Page 115 of A Fool's Game

But I failed.

“How long have you been sitting down here?”

I shrug, not looking away from the still weeping crack in the wall that decided my fate.

“It’s filling up with water.” Ainsley states the obvious.

“I’m hoping it starts filling faster so I’ll drown.”

I hear his feet splash into the water as he starts to wade toward me. It’s at least ankle deep by now.

“Shut up, man. You’re not going to drown yourself down here.”

“Like you care.” I have to take a few stabs at the guy, and I know he’s prepared for them.

“You know I care.”

“So where the fuck were you?”

“My dad stopped by unexpectedly, we got to talking, and I lost track of time.”

I say nothing, not turning to look at him.

I don’t care.

I hear a rustle and then his hand connects with the back of my shoulder, holding a stack of papers. I don’t know how he managed to get these from the auditor’s office after they closed, but it doesn’t matter now.

I reach back and pull the stack aggressively from his hand, watching his face expand with surprise. I throw the papers across the basement without even looking at them and then turn back toward the wall.

“Hey!” he shouts, wading over to where the stack is now sinking in the water. “I sold my soul to get those fucking papers.”

I huff out a dark laugh. “You’ve known me long enough to know that selling your soul gets you nothing.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

I stand up too fast and nearly fall into the water, spinning toward him with rage finally bubbling to the surface. He rushes forward to try steadying me, but I shove him hard, nearly sending us both into the water with my effort.

“Fuck, man. I’m sorry. I said I was sorry,” he huffs, righting himself and taking a step back.

“It’s not good enough. Sorry means nothing. You said you’d be here. This was my one shot. And it’s over. You didn’t show up.”

“I know. I fucked up. I just…I lost track of time.”

“So you said.”

“I know it’s not an excuse. I should have been here. I’m wrecked over this, man. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I flop back onto my seat on the low, concrete bench by the wall, tracing my finger up the crack once more. Asif it will calm me. As if the crack wasn’t the one thing standing in the way of me and my dreams.

“I’ll buy you a new house,” he says.

“Fuck you.”

“I know. I know that’s your answer, and that’s how you feel. I just don’t get why?—”

I’m on my feet again, this time steadier. Ainsley wisely takes another step back. “Protecting my family home was my responsibility. This,” I wave my hand wildly around me in the dark basement, “is my shot at having something in life. People like me don’t get to buy houses on islands and have beach views and driveways and garages. People like me are damn lucky to have something to inherit that they can afford to pay taxes on as they bust their asses sixty hours a week at jobs deemed not valuable enough by society for a living wage.”

He’s silent, watching me, his face in shadows.

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