Page 86 of Dice & Dekes

Chapter Twenty-Three

Knova

Everyone is getting along. Dad and Noah are deep in conversation about the likelihood of the Venom making it to the playoffs this year—high, apparently—while Mom and Molly catch each other up on their respective careers. Molly owns a bookstore, and Mom’s thrilled to talk about her new album. Knight has relaxed, and he’s engaged Viktor in a conversation about physical therapy and recovery timelines.

While the rest of them talk, I just sit there, sipping my coffee and nibbling on a pastry, letting the reality of our situation sink in. I was so afraid of this moment, of what it would mean for us and our families. I was so worried about being judged.

But I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not looking for reasons to run. I’m not scared of loving him—not when he’s already proven that he won’t let me face my ghosts alone. If anything, I’m scared of how easy it feels now. How right. How much I want all of this.

I pull out my phone and open a new message. Baylor deserves to hear it from me first.

SuperKnova:I told them. All of them. That I love him and I want to stay married.

BowBeforeBaylor:Well slap my ass and call me a psychic. Also, I’m registering for your wedding gifts right now. You’re getting six toasters.

SuperKnova:Make it seven. I like options. Just don’t get me forks to go with them. And B—Thank you. For everything.

BowBeforeBaylor:Always. But if he hurts you again, I’m smothering him with your period-coded weighted blanket and blaming it on sleep apnea.

I snort into my coffee, smiling so hard my face aches.

I’m honestly glad we waited to tell all of them. If I hadn’t made up my mind about Viktor and was still dead set on making him out to be a villain, things would have ended very differently.

I needed to know that I loved him before we could move forward. Now that I’ve made up my mind, I’m more than willing to stand my ground.

Eventually, the ‘rents decide to leave and begin the long, tedious process of putting everything back the way they found it. Noah and Dad are engaged in shuffling the chairs when Mom takes my elbow and ushers me aside.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she murmurs. “But given how your father was acting, I understand why you would be hesitant to share… personal information.”

“I’ve never seen you guys fight like you did the other night. I got worried when you walked out.” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth before I blurt what I’ve been thinking since that dinner. “Are you guys okay?”

Mom rocks back on her heels. “Knova, are you worried that your father and I are on the rocks?”

“Yeah, a little.” I shrink down into the collar of my comfy sweatshirt. “I’ve never seen you walk out before.”

“Sweetheart, I mean this in the nicest possible way… but have you met your father?”

I blink at her.

“You really think we’ve never fought?” She rolls her eyes, but her fond smile remains unwavering. “That man has an opinion about everything. The lawn. His career. My career. Which beer is the best. Knight’s form on the ice. The best pizza in town.” At the sight of my stricken face, she laughs. “It’s never been subtle, sweetie. I knew that when I married him. He’s stubborn, and it would be easy for him to get set in his ways. He needs someone who will bump him out of his comfort zone. Who will challenge him and his way of thinking. And that’s what you do for Viktor,” she continues, reaching up to pat my cheek. “You pull him forward. He grounds you. That’s partnership, Knova. Not perfection. Just showing up for each other, even when it’s hard.”

“You’re saying Viktor challenges me?” I ask.

“Every moment of the day. You challenge him, too.”

I sneak a glance into the living room, where Dad is lecturing Noah on the best way to carry a chair. Stubborn indeed. “I’m not sure that fighting is the best basis for a marriage…”

“Fighting? No, but there’s nothing wrong with a good debate. It clears the air. You and Viktor have your own communication style—”

I snort at Mom’s diplomatic phrasing.

“—but so long as it’s coming from a place of love, I think you’ll be fine.” She kisses my forehead and steps away. “I hope you’ll talk to me next time you’re dealing with something big, sweetpea. I miss you. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I love you, Mom. Maybe next time, Viktor and I can host family dinner.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I have a vivid memory of lying on my back, legs spread wide, my ass hanging over the edge of the kitchen table as Viktor fucked me in my little apron. My cheeks heat up. Thank God that table is sturdy.

Also, I need to apologize to that poor floral apron. May it rest in shredded, highly sexed-up peace.

“That would be lovely,” Mom says, oblivious to the extremely graphic mental image playing on repeat in my fevered brain. I make a mental note to re-sanitize the kitchen table before my parents ever eat there. And maybe burn sage.

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