Page 117 of Sacrifice the Knight (Checkmate 6)

I’m gonna kill him. I’m going to track that prick down and wring his neck.“Okay…”

“I called him on it. Called him out as a coward, since he didn’t wanna sit where Mom could see anymore. He yelled at me; I yelled at him.”

“Where did this happen?” I slow at the next corner, then accelerate and head toward the gym. “Not at the diner?”

“Nah, he came by my school. Wanted to talk in private, but I was with Benny and the girls, so I didn’t give him much of my time. I told him no, called him a coward, told him to go fuck himself when he called me an ungrateful little prick. Then we walked away. Haven’t seen him since.”

“I’m sorry, Mac.” I reach across and cup his shoulder. “Truly, I’m sorry. Some people just don’t get what they have. They can’t appreciate it.”

“And then there are guys who lose what they love, and they’d kill to have it back again.”

Our eyes meet. I know he’s speaking of Callie. I know he thinks of her almost as much as I do.

“Right. Some men would do anything to have their kid around. And some others don’t seem to care.”

He shrugs. “So if you wanna be ringside, I’d love for you to be there. Mom will sit with Grandpa and Meg, so she won’t be lonely or anything.”

“Okay.” I say nothing more for a minute while I work on swallowing the lump in my throat. He’s gifting me a child. He’s saying he can give me the things Callie can’t. He was always willing to share his mom if the right guy came along. But now he’s saying he can share himself too. “I wouldn’t miss it. I’ll stand wherever you want me to stand.”

In the silence, he watches the road and grins.

* * *

“Alright,boys. I want a good, clean fight. Listen to my commands at all times, defend yourselves at all times. Touch gloves and step back.”

Mac stands in front of a kid who has an easy twenty pounds on him, at least four or five inches in height, and legs that start at his armpits. But they’re both still kids; they both wear head gear, mouth guards, cups in their shorts, and sixteen-ounce gloves.

It’s as safe as any kid fight can be, so I enjoy today for what it is, rather than take a page out of Katrina’s book and freak the fuck out.

Her dad, introduced to me barely an hour ago, holds his daughter down with a laugh, but his eyes stare right into mine while he does it. His wordless expression tells me everything I need to know and reminds me of hisif you hurt my daughter, I’m gonna stick my Ruger up your ass and see if I can blow your brains onto the ceilingtalk. George Blair ain’t playing, but that’s okay. Neither am I. I’m in love with my girlfriend and hope to change that title soon. Girlfriend is so juvenile, and according to everyone in the universe, I’m old, so that just won’t do.

Katrina DeWhit.

Maybe she’ll like that.

“Alright, boys. Gloves up, get ready.”

I stand just two feet from Bobby Kincaid while he calmly talks to his fighter. The other side is already shouting, throwing words, empty instructions to “smash him.” But Bobby talks of footwork, of strong legs, of long reach and infallible arms. He speaks of breathing, of confidence, of the fact Mac has already won, because no one has trained as hard as he has.

A calm washes over our side of the ring, led by the world champion Kincaids and Benny’s presence. Mac studies his opponent in silence, his brow already sweaty, his mouth almost swollen as his lips stretch around the mouth guard. His limbs are skinny – legs and arms – but he’s muscly too. His thighs, his biceps. He’s growing into a fighter’s body, and only has to give it time before he’s winning championship belts and funding his mother’s retirement.

He doesn’t need to worry about Katrina anymore. That’s my job now, but he’s the man of his house, so I don’t tell him as much. He can continue his role, and I’ll pick up in the background. I’m the add on, and I’m not coming in here to change their routine or demand roles that have already been filled.

“And fight!”

“Oh God!” Katrina’s cry is louder than anyone else in this gym. I turn with a smile and catch her eyes, then I turn back to Mac and watch the way he steps forward on strong legs. His feet move as though he’s been choreographing a dance, not a fight. His limp is gone; the exhaustion in his eyes is gone. He ducks in fast and pops his opponent on the chin, then moves out again so fast, the other kid’s head is still spinning.

“In and out, Mac!” Bobby has to shout to be heard over the crowd. “Legs, body, legs, body. Do it, Mac. Legs, body, legs, body. Good!” He nods approvingly when Mac does exactly as he’s told. These rounds supposedly last three minutes each, so time both rushes and crawls as the boys trade jabs and dodge legs. The other kid develops a limp and provides Mac with a satisfied smile. But he doesn’t go easily. He hammers Mac’s leg with fast, axe-like snaps.

Mac’s eyes darken with each slam, his face screws up into a painful grimace, and each time his guard slips and he takes a solid strike, his eyes almost always come back to mine. He’s not losing this fight, but he’s not winning either, and the way his chest laboriously lifts and drops hurts me on my deepest levels. It’s a recreational competition, and no one is truly hurting him, but letting him go wars with my instincts the way I never wanted Kane to step into a ring.

The bell dings after the world’s longest three minutes, so both boys separate with an almost relieved sigh as they go back to their corners and Mac’s shadowed eyes come back to mine.

“You’re doing fine.” Bobby tips the water bottle so Mac can drink. “You’re doing great. You’ve hurt his leg. He’s limping, so keep pounding it, and you’ll win on points.”

“Wanna knock him out.”

Bobby chuckles. “This isn’t the world title, Blair. Slow it down; don’t burn yourself out on this. Take your victory on points; save your fire for the bigger fights.”

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