Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(81)

“There’s nothing fuzzy about this relationship,” he said. “‘Yes’ to the toothbrush, ‘no’ to seeing other people.”

Her hand tightened on his. He could be so straightforward at times. But there was still so much about him that was mysterious, guarded, complex.

“I woke up this morning thinking about something the Valiant Interactive guys were saying last night,” she said. “They told me about the ending of one of your games, when a man wounds a dragon and then he finds out it was his wife, and the dragon flies away to die alone.”

“Yes.”

“That’s so dark. Why does she have to die at the end?”

“She doesn’t have to die. There’s a secret level to the game. Some players stumble upon it, and others have heard rumors but don’t know how to access it. But if you can manage to get to that level, the man has another chance to find his wife and save her.”

“What’s the secret to accessing the level?”

“During the time it takes to play through the game, you have to make thousands of choices about how your character lives, fights, works, sacrifices for others. You’re faced with opportunities to take the easy way out, or stick to your principles. At the end, if most of your choices have been moral, the last level unlocks itself.”

“So your character has to be perfect throughout the whole game?”

“He doesn’t have to be perfect. Just good enough. He has to learn from his mistakes and put other people’s interests before his own.”

“But why is there a secret level? Why not tell people about it up front, and give them an incentive to make the right choices?”

He smiled slightly. “Because I like the idea that sometimes in life—or in fantasy—you get rewarded for doing the right thing.”

Twenty-four

“… we’ve replaced all the batteries in the clocks, and checked the electrical circuits,” Justine was saying, “and everything is still screwed up.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Jason said into the phone, pacing as they talked. “I know you must be frustrated as hell.”

“I think there might be a supernatural cause for this.”

Jason stopped walking. “Like what?” he asked, keeping his voice casual.

“I’m not sure. I’m wondering if the inn could be haunted. It’s a historic building. Maybe we’re harboring a clock-hating ghost or something.”

“You should ask Rosemary and Sage about it.”

“Yes. I’m going to visit them soon, and I’ll mention it to them. How is your work going? Did you fix the problem you were worried about?”

“I think it’ll be resolved by tonight.”

“Oh, good. Maybe you can come to the San Juans this weekend.”

“I hope so.”

“Do you miss me?” Justine asked.

“No,” he said, “I spend all day not allowing myself to miss you. I don’t let myself think about marshmallow-flavored kisses, or how soft the spaces between your toes are, or how I want to talk to you until we’ve used up all the oxygen in the room. And I especially don’t dwell on the fact that wherever I am, there’s always an empty place beside me that’s exactly your shape and size.”

He talked with Justine a few minutes more, keeping his eyes closed so he could savor the sound of her voice. He wasn’t entirely certain what they were talking about, and it didn’t matter as long as he could hear her.

What could you say to the woman you loved, the last time you might ever talk to her? You’re everything to me. You’ve given me the best days of my life. One of the more ignominious features of love was that you could only express it with clichés … it made you sound like a fraud at a time when you were blazing with sincerity. But at the end of the conversation, he found himself saying, “I love you,” and she said it back.

And it was enough. Those three well-worn, everyday words got the job done.

Ending the call, he went to the next room, where Sage was dusting and cleaning, readying the lighthouse for guests. Ten, to be exact.

“I swore I’d never lie to her again,” Jason said. “Or go behind her back. And less than a week later, I’m doing both.”

“For the best of reasons,” Sage said.

Jason lifted the Jules Verne diving helmet so she could clean the shelf under it. “That’s been my MO lately,” he said. “Doing the wrong thing for the right reason. So far it hasn’t worked out too well.”

“Don’t you worry.” Sage patted his arm as he set the helmet back down. “We’ll fix everything. Once we let the coven know what had happened, they all dropped everything to come here right away.”

“It’s not often a man gets to spend an evening with a dozen pissed-off witches.”

“We prefer to be called crafters. Or coveners. And while some in the coven are less forgiving than others, everyone agrees that you should be praised for taking responsibility. Most men would have run away.”

“Most men wouldn’t have caused all this trouble in the first place.”

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Sage said gently.

In light of the circumstances, she and Rosemary had been far kinder than Jason had expected or deserved. When he had called them from San Diego, he had explained the situation with ruthless honesty, not trying to spare himself, offering no excuses. They had both been quiet, taking in every word he’d said, occasionally asking questions.