Page 121 of Sacrifice the Knight (Checkmate 6)

Epilogue

“Mom! Stop.”

I slowly move behind Mac and shadow him along the front path of our new home. He bats at my hands, curses enough that his ass should be grounded for a year, then curses some more when I don’t bite at his bullshit. Hewantsto get into trouble, since it’s been so long. It’s like he craves me shouting at him, but he was so sick for so long, I forget what I was ever mad at him about.

It’s like looking into your newborn baby’s eyes and wondering how they could ever make you mad. It’s not possible, though when you’re thinking logically, you know it’s inevitable. For weeks now, I’ve watched my son’s every move. He screamed at me to stop babying him long ago, so I baby from afar. I watch him with an eagle eye, but I don’t trip over myself to fetch him a glass of water anymore.

His cardiologist said it would be good for him to get up and walk around. So he can get his own damn water. And when he gets back, I ask him to get me one too, if only because I know the gentle exercise is good for him.

But today is different. Today is special in the most horrible way.

Today, we’re going to face our demons head on.

“Mom!” He turns to me with an expression one could only describe as lovinglyover it.“I can walk. I’m fine. I don’t need you to hold my hand. This isn’t my first day of kindergarten.”

“Kinda feels like it to me.” I sniffle and feel Eric’s warmth when he steps up behind me, when his hands take my hips and his breath bathes the back of my head.

“Let him walk to the car, babe. Save your mother hen thing for when he climbs into the ring.”

“Oh God.” I hold my chest and almost weep at the heavy thump thump. This time last year, my heart skipping a beat would be considered a poetic phrase of sorts, a silly cliché and not at all real. But now it means something else.

My heart is fine. They tested me; they tested Daddy. Even Eric took a spin with their tests, if only to convince us he was healthy and sticking around. Mac’s condition was isolated, and his heart irreparably damaged from a series of unfortunate fuck-ups. A sinus infection here, a headache there that he self-medicated with my migraine medicine. Add in extra training as he worked toward a fight, which meant extra pain pills to help with the ache in his leg. Individually, these things would be fine, but put together in a teenager’s vulnerable body, and my son had begun the ticking timebomb that exploded at the end of a fight five weeks ago.

While my son slept in the ICU and his body worked on accepting this new journey he would be on, the rest of us visited the cardiology wing and had ourselves tested.

Fortunately for us, that’s not how life will turn out for us. A shooting star as unique as my baby crossed the sky above our hospital the night he was being kept alive by machines, and though that star tragically had to die so my son could live, I’m not sorry for it.

Yeah, I know. I’m selfish, but I won’t ever say sorry for wanting my son to live.

Mac climbs into the back of Eric’s truck and buckles in, then he leans forward when I slide into the passenger side and takes my hand. He acts like he needs space from his overbearing mother, but he holds my hand and jams my shoulder back now just like he used to when he was a toddler. All alone in the back, he cried out for my hand, and wouldn’t let go again despite my arm falling asleep.

“You gonna be okay, Mom?”

I scoff. It’s forced and fake and ends on a pathetic squeak, but I nod anyway, because it’s my job to lie and not let him see my fear. “Yes, I’m ready. This’ll be great.”

“You guys ready to catch me if I drop again?”

“Macallistar!” I turn in my seat and smack his knee. “Don’t joke about that!”

Chuckling, Eric climbs into the driver’s seat and turns to us with pure adoration in his eyes. He wears this smile permanently attached to his face these days, even when Mac is tired and grumpy with his progress. He smiles, even when I start to freak out. He smiles, even when he has to go to work and leave us at home. He just… smiles. Because, according to him,anythingis better than what could have happened that day we spent in a hospital waiting room.

He studies my face for a long minute, then Mac’s. Then, shaking his head and wearing that smile I love so much, he starts the engine and pulls out of the driveway of our new home. It’s everything I never dreamed of, not because of the beautiful garden I can’t wait to dig into come the spring, or the amazing kitchen that begs to be cooked in, not because of the clawfoot tub Eric was so eager to show me, or the bedroom my son now calls his own, but because it’s a home for a family. It’s not just an apartment orthe best we could afford, but a home I want to live in for the rest of my days.

I sit back in my chair and twine my fingers with Mac’s, but my eyes are all for Eric. He’s wearing the exact outfit I remember from my first impression of him: white shirt with flannel over the top, dark blue jeans, heavy boots, and that stupid hat that covers his ears. I like to tease that he looks dumb, but I’m so in love with him, with us, with this family, that he sees straight through my bullshit and asks if I’d rather he fucked me while he wears it.

The answer is no.

But he can wear it during the day, because it’s pureEric. And to me, Eric is the epitome of sexy and perfect.

It takes only minutes to drive across town toward the gym that hosted the fight day – the Rollin On Gym, of course. The parking lot is packed to capacity, but a spot at the front doors remains free, guarded only by a couple teenage fighter girls while they wait for our arrival.

I just know they kicked anyone’s ass who thought this spot was for them.

They back away as we pull into the space, then loiter by the gym doors as Eric cuts the engine and turns to give us a small smile. “You guys ready for this?”

My stomach lurches at the very thought of seeing my son in that boxing ring again. I know today is under control; I know I technically have nothing to worry about, but knowing and feeling are two different things. And Ifeellike the universe gets off on smacking us down just for fun.

“No.” I turn to Eric and answer truthfully. “I’m really not ready for this, guys. In fact, I’d be okay if we went home and watched movies for the next… eleven years.”

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