Page 57 of Sacrifice the Knight (Checkmate 6)

Guilt slides into my belly when he lets out a breath of relief. Not a dramatic, fake breath, but something much more real, something that makes me feel truly bad for the worry he just expelled on one gusty breath. “One word answers, okay?”

“Huh?”

“I gotta make sure you’re okay. How many cookies did you bring me after that first time together? Give me the real answer if you’re not okay. Give me the wrong number if you’re safe.”

“Um…” The real answer is three. “Four. I brought you four cookies.”

“And why weren’t you at work tonight? Real answer means someone is holding a gun to your head. Wrong answer means you’re okay and have the brain space to make something up.”

“Um…” The thought of a gun anywhere near my head screws with my creativity. It proves his theory that a real gun would ensure my inability to lie. “Uh… I was flower shopping. For my dream wedding. Meg and I chose tulips for a spring wedding, and we ate chocolate cake samples until we got fat.”

“Katrina…”

“Actually, that last bit was true.”

He chuckles. “Why the fuck are you calling me at two in the damn morning? You just stole a whole decade from my life.”

“I’m sorry.” I bite my bottom lip and slide the rest of the way under my covers. I wasn’t cold before, but now I feel the need to snuggle beneath the blankets and pretend I don’t see the outside world. I want to pretend I’m just a girl calling a boy. Everything outside this room is stress, and bills, and responsibility, but in here, while I’m on the phone in the dark, none of that exists. “I was wired up and couldn’t sleep. I don’t have anyone else I might consider calling at this hour. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay.” He grunts, almost painting a picture of himself moving beneath his warm blankets. “Scared me to hell and back, but we’re okay now. Tell me more about that cake.”

I snicker, though I keep it quiet. Mac will stampede in here faster than a storm if he hears me talking on the phone. “My baby had a fight last night. A competition fight.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised. “He never mentioned it.”

“For such a cocky kid, he’s actually kinda quiet before big events. You’ll for sure hear all about it tomorrow. He’ll have made banners, no doubt.”

“Did he win?” His tone changes. “Did he get hurt? How did his leg take it?”

His concern warms my hardened heart and makes me wonder if I’ll regret this call. “He did win, and his leg was fine during the fight.”

“And now?”

He knows exactly how to dial in and get the answers he wants.

“He was icing it all night after the fight. He said it was precautionary, but I could tell it was bothering him a little. The gym AT kept an eye on him and helped him rotate the ice, and he took some pain meds before bed, so he’ll sleep it off. It’s bothering him a little, but I mean, technically he’s fine. There’s nomoredamage, and now he thinks he’s Rocky, so there’ll probably be balloons and streamers in the diner tomorrow.”

“Will he walk in with his posse of girls?” He chuckles. “Those Roller daughters would help him celebrate.”

“You’re very observant, DeWhit. And yes, I suspect his posse will be with him tomorrow. Evie won her fight too, so they’ll be rowdy. But seeing as those girls are old hands at this, their following him around will be less about celebrating and more about his leg. They’ll worry it’ll fail, and he might fall. So they’ll pretend they’re celebrating, but really, they’ll be circling and preparing to catch him.”

“They’re good friends,” he grumbles. The sound of stubble rubbing against fabric and a soft grunt makes my stomach warm. He’s snuggling in and getting comfortable, and a massive –stupid– part of me wishes we were lying in the same bed. I want to slide my legs between his and snuggle in; I want to lie on his shoulder and play with the tags he hangs around his neck. I want to pretend. “They’re good kids at that place.”

“Yeah, they really are.”

“How’d you deal with the fight?” I can hear the smile in his voice. “How many times did you try to flatten the other kid?”

“None.” I laugh under my breath, then amend, “Well, I suppose I could have handled the fight a little better. I might have been somewhat wound up and fidgety.”

“Fidgety,” he snorts. “I bet.”

“Shut up,” I spit, with absolutely no venom at all. “I did the best I could, okay? I didn’t want to watch him fight. I didn’t want to watch last time either, or the time before that. But I did; I was present and supportive, and only a super small part of me considered snapping his leg again so he can’t go pro.”

“Katrina!” His mock gasp makes me smile. “You would sabotage your own son’s fighting career? How dare!”

His exclamation tosses me back a whole decade to when Mac was a toddler and he’d cryhow dare?when I did something he didn’t approve of. How dare I make him dinner he didn’t like? How dare I toss his eleven billionth drawing of a rainbow into the trash? How dare I forget to borrow a new library book that week, so we’d have something fresh and new – and free – to read? It’s a kid thing, a humorous statement that always made me want to hear it again.

I wished away so many of our years together, all in the pursuit of an easier time.Next month, we’ll have a little more money. Next year, Mac will be in school, and I can work a little more. Next Christmas, I’ll be able to buy my baby a gift that comes in its original packaging, rather than something from the local secondhand store that I’d scrub clean and claim was new.I was incapable of stopping in the moment and enjoying what we had, and I was terrified someone would sweep in and take what little we had away.

“A part of me considers it every day,” I shamefully admit. “If he can’t fight, he won’t get hurt. If he can’t fight, his dreams of riches and fame can’t come true. If he’s neither rich nor famous, then a lot of the people who will want to use him won’t get the chance.”

“Katrina?” His voice soothingly rumbles into my ear. “Your momma bear is showing.”

I breathe a small laugh through my nose and bring my blankets up to cover my face. “I honestly don’t know how to put it away. It showed up when I peed on a stick, and that was exactly half of my lifetime ago. It’s been a part of me for so long, I don’t know how to switch it off.”

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