand just squeezed mine, and the comfort the gentle heat brings. It calms me enough to rid my ears of the loud, panicked pulsing that has risen up.
“A bad storm came through last night. The roof was in bad condition before, with the hole in my room, but now it may as well not exist. There’s leaks in two other spots. Some neighbors gave me tarp in the meantime, but it’s going to need a fix faster than we can wait for the money from the show.”
“Damn it,” I whisper, doing mental calculations. I priced out the roof when it first started leaking, and again when he reached out about the hole. It isn’t cheap. That alone will eat up nearly an entire episode’s winnings, and we’re going to have to make a deposit on it out of what little we have. We can’t catch a fucking break.
Charlie’s hand finds mine, squeezing reassuringly.
“Yup,” Dad says, and there’s an edge to his voice that tells me that isn’t all. Double damn. They say bad things come in threes.
“What else?”
“Nothing. We’ll worry about the roof when you get back. We’ll figure something out. You just focus on the game.”
“What?” I insist through gritted teeth.
Another long-suffering sigh, which I impatiently wait out. “I got a call from my parole officer, asking me to come by tomorrow.”
“What di—” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“It’s not time for a check-in so it struck me as odd, that’s all. It’s probably nothing. You focus on the show and that pretty girl of yours.”
I glance over at Charlie, and she tilts her head at me, the edges of the worried line of her mouth just crinkling upward in an encouraging small smile. Pretty girl indeed, and finally, after all these years, we’re together. I inhale deeply and gather myself. The news isn’t good, but also probably isn’t as bad as what I would have conjured up on my own, so I’m glad I called.
“Okay,” I say, because I need to focus and don’t have the mental energy to devote to roof problem-solving right now.
“Good luck,” he says.
“Thanks,” I reply, and the line clicks silent.
* * *
We spend the rest of the drive quizzing each other on trivia as part of our new warm-up ritual for the show, and before long, we’ve arrived. We walk into the building hand in hand, but it isn’t long before Sarah finds us and directs us to separate rooms for hair and makeup.
“See you in a few.” Charlie kisses me goodbye as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I wonder if I’ll ever shake off the surprise that kissing her all the time is an option now. That she doesn’t still hate me. That she’s back in my life at all.
I try to stay focused on the game and run over random facts in my mind as the makeup artist smears my face, but I keep drifting back to the call with my dad. Rain seeping in through gaping holes is bad enough, but we can’t go through a Michigan winter with the roof in bad shape. The first earnings check to come in is going to have to go straight toward the roof, and it’s been patched so many times, it’s unlikely that anything other than a new roof will do.
I think of Dad, trudging in from one job only to get ready for another, and I want to drive my fist into the table next to me. Every time I begin to climb out of the hole, the wall crumbles in my hands and avalanches down on me.
Behind me the door clicks open, and the rumble of activity outside filters in.
“Can you give us a minute?” an eely voice says, and I immediately recognize it as belonging to Clint.
The makeup artist’s eyes widen in surprise, but they nod and step out of the room.
“This won’t take long,” Clint says.
I spin on my chair to see him looming like a vampire in a shadowy corner of the room, silently waiting for the door to click closed behind the exiting makeup artist.
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, raising an eyebrow at him. It’s a kinder greeting than the What the fuck do you want, I’d prefer to give him.
“Hello again, Eli.” His voice drips with condescension.
“Clint.” I tip my head.
“I trust Sarah told you about the show’s ratings last week and the projections for this week?”
“She mentioned numbers were good,” I say.
“Good is an understatement. Clever stunt at the museum this week, coming to Ms. Evans’s rescue like that.”
My blood boils. Charlotte could have died. She’d turned blue. That was one of the most terrifying moments of my life, and this asshole has the nerve to congratulate me like we’d planned it. “It wasn’t a fucking stunt. She was choking.”
“In that case I suppose I give you too much credit. It wasn’t a brilliant scheme, but a stroke of good luck.”
I seethe, clenching my fists. The woman I love almost dying is not a turn of good fortune. “What’s your point?”
“You two are making us a lot of money. It’s in the show’s best interest to see that this continues. We made you an offer before.” With each sentence he steps closer to me, leaving his shadowy corner and crossing the small room to look down on me in my chair. “I don’t suffer delusions that Ms. Evans will see the mutual benefits involved here, but you are a different story.”
“What makes you think that?” I stand to meet his eyes, because fuck letting him use height to shift the power dynamic further in his favor; he’s already got the edge by running the show.
“I saw your face when we asked. If she hadn’t been there, you’d have agreed. I’m giving you that opportunity now. I specifically asked for you two to be brought to separate rooms. She’s not here. She never has to know.”
My stomach drops. I should have known that’s what he wanted. In retrospect it’s obvious. I hate that he’s right. I did waver. Even though Charlotte and I were already growing closer a week ago, we’ve spent nearly every moment together since then, for the last seven days. I’ve come to know her on a new level—and she, me. So much has changed. I’m not the same person I was a week ago. But the roof. The car. Dad.
“I’m asking again,” he continues. “Let me give you the answers. You get your prize, and the show keeps making money. Everyone wins.”
As much as I need the money, I won’t do this to Charlie. I can’t go behind her back and betray her like this, not when I’ve finally gotten a second chance. When we’ve finally gotten a second chance. “No deal.” I turn my back on him and sit again in my chair, turning to face the mirror—as if I have anything to personally accomplish without the makeup artist here, but I’m done with Clint.
“Suit yourself,” he says nonchalantly, but his reflection in the mirror has an oily, self-satisfied, canary-acquiring-cat smile that warns me he isn’t through with me yet. “But it’d be a shame if there were to be a problem with your father’s parole. He has a check-in coming up with his officer, doesn’t he?”
The call Dad got. Clint could have easily made an anonymous tip-off call to the police. What else is he capable of? That motherfucker. I’m on my feet again and moving toward him, but he’s already got the door open and is calling the makeup artist back inside. “Check your pocket, Mr. Collins. Good luck tonight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHARLOTTE
“Ms. Evans.” Clint tips his head as he steps past me out of Eli’s ready room. I smile in acknowledgment, but a shiver runs down my spine. Dude still gives me the creeps.
“Knock, knock.” I tap on the door to make my presence known. Eli’s jaw is clenched, and his eyes are trained over my shoulder, where Clint has disappeared around a corner. “What was that about?” I ask.
“Nothing. He’s just an asshole,” Eli growls.
While I’d tend to agree, I don’t like Eli’s molten expression nor the implications of what they may have been talking about following our last discussion with Clint. I’m trying to trust Eli, so I nod and force cheer into my voice.
“Nervous?” I ask.
“Cool as a cucumber,” he says, regaining some of his normal smooth charm. The makeup artist finishes with him and excuses themself, and Eli grabs the supplied jacket off the hanger in the corner. He hesitates over the pocket, his expression souring again. Then, he shakes his head, and whatever it was passes as we dive back into grilling each other on trivia.
After some time, Sarah pops her head in. “You’re up. Let’s go.”
My palms sweat as we follow her onto the set. The heat of the stage lights hasn’t caught up to me yet; it’s all nerves. One would think I’d be getting used to this by now, that it wouldn’t be so intimidating, but I have a feeling we could make it through dozens of episodes, and I’d still feel anxious at this moment. I take deep measured breaths.
Eli notices, and his hand finds mine with a reassuring squeeze that I’m growing accustomed to. What did I ever do in tense moments without it?
I can do this. We can do this. Do it for Gran.
They count down to live, and there’s Bobby, introducing us. I smile and wave, my other hand gripping Eli’s as we approach our shared podium.
“You two have caused quite the stir lately. Some fans caught you on camera at the museum earlier this week,” Bobby says.
With everything that passed between us, the museum feels so long ago. It’s almost like we were entirely different people then. My pulse quickens and I’m not so sure I like being the center of everyone’s attention. I wasn’t just getting to know Eli this week. I was falling back in love with him. I always wanted to be on a TV game show, but I didn’t think it would involve giving the world an audience to my love life, yet here we are.
