Page 82 of Sacrifice the Knight (Checkmate 6)

21

Katrina

THREE WEEKS LATER

Iguess I should have expected how that story would end, right? Meet a nice man, give him hell, make him truly work for it,finallygive in, fall in love and lower your protective barriers… and then he’s gone.

I’d had such an amazing time with Eric, and I was completely fooled into thinking what we’d shared was real. I thought what Ifeltwas real. I thought what he’dsaidwas real. So when I woke to find my bed empty that Sunday morning, I was more confused than angry. I wandered my apartment searching for him for an embarrassingly long time. So long that I vowed to never admit exactly how long to anyone. But once the smoke cleared and reality smacked me in the face, my anger arrived.

It’s kinda apt, right? Sleep with one man, he knocks me up and runs. Date another, he steals my heart and runs. Different kinds of heartbreak, but it all shakes out the same in the end.

I’d slept in until after eight that morning, after two days full of work and Eric, so I was exhausted, but for once, it was the good kind of exhausted. The kind where my vagina hurt and I walked a little funny, but my heart felt full and my smile wouldn’t stop stretching my face. By the time I woke, and then after my stupidly long search of my apartment only to come up empty, I was left with less than twenty minutes to shower, dress, text my son, and haul ass to work.

Maybe he was called out for work,I reasoned.

Maybe I snore too much, I hoped.

Maybe aliens had come and convinced him to cover my shift at work.

My romantic heart begged for a reason for his absence, something heroic, or at the very least, plausible, and my brain reasoned that he’d be sitting in his booth when I arrived for work. Maybe he had a ravenous craving for a lemon zesty burger that only Tammy could deliver.Anythingwas better than complete abandonment after the way he’d treated me like a queen the night before. He’d touched me with reverent hands, whispered words that spoke to my heart, and stroked my back while I slept.

He stroked my fucking back for hours, while he thought I was asleep!

What we’d had wasn’t a fast fuck in a car, and it wasn’t a one-night stand in a garage. I was so sure it was love and truly unique to us. Piece by piece, even after I warned myself not to do it, I fell in love with every word he spoke, with every touch and gentle caress. Eric broke away the layers that had been shielding my heart since I was a naïve teen in need of a hug, and then he exposed me; he made me feel something special; he made me fragile.

At the very first chance, he tossed my glass heart to the floor and smashed it. And in doing so, he’d effectively proved my point.

Men are users, liars, cheats, and thieves.

It’s been three weeks since that morning, and I’ve neither seen nor heard from him since. He wasn’t in the diner when I got to work that day. He didn’t come in the next day either, or the next, or the next after that. My brain and heart battled for dominance all day long until finally, after dinnertime with no word from him, I broke down and sent one single text:everything okay?

Just one.

I couldn’t bring myself to send more than that because my pride was hurt and my heart bleeding. And now with hindsight, I’m so glad I didn’t embarrass myself further. I refuse to bethatgirl.

Days passed with no reply, then a week, then two weeks. And in all of the minutes I counted, because I counted them all while I mentally rebuilt that wall that had served me so well for almost fifteen years, not one single reply came after the read receipt.

Eric knew that I was wondering, but he got what he wanted, and now he’s gone.

It’s almost as though sex wasn’t his only goal. He got that the first night in Angelo’s garage, and if it was all he wanted, then he could have run that first time. No, Eric DeWhit is sneakier than a regular thief and more dangerous than any of the men I feared before him. He wanted more. He wanted my love, too. He wanted all of that power, just so he could crush me in his strong hands and prove he had control all along.

Like asking for the specials, it was always about control.

“Mom?” Mac stops in my doorway with tired eyes and puffy cheeks. He’s suffered from a nasty cold the last few days and has been living on sinus medication and soup. He has a fight coming up and is anxious about missing training sessions, so he’s doubling down on his rest, washing his hands with extra care, taking his meds exactly on time, and sleeping every other minute that he’s not in school or doing homework. With a hand on the doorframe and his tall body dwarfed in a baggy shirt, he watches me through glassy eyes that actually make me feel bad. “Are you sure about this? Maybe I could come with you?”

“What? No.”Brave face. Act like everything is fine and fucking dandy.“It’s an eighteen and over venue, baby. You’re sick, plus, I only have two tickets.”

“But your butt can only sit inoneof those chairs.”

“Meg is coming with me.” I fix my earrings and check myself in the mirror. I’m wearing jeans and a blouse as we move into a cold November. The snow is still a couple weeks away, but the air is biting as soon as the sun goes down. “You’re staying with Grandpa all night, okay?” I turn to him. “I swear, if I hear that you sneak out or make trouble, I’m gonna–”be heartbroken,“–beat your ass. Give me a night of no worry, okay? One single night.”

“I promise I’ll be good.” Coughing and sneezing in one explosion, he steps into my room and wipes the sleeve of his sweater beneath his nose. He watches the floor with drooping shoulders as though he’s miserable. Eric’s easy dismissal reminded me that I have responsibilities. The fact he so easily walked away when, only the night before, I’d suggested telling Mac about us, was a blessing in disguise. It reminded me exactly why I put rules in place about my son.

Mac doesn’t need to know that his mother is an unlovable sewer rat. He doesn’t have to know that I was interested. Really,reallyinterested in who I thought was a wonderful man, only to be let down in the end. Life goes on as it always has, and a cold is the worst of his problems. It remains this way for as long as I hold up my act and keep my shit together.

Which is what I do. It’s what I’m doing tonight.

“Do you want me to stay here with you, baby? I could stroke your hair and help you sleep.”

---