Jameson

“Dude, what are you doing? You totally fucked us.” Ben announces with his hand raised in the air. The light on the gaming controller clutched between his fingers is lit, about to run out of power if he doesn’t plug it in to charge. “Everything is ruined.”

“I didn’t fuck us,” I say, defending myself. “Nothing is ruined. I only made a few modifications to the platform.”

With two days left until our final delivery to the TGS executives, everything is riding on me to get the modules working properly. But I’m still having trouble with some of the more advanced artificial intelligence. I’d made a dozen games similar to this one with some hassle, because nothing is easy when it comes to programming. But this game is giving me a whole other level of problems I hadn’t anticipated when we signed the deal with this client.

Most developers have at least one year, if not more, to execute a concept similar to what our client had asked of us. I was given a few months. I managed to hack together enough of a working platform to show the client. That is, until TGS had called Mr. Conway and requested us to expand the platform to run on mobile devices. I designed it specifically for gaming consoles, posing a major issue for my team.

Last night, as I was about to leave after a fifteen-hour day, Mr. Conway reamed me out in his office. TGS had called, yet again, to expand not only to mobile with in-app purchases but also to a computer game, which required a complete overhaul of the code I had already compiled. But nothing is impossible. Of course, I said I could do it, given enough time. He said I had three days. It was not a negotiation.

Ben plops down on the couch in my office, knocking a box of gadgets onto the floor. He glances down at the mess with a quick shrug, pretending as if it’s not there. I pick up the box and flash a disapproving look in his direction. Ben is such a slob that it’s a surprise he’s able to keep himself organized enough to serve as my right hand man.

While he’s a brilliant coder, his thought process is all over the place. Ben jumps from one thing to the next, same as he’s doing right now. We tested three different versions for mobile and gaming consoles, only to have him find something else he wants to change after we get it to where we need for the meeting.

Ben throws the controller in his hand onto the coffee table, the plastic hitting the wood with a loud thud. He lifts my cell phone, tapping a few buttons on it before I can see the app displayed on the massive flat screen on the wall in the corner of the room.

“Look at this shit,” Ben says, his fingers working faster than before. “If you switch from single to multi-player, the memory usage goes through the roof. You could never use this game on your phone or computer without maxing out your load.”

“Just try it one more time. We have too much riding on this. We only need to fake it long enough to convince the big shots that the game is worth the money. And it is worth it. Or at least it will be by the delivery date.”

“I doubt that.” Ben’s demeanor lacks any confidence that we can pull this off for our client. “The tech is too complicated. They’re asking for a miracle, and I don’t believe in them.”

“That’s what patches are for,” I tell him with a smirk on my lips. “There’s no way it will be perfect the first time around, but it will be at some point. They can release a patch to fix the issues and pretend it’s an upgrade. Companies do it all the time and make boat loads of money from it.” Nodding at my phone, still nestled in his hand, I say, “Now, give it one more try before we call it quits for the night.”

“Oh, right. You have a date.” Ben turns his head toward the screen, sticking his finger in his mouth to make fun of me. He’s your typical nerdy programmer.

We rigged the display so we could view the app on the TV, all while playing it on the phone. It makes it easier to spot the flaws. But it’s also more fun to see it up on the big screen.

Ben makes it to the end of the first level victorious. He’s midway through the third by the time he shouts, “Ouch!” Shaking out his hand, he moves the phone into the other and cries out in pain once more.

“What are you bitching about now?” I sit next to him on the couch, laughing as he switches the phone from each hand like a game of Hot Potato.

“I tried to tell you the damn processor can’t handle this game on mobile.” He sets the phone on the table to rub his hands together. “I think your phone is fried.”

“It just needs a minute to reset.” I almost believe that before I see tiny sparks fly up from the keys.

Ben rolls his eyes at me. “Trust me. That’s not enough. I don’t know why you won’t listen to me. We need to make a few adjustments before we can decrease our load.”

My finger burns when I graze the side of the case in an attempt to pick up the phone. “What the hell? How is it overheating?”

“I tried to tell you. Maybe you should listen, boss man. It’s no better on the computer. I hit seventy-five percent of my CPU usage when I tested it on my laptop earlier. I had to do a complete system reboot.”

Confused, I dig my elbows into my thighs, using them for support, as I cup my face in my hands, staring at the TV in search of an answer. This is the problem with deadlines. Something stupid always gets in the way. And that small issue always manages to hold up the timeline for the project.

The TV screen flashes, drawing my attention to the pixelated images on the screen. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“I tried to tell you,” Ben says again, almost as if he’s satisfied that he was right instead of worrying about the fact we may be out of a job come Monday.

I stare in horror, as I watch the game along with my cell phone turn into a useless piece of tech. My phone is now overheating to the point it only blinks intermittently and is too hot to touch. It’s hard not to have a complete meltdown in front of Ben. My phone can be replaced, but the game…

“What are we going to do?” Ben has his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide in shock. “All this work and for what? We’ll barely make it through the live console demo, let alone a decent beta version of the app.”

Minutes pass in silence, possibly even an hour before I pull myself together. My hair appears as though an animal has taken up residence from me tugging at the strands for so long. Once my phone completely shuts off, unable to turn back on, I wait for the heat to stop radiating from it before I clutch it in my hand.

“Hey, what time is it?”

Ben glances at the Apple Watch on his wrist. “After nine o’clock.”

“Shit!” I yell, coming to a standing. “How did I…how could I?”

“Weren’t you supposed to have a date tonight?”

“Yeah, over an hour ago. Regan is going to hate me.”

“Just call her. I’m sure she will understand.” Ben reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, handing it to me.

“I don’t know her number. It was on my phone.”

He points at my laptop on the table in front of us. “You can access it from your last backup.”

“Good thinking,” I mutter, wondering why I hadn’t thought of that. Stress, I suppose. I can only take so much in one day.

“And you’re supposed to be the genius,” he says, laughing. “One-seventy IQ my ass.”

After I find Regan’s number in my contacts, I use Ben’s phone to call her. It rings a few times before going to voicemail. I repeat the same ritual twice more. Either she hates my guts, or she won’t pick up because she doesn’t recognize the number. I redial her again, leaving a message about how sorry I am and that I will make it up to her.

I keep saying the same thing repeatedly. Regan must be tired of my excuses. I would never intentionally leave her waiting for me at a restaurant. I am not that guy. But, now, I have become that guy without meaning to do it. And it’s our three-month anniversary. Fuck.

Finally giving up on contacting Regan, I decide to Google the number for Luciano’s. A woman answers after two rings. I ask about Regan, hoping she’s still there so I can head over to apologize in person. She makes me hold to the sounds of Italian opera music. After a long pause, the woman informs me Regan had eaten alone and left ten minutes ago.

I couldn’t feel worse than I do right now.

“She’s going to hate me. I blew it, all because of this stupid game.” I sink back into the couch cushions, deflated. “I lost the girl. We’re going to get fired on Monday. This day cannot suck anymore than it does right now.”

“You never know. Maybe if you explain what happened, Regan will give you another shot. As far as the game is concerned, I have bills to pay and mouths to feed. We will make this game work if it kills us.”

At the rate I’m going, I will end up being married to this job. And I don’t want that. I would like a life outside the walls of this office, my place of employment and prison. Or at least that’s what it feels like right now.

I hope Regan will forgive me. If only she’d answer my calls.

* * *

I lost Regan. All because I’m an idiot and can’t get my shit together. And I’m about to lose my job. Soon, I will know what rock bottom feels like as if I hadn’t had a taste of that as a child. Making something of myself has always been important to me. Now, I’m about to embarrass myself in front a boardroom of executives.

Seated at the head of the table, at the opposite end from where I stand with my team, Mr. Conway glares at me, his eyes telling me that if I fuck this up, I am done. He hates me, though I have never understood why. I suspect it has something to do with the fact he never earned a cent from his own talents. Every dollar he has made was from the labor of others.

In the seven years I have worked for Conway Development, I created over a hundred different games and apps, all of which were unknown entities I could care less about. While I made them, they were not my vision. They were the product of someone else’s vision, their dream. That’s why I haven’t been able to figure out the missing piece to this game.

Regan had pointed out that I don’t name the games back when we first met. She was right about one thing. I have lost my inspiration when it comes to creating these new worlds and characters because they are not mine. I did not even care enough to name them, which is why the demo for this game is a miserable failure.

Trying hard not to scream in the middle of the presentation, I force myself to hold it together. Mr. Conway flashes me a look that could cut through steel. Ben and the team do their best to navigate through parts of the game that they know will work long enough to impress the TGS executives, but we cannot fool them.

I can tell by the way they point at the screen and whisper to each other that they see right through the facade. Anyone with a decent understanding of video games and the associated technology could notice all the flaws. It’s so blatantly obvious that the product is a hunk of shit. They couldn’t box this up and sell it even if they wanted to.

The problem…I lost my way. I lost my inspiration. Because I lost the girl. I went straight to Regan’s apartment on Friday night, but you need a key to get into the elevator for her floor. And she would not answer my calls. After three days, she still hasn’t answered my calls.

Once my team finishes the lackluster demo, we stand in front of the screen, looking like a bunch of jerk-offs, waiting for the firing squad to hit us with their questions.

A brief pause ensues before Conrad Hale, the man who had bought my first video game, clears his throat. He brushes a strand of gray hair from his forehead and stares right at me.

“Mr. O’ Connor, what do you plan to do about the artificial intelligence? There’s a severe lag in response time.”

Scratching my jaw, I take a second to compose myself. I’m not even sure how to answer his question. After days of digging through lines of code, I have hit a wall. My team looks to me for answers that I don’t have for them. I have coder’s block, completely stuck and have no clue how to shake this funk.

“I’m still working on it, Sir.” I shove my hands in my pockets to still my nervous hands. “My team has been working around the clock to fix the delays.”

“We were assured the product would be fully operational by today. I see that is not the case. I cannot sell this game in its current condition.”

“No worries, Conrad,” Mr. Conway says, pushing his chair out from the table, the legs screeching along the hardwood floor. He stands up, and the rest of the men at the table follow suit. “O’ Connor and his team will get everything working by the end of the week.”

“Two days,” Conrad says, “You have two days to turn over the game. We have investors waiting for this product, which gives us very little room for error. I cannot afford to lose sponsors over an issue with the tech. This game is not much different from the last one your team had developed for us.”

“Well, actually—” I attempt to interject to tell Conrad the technology is not the same, but Mr. Conway pushes his hand out in front of his body to dismiss me.

“Your services will no longer be needed, O’ Connor. You and your team can go back to your desks and await further instructions.”

With one look, I know not to challenge him, even though I want to tell him he’s an asshole. He doesn't know a thing about this game and even less about technology. He’s just some rich kid, whose Daddy handed him a company. His father was a brilliant coder. Unfortunately, they are nothing alike.

When I had accepted this job, it was his father, who recruited me, only to retire a few years later. Maybe Charlie was right about breaking away from this company to start something new on my own. But where would I begin?

Mr. Conway takes over the conversation, shutting me down, as he escorts Conrad and the crew from TGS out of the conference room and to his office. The only time I ever get an invite is when he wants to yell at me for something that I did wrong. I will never be part of his inner circle no matter how hard I work. No matter what I do it will never be enough.

And I’m completely fucked. I have two days to figure out how to make this game work the way we had intended, or I will have lost everything.

* * *

After drowning my sorrows in a six-pack of beer and a large pizza, I stagger into my home office, drunk off my ass and desperate for a solution. I called Regan again. She changed her voicemail to say, If this is Jameson, the caller you have tried to reach is unavailable. Please do not call back again.

Her message only made me drink more when I should’ve been working on the game. I hate myself for leaving Regan stranded at the restaurant. But I hate myself even more for not putting her first.

Opening drawers, I search for something that will provide me with some form of inspiration, coming up empty handed. After wasting time that I don’t have, I decide to waste even more. The computer monitor comes to life as I move the mouse. Every time I am stuck on a project, I go back to The Fallen, the first game I ever created.

I showed it to Regan once. She sat on my lap, wearing a pair of panties and a tight tank top with no bra, her nipples poking through the thin fabric. The longer we’re apart, the more I miss her. She hates my fucking guts, and she has every reason to feel that way about me. I was an asshole and so unlike the man I am. Or at least the person I try to be.

Tapping on the keys, I think of Regan and her smile and the way she would look at me as if I was her entire world. She was mine, too. If only I had shown Regan how much she means to me while I had her in my life. I miss her so fucking much I can’t stand it. All the calls sent straight to voicemail and texts left unanswered make me sick to my stomach.

I change the name of a player on the screen to Regan. She’s the queen of the realm in this world, just as Regan was mine. Of course, since I’m a nerd and it only seems fitting, I have to change the knight to Jameson, because I plan to win her back. But how? What could I possibly say to get Regan to change her mind about me? I want to be her knight in shining armor, the man who she can depend on.

For years, I had been that man for Charlie. And I’d never let her down—not even once. So, why was it so hard for me to prioritize my relationship with Regan? I never missed a single bridal shower meeting with the girls or a chill night with Charlie, yet I allowed work to get in the way of my anniversary with Regan. What is wrong with me?

An hour into playing my game, I have a moment of clarity. The Fallen has the same artificial intelligence as what TGS had contracted our company to write. I already own the code. Except there’s no way in hell I’m handing it over to Mr. Conway, not after he humiliated me for the thousandth time in front of the client. In front of my goddamn team. He can go fuck himself. Or better yet, I should fuck him over.

But how can I get around his non-compete agreement? There’s only one person I know who can help me with this problem. And if Charlie can’t help, then I’ll go to Mickey. My enslavement by Conway Development needs to end if I ever want a normal life. And I want that life to involve Regan.

* * *

Three weeks have passed since I last saw Regan. And in that time, I had put my job before her, proved that I’m no different than the other guys that have disappointed her in the past. She still won’t return any of my calls or messages. I can’t get up to her apartment without an access card, and the same goes for her work. I have no way to apologize in person. That’s why I need to convince Alex to let me take his place tonight.

“How set are you on meeting the event planner?” I ask Alex, speaking between bites of pepperoni pizza.

Alex sets the pizza in his hand on the plate and narrows his eyes at me. “Why?”

“I thought maybe we could exchange places. You could stay here, and I’ll go with Charlie.”

“Jameson,” Charlie says, annoyed. “What are you up to now? Alex is coming with me. This is our wedding.”

Leaning my elbows on the island in Charlie’s kitchen, I hunch forward, giving her my best puppy dog eyes. Or at least whatever I think might sway her to let me come with her to the Wells Fargo Center. “I need to see Regan. I have no other way to get to her.”

She sighs and wipes her mouth with the napkin on her lap. “Maybe you should let her go. If she doesn’t want to see you, there’s nothing you can do about it. You left her stranded in a restaurant, alone on a Friday night, and on an anniversary, of all nights. I would be pissed if Alex did something like that to me. I doubt we’d be sitting here right now if he had stood me up.”

“Maybe he didn’t leave you waiting in a restaurant, but you took him back after all the stupid shit he did.”

“Hey,” Alex says, defensive. “Most of those things were out of my control. I knew Charlotte was the one after the first night I spent in this apartment.” He turns to Charlie and smiles, reaching out for her hand. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Charlie returns his gesture, practically turning into a pile of mush before my eyes. She’s a different person with Alex. If anyone can understand my situation, these two can. So, why are they giving me a hard time?

“I risked my friendship with Charlie to go out on a limb for you, Alex.” My tone is so severe that Alex jerks his head toward me. Now that I have his attention, I keep going. “I knew Charlie was hurting after everything you had done and even more so after Mickey had kept you two apart. All I’m asking is to go in your place tonight. Do you really want to look at seating charts and place settings anyway?”

He bites down on his bottom lip, thinking it over. “Well, no…but—”

“My point exactly,” I interject. “I’ve done most of the wedding stuff with Charlie. What’s one more thing? I need to see Regan, and this is the only way.”

Charlie shakes her head in disapproval. “I can’t believe you want to use our wedding as an excuse to see Regan. You screwed up big time, Jamie. I doubt she will even want to see you.”

“But you know me, and you know that I would never do something like that to anyone. And I would never do it on purpose. I have a valid excuse for why I was late.”

“You have to find time for her,” Charlie says, softly. “For years, you’ve been married to your job. If you want her back, you will need to change your ways and stop being such a work-a-holic.”

“You’re okay with Alex’s schedule,” I point out.

“Yes, but I know his schedule before the season even starts. I plan our lives around hockey, and then fit my work and basketball schedules in with his. It’s not easy to juggle all these things, but we make it work. You have to do the same thing with Regan, or you will lose her for good.”

“Will you let me come with you? Please.” I hold my hands up, pleading with her. “I will get on my hands and knees and beg if that’s what it takes.”

“I had to do that to get Charlotte back,” Alex says, frowning at the memory. He had to literally beg the guy who he’d broken his nose the year before. It was the last piece of the puzzle to win Charlie over. That was over a year ago.

“I loved you even more for doing that,” Charlie says to Alex with a wide grin on her face. “I still do.” She scoots her chair closer to Alex, so he can hook his arm around her back. Then, she looks across the counter at me. “Regan will respect you more if you make a grand gesture, show her that you will do anything to make it up to her. If you use Alex and me to do it, she might tell you to fuck off. She’s one of those strong and independent types.”

“Like you,” I add.

“Yes, like me. But I always had you to keep me from falling on my ass.”

I throw my hands in the air, frustrated. “I quit my job for Regan. Is that not enough?”

Charlie shakes her head. “Grand gesture, Jameson. Think of something that will win her over. You’re a goddamn genius. I know you can do it. Quitting your job is not enough. Now, you’re an unemployed computer genius with nothing to offer her.”

“What can I say or do to make her forgive me?” I am desperate for someone to give me the answer because I have no idea.

“You love her, don’t you?” Charlie reaches across the table to give my hand a squeeze. “You would never quit your job over any old girl.”

“Yes,” I mutter. “I didn’t realize how much I cared for Regan until after I lost her. I need her back. I fucked up, and I need to make it up to her.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it,” Charlie says, folding her hands in front of her on the counter. “If you really love her, or even think you might, you had better get your shit together. Make a plan before you lose her for good.”

“I’ve already lost her. She won’t return my calls. I have no way of reaching her.”

Scratching the stubble on my chin, I try to find the right words and fail. I have been a mess since Regan stopped talking to me. I can hardly function. It’s been days since I shaved. I’ve had on the same T-shirt since yesterday. I look like I crawled out of a dumpster, and I probably smell like it, too.

“I’m sure it will come to you,” Charlie says. “It always does. You just need to let things sink in.”

“So, I guess you’re not going to let me come along with you tonight.”

“Nope.” Her tone is firm and serious, matching her facial expression. “You will figure it out, Jamie, and when you do, I know she will take you back.”

“How do you know that?”

She shrugs, her shoulder brushing up against Alex. “Because I’m a woman, and I know things. Trust me. Make it count, Jameson.”

I need a grand gesture, one that had better come to me fast. And I had better make it good.