Playing For Keeps (Checkmate Series Book 4)

by Emilia Finn

  17

  Riley

  911

  Because Andi isn’t always the kind of girl to think too far ahead, an hour after we fell to my bed with exhausted bodies and goofy grins, when she had to pee, but found herself stoned and cuffed to the man she declares lifelong servitude to, we had to drag our sorry asses up together, and I had to stand on the cold tile with my crutches while she peed.

  She swears she has no clue where the keys are.

  When she sat with a quiet smile of relief, wiped, and almost used the wrong hand, our relationship took on a whole new level of comfort. Most couples tend to wait a while before peeing in front of each other, right?

  Not us.

  Two hours after she was done, it was my turn, so again, we got up and made our way into the bathroom, Andi stood hip to hip beside me and basically held me up, and in the super-late hours of the night, or super-early hours of the morning, experienced her first ever standing-up-to-pee moment.

  I refuse to accept her silly giggles as a reflection on my cock, so I peed and lay the blame directly on the fact she was stoned.

  Around four a.m., the munchies kicked in and resulted in another batch of brownies in my messy kitchen, minus the loaded butter, and belly aching laughter as we ate the batter and fed clean batter to a curious Nacho-The-Pig.

  “Why’d you call her Nacho?”

  “Because she’s Nacho-damn-pig!”

  Finally around five, with satisfied bellies and empty bladders, we fell back to my bed with sighs and contented laughter, and for the first time since I woke in that godforsaken hospital, I slept without pain, without bad dreams, and with Andi’s face on my heart.

  She lie on my right side and hitched her leg high over mine, and with her fingers stroking my stomach, we slept the sleep of the dead until my next round of meds were due.

  “Oz?” As soon as he picks up the phone at nine, I breathe a sigh of relief, since neither Alex nor Libby are answering. “Hey, can you come over to my place this morning?”

  Like he’s walking around his home, Oz moves through sliding glass doors and closes them until the clanging of dishes and tween giggles quieten. “Hey, Rook. You okay? Everything good?”

  Andi sits beside me – obviously – and stifles her giggles. “All good here, but umm, I kinda need you to come over to my house. I have somewhat of a situation.”

  “Andi okay?” The sound of keys clanging together and boots hitting hardpacked dirt make Andi giggle against my shoulder. Her chest bounces, her hair curtains her face, but her hot breath bathes my skin through the fabric of my shirt. “If you tell me you upset her again, I’m gonna run you down with my truck and put you outta your misery. But if she burned your house down, then give me a heads up and I’ll get fire on the way, too.”

  “House is fine. Andi’s fine. But I need a little help. I tried calling X, but he’s not answering.”

  “He’s at the doctor’s with Jules this morning. They’re getting blood tests done or some shit for the baby. Sasquatch! Come here.”

  “Oz, no!” I scrunch my eyes closed and pray for my life when Andi’s giggles turn to howling laughter and Benny’s shouted reply comes through the phone. “Oz! Don’t bring her nephew. Jesus, are you insane?”

  “Is she dressed, Rook? Safe? Not tied to anything.”

  “She’s… dressed.”

  He knows what I’m not saying. “So there’s no reason why Benny can’t come. Sack up, Rook, and prepare to meet your maker. Get in the back, Sasquatch. You can ride like a criminal today.”

  Oz’s teenaged step-son growls in reply. “Fuck you, pig!”

  “Knock, knock.” I hear the laughter in Oz’s voice, the giddiness in his bouncing steps on my hardwood floors. One set of shoes. Two sets.

  “Fuck me.”

  “That’s more than two people,” Andi whispers.

  We sit on the end of my bed with our hands cuffed between us, holding hands, twined fingers, and though Andi’s shake, it’s not from nerves or panic. It’s from laughter, because she doesn’t give a damn that people are in our home with intentions to humiliate us.

  “Rook?”

  “Bedroom.” I drop my head and sigh. “This is gonna suck.”

  The door slams open like we’re in a slasher film – I can almost imagine the Jason mask, chainsaw, and blood splatters on a white shirt – until Benny leads the pack and steps in with feral rage simmering in his eyes. “What the fuck is going on in here? What did you do to her?”

  “Benny! Don’t swear.” Lindsi slides in front of Oz and around Benny, and steps into the room with lips that form a straight line. I know she’s biting down her smile as her eyes scan my room. “Everybody okay in here?”

  “Actually, we just need Oz, so if you and Benny could just–”

  “I wanna see. Move outta the way. Benny, move. I wanna see!” Tink – five feet tall and married to one of the fighters from the Rollin gym – slams her fist into the teen’s kidney and forces him aside.

  Stopping beside Lindsi, she plops her hands on her hips and smirks. “Well, well, well, don’t you two look lovely and cozy? I love a good kink story, and I’m dying to know why Oz called the house and told everyone to come over, so....” She waves a hand. “I have to pick my boys up soon, so spill.”

  “Oz!” My body says jump up and rush forward until my fists meet his face. But my leg reminds me I can’t do shit. “I would appreciate it if you could all leave. This is my bedroom. My home. My privacy! Don’t make me call the chief.”

  Tink rolls her eyes. “You think the chief scares me, little Rookie? I’ve been mouthing off to the cops since before you grew out of diapers.”

  That’s not at all true, considering she’s only a few years older than me, but she doesn’t care about facts as she steps closer, leans into our space, and tries to figure out what we’re hiding. She doesn’t notice the cuffs because of the position of our hands. She stands on her toes and looks over my shoulder, pulls back and studies my legs.

  Surprisingly, that doesn’t bother me as much as it would have even yesterday. Having Andi hold my hand changes things. Her acceptance helps me accept it. Her promises make me braver.

  If she can be okay with it, and I can be okay with it, then I guess it doesn’t matter a damn what everyone else thinks.

  “Seriously, though. I’ve gotta get my boys from the gym soon, so can we get to the fun parts? You know I hate missing out.”

  “Hello?” Megan Montgomery’s voice echoes through my house just a second after the front door opens. Then a second set of boots follow her in. “Where is everyone? What’s so exciting?”

  “Oz… I’m gonna kill you.”

  “What?” He throws his hands up. Lindsi stands against his chest with her arms wrapped around his hips and her head bouncing as he laughs. “I was coming here, just as you asked. Lindsi wanted to come, because Andi is her cousin and she was concerned. Sasquatch was talking to Mac in the car, who was at the gym, so he told Tink. Marc called me because he wanted to talk furniture. I didn’t do this on purpose! I’m doing you a favor, Rook. Appreciate me!”

  “He.” Tink coughs. “Called.” Cough. “Me.” Cough, cough. “Said to move fast and bring whoever else wanted to see.”

  “Franks!”

  “Oh, brownies!”

  “No!” Andi shoots up off the bed and reveals the cuffs before she realizes her actions. Everyone in the room stares at my dangling hand, at the silver glint of the cuffs, and then at my face as I drop it into my hand.

  “What the fuck?” Ben snaps. “What kinda kinky panky sex club bullshit is this?”

  Meg’s smiling face pops up at the door, then she pushes through and stops at the front of the crowd with her baby in one arm, and a brownie – minus one bite – in the other. “What’s going on in here? We got here as fast as we could.”

  Andi dives forward and snatches the brownie away. Crushing it in her hand, crumbs fall to the floor and leave me shaking my head. Andi’s eyes shoot around the room
and skip over Oz as his brow lifts.

  “Well… first, I’d like to make a non-official, off-the-record, no-police-involvement statement, and declare those brownies are not suitable for a breastfeeding mother.”

  “You have pot brownies, Andi?” Then it hits him, and Oz’s eyes come to me. “You eating pot brownies, Rook? What the fuck is going on in your house? Mr. My-Body-Is-A-Temple; this is your second offense!”

  “Both times were her fault!” I stand, much slower than Dee, and pull my crutches under my arms. Not only doesn’t anyone jump forward with the sympathy I hate and offer to help, but they watch me with wide eyes and a little excitement like I’m a brand-new guy. Andi watches me with a twinkle in her eyes, almost the same twinkle I see three seconds before we fuck. My ability to stand and not be a grumpy fuck about it turns her on.

  Interesting…

  “Both times were her fault, Oz; her pot supply, her baking, her initiative. I’m just the bystander always being roped into stupid shit.”

  “This is your house, Rook. Your kitchen, your hand cuffed to hers. We don’t let all the idiots off when they’re breaking the law just because they said it was their buddy who started it. You helped stir the batter, didn’t you?”

  “No!”

  “Yes.” Andi brings the crushed cake to her mouth and takes a small bite. “And he ate the batter raw. He was so freakin’ funny. You ever got stoned with him before, Oz? He’s hilarious.”

  “Dee!”

  “No.” Oz’s narrowed eyes study me closely. Not his wife’s cousin as she eats a pot brownie right in front of him, but me; my bad leg, my good leg, my crutches. “I’ll unlock you in five minutes, Rook, but first you gotta give me an update. X told me you were with the surgeon yesterday, but he didn’t tell me what’s up. So you do it; what’s happening?”

  “No, not five minutes. Now! Because my recovery is none of your damn business.” I thrust my hand forward and tug Andi’s arm up. “Undo these, please. Then I want you all to get out. Tink!” I reach forward and snatch the cell from her hand. Turning it around, I catch sight of my floor, and in the top left corner of the screen, little red letters and numbers. LIVE 01:23. “Are you fucking serious right now? You’re filming this?”

  She shrugs. “Jimmy couldn’t leave the gym, so he told me to hook him up.”

  “No!” I hit the power button and switch the screen off. Marc Macchio – Friend? Foe? I’m not sure – stands at the door with a dirty grin on his face and his arms folded across his chest. “Get out of my room! All of you, get the hell out! I didn’t invite you in here.”

  “But you need me, don’t you, Rook?” Oz dangles a set of keys from his finger and smirks. “We can do this the hard way, or we can do it the easy way.”

  “Or I can get the axe,” Marc offers. “I can go all Jack Dawson and get you out. But you run the risk of losing your arm, too. How attached are you?”

  “Fuck off!” I snatch the remaining brownie from Dee’s hand to stop her from nibbling, and toss it over top of my visitors. Crumbs fly everywhere, the girls squeal and duck, but Marc doesn’t move a single muscle as the chocolatey snack lands in the hall. Nacho’s toenails clip-clip-clip on the wooden floor and threaten a stoned pig and an expensive vet visit, but Marc’s stomping foot scares her away on a squeal and panicked feet.

  I point when they all turn back to me. “You people need to get out of my home before I press charges.”

  “Oh, please.” Rolling her eyes, Tink straightens up and fixes the baby blanket that shifted when Meg ducked. “You’re not doing shit, because you’re still kinda turned on about the night in cuffs. You think Andi’s not right there giving me the hand signals?”

  I turn with wide eyes and glare at a snickering Andi. “The fuck? You’re supposed to be on my side!”

  “What? I am!” She throws her hand up. “I’m okay with this. I can stay cuffed to you forever, because you’re cute as hell when you’re trying to pee in the middle of the night. So whatever.” She lifts her left hand and shows off the fake ring. “Guys, did you hear we’re getting married? You can all be my bridesmaids.”

  “What?!”

  18

  Andi

  Monday

  A few days after the world exploded at my fake announcement about my fake engagement using my fake ring, I find myself sitting in a waiting room while Riley nervously bounces his knee and squeezes my hand so tight, my fingers start to turn white from blood loss.

  He’s nervous.

  He’s terrified, because today marks something new. Something unknown. Something that makes him vulnerable.

  And Riley Cruz doesn’t handle vulnerability very well.

  “Hey.” I place my spare hand on his knee and press down until he comes back to Earth. “It’s gonna be okay. They’re not going to hurt you today.”

  “What do you think they’re gonna do?”

  “Papier-Mache; I promise. They’re going to check your leg to make sure the swelling is coming down.” I give him a brave smile and another squeeze of the hand. “Which it is. They’ll ask you about your lifestyle; you like to be active, so they need to know that so they can recommend the right prosthesis. And they’re going to create a cast of your leg, which is how they create the sockets and stuff that’ll make up your new leg.”

  “Officer Cruz?” A thirty-something man in a white coat and a clipboard stops at the doorway and waits for us to look up. “Please come through.”

  “I wish they didn’t call me officer,” Riley grumbles. Standing and pulling his crutches under his arms, he doesn’t push me away like he used to. Instead, its almost like now he’s allowing me to be the only person on the inside. He’s still grumpy and mean to most who ask about his leg, but with me, there’s no more fear. I’m allowed to look, I’m allowed to touch, and I’m the one he asks questions when he’s uncertain and scared to voice his concerns to anyone else. “I’m not a cop anymore, Dee. I don’t wanna be called officer.”

  “Okay. You don’t have to be called anything you don’t wanna… except smoochie-poo. I’m partial to that one.” I walk slowly beside him and make our way along the hall. Stepping into a room not so different to the one I had in Mia’s clinic back home, I walk a little faster and lean over the technician’s desk. Riley busily works his way into a chair, but Lincoln – according to his name tag – watches me close as I snatch up a red pen and cross officer out.

  Three times.

  I write Mr above the scribbles and meet his eyes with a lift of my brows. No words need to be spoken, just a nod, then he accepts his pen back.

  “Okay, Mr. Cruz.” I walk to the chair beside Riley’s while the technician sits on a rolling stool and moves closer. “My name is Linc, and I’m a prosthetics technician.” He offers a hand and waits for Riley to take it. “I know this is all new to you, but I’m here to make this as easy as possible. I have an extensive education on prosthetics and physical therapy, I sit on many boards where we discuss technological advancement, and I teach classes at the nearby university.”

  “You think that impresses me?” Riley’s dark eyes force Linc back. “You think I wanna know about the six billion other responsibilities you have? Because your boasting actually leads me to believe you’re too busy for me, so maybe I should go someplace else that’ll pay attention and not make my leg worse.”

  “I was only trying to show you I’m qualified and educated.”

  “Riley.” I squeeze his hand as hard as I can. “Cool it. Let him help you.”

  Just as I promised in the waiting room, we discuss activity level, what Riley expects to get out of a new leg – will he sit at home all day and knit, or will he go back to running marathons? – and we discuss the differences between a temporary leg; a leg he’ll use for the first few months while the swelling completely goes down, and his permanent leg; which will be a much better fit, lighter, and all around more comfortable.

  Linc brings out the plaster and works on making Riley’s cast, making this the first time I’
ve ever seen a professional work on his leg. Riley hates this, he hates every single second that someone touches him. He hates the way Linc moves in impossibly close and studies the still healing incision, he hates how Linc moves his leg around, comfortable with the process, but making Riley self-conscious.

  But for the first time since this all began, instead of pushing me away, Riley clutches to me, his eyes beg for me not to leave him now. The hand in mine shakes, and his light eyes almost water with embarrassment. He hardly looks as the technician works, instead, he stares at the ceiling or me.

  “Hey.” Sitting taller, I pucker my lips and wait for him to oblige. “Do you think Nacho’s being good for Livi?”

  Robotically, he drops his kiss and goes back to staring at the ceiling. “I hope she takes a shit on Oz’s bed. I hope she does something really awful and teaches him a lesson.”

  “She wouldn’t do that.” In a sign of solidarity, I sit back in my chair and stare at the ceiling, too. Linc wanted to chit-chat, but he gave up after everything he said was being met with silence. “Nacho’s a good girl; she uses the litter box.”

  “She’s a pain in my ass. You think I didn’t notice my phone cord chewed to shit?”

  I bite my lips closed. I actually did think we got away with that.

  “Or my pillow case? What about the spatulas? I used to own a bunch of them, but now I can only find one, and the handle has teeth marks in it.”

  “Well…”

  “She chewed my TV remote, Dee. The towel that hangs in the guest bathroom.” He thrusts his crutch toward me and almost knocks Linc out on the way. “She chewed my crutches, while I was using them!”

  “All done!” Linc sits back like he thinks we’re about to explode. He’s got a world of education coming his way if he thinks this is us fighting. This is us discussing. With a side of flirting thrown in.