Page 98 of Play Dirty

I think I sleep, but I’m not sure.

I think I wake up, but I’m not sure about that either.

I think I’m just… existing.

I could deal with having a father who disappoints. I think most men have that father these days. I think I could even deal with the fact that I’m just like him. That’s pretty common too. The whole apple and the tree thing, right?

But what I cannot deal with is Ixion.

How can he even look at me now that he knows it really was all my fault?

Ixion appears in my bedroom one day.

I have no idea how long I’ve been here at Smith and Chella’s house. Days, at least. Maybe even longer. Chella brings me meals. I sometimes eat them. Smith brings me alcohol. I don’t drink it, but he does. He turns a chair to the window and sits there, sipping expensive Scotch, looking out at the view of Coors Field with his back to me, and talks.

Smith talks about his parents. About his childhood up in Aspen. His whole story is fucked up and sorta magical at the same time. He talks about the Club too. Why he agreed to sell it, though he says he had no idea who bought it and neither did Bric or Quin. He talks about his new career saving at-risk teens using boxing as the vehicle. He talks about his stupid dogs, and Chella’s tea room, and the baby.

I think he just talks to like… put it all in perspective. Help me do the same.

But Smith has had years to decipher the meaning of his life. Over a decade since his parents died and left him all their money. And I’m just too new at this to fully appreciate it yet.

I don’t miss the fact that he and Ixion are sort of the same guy with similar stories. I don’t think my father killed Smith’s parents, but at this point, who the fuck knows?

Anyway, Ixion throws the curtains aside, letting the sunshine hit me in the face. I turn away, like it stings. And it does. The light is so much harder to deal with than the night.

He says, “I have news for you. I mean, I’m totally OK with you checking out for a while. Hell, I did it for eight years so I’m no one to judge.”

I huff at that. Because he’s not a hypocrite. Never was.

“But you should know your dad died yesterday morning.”

“What?” I say, turning over to look at him.

“Yeah, massive heart attack, I think. I don’t have any details. Your mom called me looking for you. I didn’t tell her where you were and I suppose she got tired of playing my game, because she finally just told me. So…” Ixion shrugs with his hands. “He’s dead.”

I sit up in bed. “He’s dead?”

Ixion nods. “I’m sorry.”

“And my mom?” I ask. “Do you know where she is?”

He shakes his head. “No. Home, maybe? You should try there first.” And then he points to a suit hanging on the bathroom door. “Smith left you a suit. You should get up now, Jordan. Because…” He shrugs again. “It’s over.”

He leaves without further comment.

I spy my phone on the bedside table and reach for it. Find the battery dead. And decide to get up.

She isn’t at home. No one is. I go inside to look around, thinking maybe she’s just hiding in her bedroom being sad or something, but she isn’t. No one’s home.

And she’s not at the hospital, even though I called up Lucinda and asked her to check for me. She left, from what Lucinda can deduce, right after my father died and didn’t come back.

So the really sad thing that hits me now is… I don’t know her well enough to think of another place she’d go. I have no idea where she’d go.

So I go to work. I park my car in the garage and walk over to the building, and take the elevator up and enter to complete and utter chaos.

Well, what did I expect? The founding partner just died.

I go into the private reception area where my office is located and find Eileen. She spies me, then says, “Oh, thank God you’re back!”