I'm at my dad's office, busting my ass as everybody's coffee and copy bitch when I get the call.

I've ignored my phone the whole time I've been here since my dad has a shitfit whenever he sees me pull it out, but some gut feeling has me convinced this one is important. Not some wannabe-journalist looking for a scoop, not one of my really-only-Facebook-friends from high school wanting to hang out because he's bored, but an actual, important call.

And I'm not wrong, but nothing could have prepared me for who's calling, and why.

"Is this Ryker Winthrop?" a woman on the other end of the line asks.

"This is Ryker, yes. May I ask who's speaking?" The question is automatic, and so is the overly-polite tone. Fuck. I've been in this office too long. I laugh it off, then say, "Sorry, habit. At work right now."

I'm pretty sure this stranger doesn't want to hear about the fact that it's not really work because I'm not getting paid for my time and I'm just sort of expected to be here no matter what other professional plans I have, so I keep all that to myself.

"Oh, I get it," she says with a laugh. "I worked food service for six years, and I still catch myself asking people if they'd like to hear about the daily specials."

Her voice sounds vaguely familiar to me. Not someone I know, really, but someone I've heard before.

"Anyway, I know you're probably wondering who's just randomly calling you. My name's Stacy Pimento, and I handle public relations and social media for Nat20."

Oh, shit, that's how I know her voice. She and Gavin Burkhart, one of the lead designers, are practically the public face of the company. They appear in all the promotional videos and social media tie-ins, and they both sit in on the streams the studio runs before a big content update.

"Uh, wow, hey." Great. Very intelligent. I glance through the pristine glass that encases the board room where my dad is currently holding a meeting, and decide it might be smart to take this call outside. "I wasn't expecting your call, was I? I know I've tried to get in touch with a few devs..."

"Oh, no, this is something I initiated. Though it sounds like I'm going to have to talk to some of the guys about returning emails," she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. She might be putting me on, but I'm honestly just stoked to be talking to her. "I'm calling because I'd like to invite you and your guild to take place in a special event we'll be doing at the con."

Wait, what? I stop in my tracks, standing right in front of the stairwell. She has to mean a demo or something; beta gameplay the press has access to, maybe. Not an actual event.

"We want to show off one of the end-tier bosses to try and draw more people back to the game, but we don't want to just show footage of the QA team going up against him. We'd rather center the whole thing around actual raiders taking a crack at a never-before-seen encounter."

Holy shit.

"You want us to fight a new boss at the con? That's... shit, I don't know what to say." I laugh nervously, then roll my eyes at myself.

"The encounter's tuned for twenty people. We'll copy your characters over to our server and upgrade your gear to where it would be once you reach that point in game. And after some NDAs are out of the way, I can send you over a packet of information. It's not much--part of the draw of the event is that you all will be reacting on the fly--but it should be enough to keep you from getting instantly killed."

I reach out blindly, my hand finding the handle of the door that leads to the stairwell. I instantly regret the decision once I'm closed inside because there aren't any AC vents here, but my mind is spinning too fast to care all that much.

"That sounds amazing," I tell her, my voice echoing off the bare walls. "I can't speak for the others, but I seriously can't imagine any of them turning down the opportunity. Most were planning on going to the con anyway."

"I don't have a huge budget for travel expenses, unfortunately, but I can reimburse you for the con tickets for all four days, and the hotel costs if you're staying at the Marriott across the street."

"That's... insanely generous." So generous it almost feels like there must be a catch. My kind seizes on something she said earlier. "You said the encounter's tuned for twenty? I can get probably ten to show, at the most. It might be closer to eight. Some of our members are underage and don't have the disposable income to make it out."

"Oh, that won't be a problem," she assures me. "Bring whoever you can get on board. You'll be working cooperatively with the Cyclones to take the boss down."

She says it so casually, like it's just a random bullet point in a long list of unimportant items. But the world suddenly stops spinning around me, and I'm slammed by a mix of excitement and apprehension.

"...You saw what happened a couple weeks ago, right? I'm not sure that's going to pan out the way you're hoping."

Unless they're hoping for something just shy of an all-out brawl. Which... they might be. The realization sits heavily in my stomach, but it still doesn't detract from how huge this opportunity is for me.

This could finally put me on the map. I could get a partnership with Twitch, score some sponsors, and jump way ahead in the five-year business plan I've drafted for my personal brand.

And you'll get to be face to face with Finn McLaughlin.

The voice that taunts me is small but insistent, and I immediately think of our last conversation.

"We have every confidence you guys will act like professionals. Besides, a little friendly competition never hurt anybody." So they are looking to exploit our rivalry. I can't say I blame them, but it does make the offer seem way less altruistic. "So, what do you say, Ryker?"

"I'm in," I answer immediately, feeling a little giddy despite this turn of events.

Or maybe because of it.

We hash out the details for a few more minutes. She sends me a non-disclosure agreement to sign and I make plans to tell the other guys tonight and get the relevant info to them, too.

All while I'm still in my dad's office. Reality comes crashing down as I open the stairwell door, letting a burst of AC in the cramped and stuffy space. Guys in suits dart around the open office, and I see my dad's vision for my future stretched out before me.

He'll never accept gaming as a legitimate career choice. But with this invitation, I can't help hoping he might at least give me some credit for making my hard work pay off.

* * *

As it turns out, he doesn't give me a single fucking ounce of credit.

I wait until the end of the day--which isn't until around ten in my dad's world--and approach him in his office. Probably a bad idea, since it's like approaching a wolf in his den and telling him you've decided to go vegan instead of helping him pick off the nearby livestock, but I need him to know about this.

"Get here a little earlier tomorrow," he says absently, his attention mostly focused on his laptop. "I have a meeting I want you to sit in on."

"Yeah, sure," I concede, even though I'd rather gouge my eyes out with rusty spoons. "Hey, Dad, do you have a minute?"

To his credit, my old man actually looks up at that. Not that it helps my nerves any. His features have always been severe and disapproving, and even when he's sitting down he still seems like the goliath who towered over me when I was a kid.

I sit down in the single chair in front of his desk, nervously wringing my hands. I hate that my confidence is always shot around him, but I push forward anyway.

"So I've told you about my business plan."

A sound that's half scoff, half laugh comes from the back of his throat. "You mean your plan to avoid growing up and being a productive member of society?"

I ignore that jab and draw in a deep breath before presenting my case. "I have a chance for exponential growth coming up. I was personally invited to a developer-hosted event at the convention I told you I'm going to in a couple weeks. I have the opportunity to gain even more of a following and move way ahead in my plan. I could increase my count by--"

"Why are you wasting my time with this, James?"

I wince at the use of my first name. Ryker is my middle name, and it's what everyone else calls me. Dad even called me Ryker when I was growing up. Before he and Mom divorced. I guess since she picked out the name, he feels like he's denying her something.

"What you choose to do on your little vacation is your business." He pushes his reading glasses further up the narrow bridge of his nose and goes back to his laptop, evidently done with the conversation.

And with me.

I should take the hint and just leave, but like the loose seam I keep fussing with in this upholstered chair, I just can't help picking at it.

"You're not listening to me. I could triple my follower count overnight. That means more paying subs, more donations, more opportunity for sponsors to see me. This event could help me build a sustainable business--"

"This behavior was mildly amusing when you were charging your classmates a few dollars for your video game 'guides,' but you're not a child anymore, James. You don't make a sustainable business out of sitting around in your apartment playing games."

That's all he thinks I do. That's all most people think I do. Nobody knows or cares how much work goes into it, and I know if I don't fight for myself, nobody else will.

"Times are changing, Dad. Streamers, YouTubers, podcasters, they're the entertainers people want to hear from. The top talents in the industry make well over six figures a year, and some are bringing in millions because they bust their ass day in and day out." I can't seem to keep my voice from rising, and since Dad's office is definitely not soundproof, I can only imagine the looks we're getting. "You don't know how hard I work at this, how much I want it. I--"

"We're done with this discussion, James. I already approved your vacation, and I expect you here tomorrow and every day until you leave."

When I was in the third grade, our teacher had us make Father's Day cards. I still remember spending all day on mine, trying to make it perfect so it would be something he could display in his office. After I gave it to him, I found it a few days later, buried on an assistant's desk.

This feels a lot like that, and I can't help the sense of dejection that crushes down on me.

"For Christ's sake, stop pouting," he snaps. "Do you know how many people would kill for the internship opportunity you're getting?"

He launches into another one of his 'you should be grateful for what you have' rants. I've heard it all before, and I tune out once he gets to talking about himself and how much he's sacrificed for me.

By the time I'm dismissed, I'm feeling numb. I make my way to the stairwell, passing a few of the more "dedicated" wage slaves, and check my phone out of habit.

The NDA was sent to my email, the official Nat20 logo at the top. My dad may not think of that as some big accomplishment, but I do. I can almost fucking feel tears springing to my eyes as I look at it, scrolling down to the blank line that's already been prepared for me to sign.

No matter what he says, it doesn't change the fact that I was invited to an event most streamers would only dream about. Pulling out my stylus, I sign the form immediately and send it back to Stacy.

In two weeks, Ryker's going to become a household name among gamers. In two weeks, I'm going to prove my dad wrong.

And as I browse social media and see confirmation of the Cyclones' invitation, I realize that in two weeks I'm also going to come face to face with Finn--my long-time rival and the man I can't stop thinking about, even when the rest of my life's a mess.

It's either going to be the best weekend of my life, or it's going to crash and burn in a beautiful disaster.