The Prince and the Pawn

by Reid, B. B.

  Surprisingly, it was Four who answered when the rest of them paled. Leaning forward, she pinned me with her brown-eyed gaze. “It’s been months since anyone’s seen or heard from you,” she pointed out sharply enough to sting. “Despite that glaring fact, the police refused to help for some reason.” I gulped at that, knowing why. The Blackwoods may have controlled this town, the cops included, but my father controlled them. “Your best friend got desperate and decided to turn elsewhere.” Casting a worried glance at her boyfriend, who looked like he was going to be sick, Four sighed and said in a softer tone. “His father is on his way. Ever agreed to meet Sean in exchange for his help.”

  “What makes you think Ever’s father could help?”

  Lou was the one to answer this time. “Because the enemy of your enemy is your friend, and if anyone is crazy enough to challenge your father, it’s Crow.”

  I found Wren watching me, his gaze hard and steady. Ever was watching me, too, only his gaze was full of guilt when it should have been fear. By telling them who my father was, he’d put all of them in danger without realizing that I wasn’t even worth it.

  None of that mattered when I realized what Lou had revealed. “Your father is Crow?” I asked of Ever. “As in the Crow who co-founded Exiled? As in my father’s dead rival?”

  “He’s not dead anymore,” Wren answered.

  I absently chewed my food as I sat alone in my favorite diner, mulling over what Four had revealed—what Ever had been willing to sacrifice to find me. Luckily, Wren had been willing to do what Ever couldn’t out of guilt and called off their father’s arrival.

  I cursed when I realized my thoughts had led me to strangle my burger until the contents spilled into the little red basket my food had been in. The diner’s burgers were the thickest and juiciest I’d ever had, leaving little wonder why the owners set up shop less than half a mile from the local hospital. The burgers were greasy enough to induce a heart attack, yet it tasted like ash in my mouth.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Ever almost meeting his father because of me or the fact that Tyra and I had sat in this very booth for our first date. I’d ended up wearing her burger on my face when I teased her for not being able to handle a junior stack. I remembered the grim acceptance that filled her whiskey eyes as she sat there expectantly. Tyra had been waiting for me to throw in the towel and give up the chase, not knowing that she’d revealed her true feelings or that she’d created an addict instead.

  “Do you know why people love roses?” I inquired after cleaning her burger off my face. “It’s not their soft petals that make them irresistible but their sharp thorns. Instead of warning people away, the thorns tell the beholder that the rose is something worth bleeding for.” Throwing the napkin down on the table, I pinned Tyra with my glare. “So give me all you got because I’m not going anywhere.”

  Cursing the sharp pain in my chest, I turned my attention toward the window, abandoning memory lane to people-watch instead. Nothing was entertaining enough to distract me, but pretending was better than weeping over my burger like some lovesick sap. The neighborhood was a pretty busy area with the hospital nearby, a slew of specialized doctor’s offices surrounding it, a couple of churches, some shops, and a few restaurants. Macchicino, the coffee shop where Tyra used to work, was only a couple of blocks away despite the Starbucks right across the street.

  Since it was Saturday, the streets were crowded, and everyone seemed to be in a rush as people hurried off in different directions. I even recognized a couple of people I’d graduated with who already felt like distant strangers. It was funny how only a few months could erase a decade of being crammed into classrooms together and passing each other every day in the halls. Then again, I’d been their quarterback, hoisted onto a pedestal I’d never asked for, virtually untouchable. I guess we’d always been strangers.

  Polishing off my triple stack, I started sipping at my shake only to choke and sputter at the small figure darting past my window a moment later. I instantly recognized the curly locks that looked wilder than usual and the rich brown skin I recalled feeling like velvet that now seemed grayish and pale. Shooting from the booth, I questioned my sanity, and if my eyes were playing tricks on me. It couldn’t have been her, I reasoned even as I made for the door. It was the middle of February. She was safely tucked away at Harvard. She wouldn’t be in Blackwood Keep. She couldn’t.

  Reason gave way to desperation as I rushed outside. I ignored the shouts of the waitress who’d served my food as I started in the direction the girl had gone.

  What if it was Selena?

  The realization almost stopped me in my tracks. Almost. Selena’s threat to stay in Blackwood Keep could have been real, or she could have gone back to whatever hell she’d risen from. Either way, I had to know.

  By the time I hit the end of the block that only led in two directions, the hospital on my right and too many possibilities up ahead, she was gone. Or at least the crowd was too thick for me to spot her. For all I knew, she’d been a mere mirage—a symptom of too much time spent without emotional sustenance. Too much time away from her.

  Sighing, I admitted defeat while feeling a little foolish and grateful. If it had been Tyra, I might as well have signed our death certificate. Nothing in this world would have stopped me from approaching her.

  Turning around, I started back to the diner only to have the path blocked by my angry waitress and the manager. “Sir, you must pay for your food!”

  FOR AS LONG AS I could remember, I’d wanted to be a doctor. It had been my dream to roam the halls of the Susannah Blackwood Medical Center, first as a wide-eyed resident, then confident fellow, and one day, a respected surgeon. I wanted it all—the white lab coat, the stethoscope, the bags under my eyes from working sixty hours a week, and even the mountain of debt if need be. So what if I ate ramen and ravioli and lived in a box for the rest of my life? I was convinced nothing could dissuade me from my dream.

  That was until I spent the last six weeks inside these very walls, having my heart ripped out of my chest continuously.

  As the elevator doors opened and I rushed onto the third floor, inhaling a lung full of disinfectant, I worried it would be too soon before I saw another hospital again. Mustering a pitiful smile for the cheerful staff and worried families I passed in the hall, I made my way to the wash station. Understanding how vital this step was, I forced myself not to rush through scrubbing my hands properly as I waited for the light above the sink, a clever timer, to turn colors. The moment the glow turned from ominous red to bright green, I was off, rushing for the private room I’d called home these past weeks. The curtains had been drawn for privacy, but the moment the glass door slid open, my gaze connected with my father. Despite the coach’s uniform he’d worn proudly for years, he appeared haggard as he waited for me on the sofa that pulled out into a bed.

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” Crossing the small room, I sat in the specially designed recliner near the sofa. “The interview ran longer than I thought it would.”

  Coach waved me off as he stood. He was due back at the school any moment now, but he didn’t seem to care as he stared at the small bed encased in hard plastic with holes cut in the sides for the doctors and nurses to work through.

  “How did it go?” he asked, his voice hoarse as if he hadn’t used it in years.

  I shook my head, already knowing I didn’t get the job. The interview had been a complete disaster. First, I’d shown up fifteen minutes late because I couldn’t seem to find the courage to leave the hospital. Today had been the first time since I was wheeled through the doors six weeks ago. The manager had been kind enough to interview me anyway only to discover that I wasn’t willing to give up a single day of the week. My anxiety-riddled brain wouldn’t allow me to. And if that didn’t leave a bad enough impression, I couldn’t seem to focus on a single question he’d asked, making him repeat each one twice. My mind and heart, despite my best efforts, had been here.

  “Perhaps it
’s for the best,” he whispered when I knew he wanted to lecture me again instead. The room had sound-activated lighting built into the wall that changed colors when the volume became too loud. My father and I had learned that the hard way. “Your place is here.”

  “And when the hospital hands over the discharge papers?” I argued for the umpteenth time. “What then? Where will I belong then? I can’t go back to Harvard.”

  At least, not without a way to pay for it. The Theodore Lidle Foundation had given me until the end of the semester to improve my grades and keep my scholarship. Since a cruel twist of fate forced me to take the semester off, that was no longer possible. I’d lost everything.

  “We’ll figure it out,” he said as if we hadn’t already been denied the aid I’d need to continue school. My father’s salary was too high for need-based aid and too low for the private loans needed to cover my tuition. My only option was to accumulate enough debt to drown and send me to an early grave. Being virtually penniless was something I decided long ago I’d be willing to do, but for some reason, I hesitated.

  I stubbornly kept my gaze on the clear, blue sky mocking me through the window rather than seeking out the incubator surrounded by what seemed like countless machines. All of them dedicated to keeping the tiny being sleeping soundly inside alive.

  For a while, there was nothing but the beeping of the machines to fill the room.

  “Have you—” my father started to speak only to pause. His voice had been thick with emotion as he struggled to find the right words—or perhaps the courage to speak them for fear of heartbreak. I held my breath, knowing what he was about to ask. “Have you thought about what I said? Have you reconsidered?”

  I didn’t want to, but slowly, I shook my head as I kept my gaze directed out the window. I hated to hurt my father, but he had to understand that I was doing what was best for everyone. My heart had become a withered wasteland. Love no longer bloomed there. “I’ve already contacted a specialist. We meet next week.”

  A moment later, my father stood, and without a word, he left the room. Only then did I release the breath I’d been holding. I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, but a small sound, not quite a cry, finally drew my gaze from the window. As if on autopilot, I stood, and in two steps, I was standing over the incubator, staring into a set of gray eyes that I knew would change color in the coming months. I couldn’t help but wonder if they would be whiskey like mine or jade like his father’s. My heart cracked, knowing that I’d never know.

  “I know you must hate me,” I whispered as he continued to stare through the plastic walls keeping him safe. His movements were more controlled now as he kicked his arms and legs, and although he was still pale, his skin had darkened considerably from the translucent he’d been when he was born. The only thing he wore was a diaper and a blue cap on his tiny head, which covered the wisps of hair I knew were hidden underneath. It was a far cry from all the wires and tubes when he was born. After weeks of watching him fight for every breath, my heart had nearly stopped when his doctor finally removed the ventilator. I must have kept watch for hours, fearing the worst though he didn’t seem to mind. Despite his miniature size, he was much bigger than the meager two pounds he weighed when he was born.

  “I hate me.”

  My finger drifted over the glass, drawing countless hearts in lieu of reaching inside and caressing his cheek like I ached to do. It had been the hardest thing, not touching or holding him, even when the doctors had given me the green light.

  “I promise you,” I whispered as I drew another heart, “I’m going to find you a father who deserves you and a mother who isn’t too broken to love you. I’m going to find you a home.”

  Slowly, my fingers began to trace letters instead of hearts.

  R. I. V.

  “It’s all that I have to give, but it’s yours.” Ignoring the tear that slipped from my eye, I traced the final letters of his name as the dark, deserted moor inside my chest twisted painfully. “River.”

  I awoke with a start hours later. My heart was beating out of control, making me wonder if I’d been having a nightmare I couldn’t recall now that I was awake. I blinked, and the moment my eyes adjusted, I looked around the dark room. The only light peeked through the swaying curtains from the hallway. I frowned before quickly waving off my paranoia. The hospital prided itself on the NICU’s around-the-clock care. A nurse must have stepped in for a moment to check on River.

  Sitting up, I listened for sounds beyond the beeping of the machines and the occasional footsteps of a nurse or restless parent passing. Unlike my gut, twisting and turning, the NICU had settled for the night.

  Hearing Lou’s warning in my head to listen to my instincts, my gaze shifted toward the incubator where River slept. A moment later, I stood from the pull-out sofa before making my way over. Even in the dark, I could see that he was sleeping soundly. Somehow, I still found myself curling into the recliner between the incubator and sofa bed. From there, I kept one watchful eye on the baby and the other on the door for the rest of the night.

  “Good morning,” I greeted Nurse Honey as everyone called her because she was sweet as pie. I secretly smiled, knowing Jamie would have a field day if he ever met her. It was all I could do not to text him as longing filled my chest. Hell must have frozen over if I actually longed to talk to Jameson Buchanan.

  “Morning, sugar. Did you sleep well?” she asked after looking me over.

  We both knew I didn’t, but what else was new? “Well enough,” I mumbled as I checked my phone. Rather than spend my weeks here wringing my hands, I spent much of my time online.

  Bee’s YouTube channel was my favorite to watch. Her subscriber count had quadrupled after she unknowingly uploaded a makeup tutorial featuring a grainy image of Jamie passing in the background…fully exposed. Her followers started referring to his dick as the Loch Ness monster because of its size and the disbelief that it wasn’t photoshopped as a publicity stunt. It didn’t stop any of them from hanging around, hoping to get a second glance, though. Recently, to appease her new followers, Bee did a live tutorial called “My Boyfriend Does My Makeup.” I spent half an hour watching Jamie flirt with Bee as if they weren’t on camera and then him paint her eyes, cheeks, nose, and lips in the colors red, black, and blue. Bee, of course, had been none the wiser until Jamie turned her face toward the camera. With a scowl, he told her followers that it was how anyone getting off to his girl would look after he found them and kicked their ass. He hasn’t been allowed back on her channel since.

  Seeing no messages waiting, I decided to ask Nurse Honey the question foremost in my mind since she had been the night nurse assigned to his care. “Did River have any trouble last night?”

  “Not a bit,” she answered as she scrubbed her hands and dried them. “What makes you ask?”

  “Just a funny feeling, I guess.” And the fact that his chart indicated Nurse Honey had checked on River not even half an hour before I’d woken up. So who had been in our room last night?

  “I got those all the time when I had my first child. It’s perfectly normal to worry, and I’m sorry to tell you, the feeling never really goes away, not even when your children aren’t children anymore. My daughter throws a fit if I try to hold her hand while crossing the street.”

  “Really? How old is she?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  I barked a laugh, my first in months, but then I clapped my hand over my mouth as my gaze darted to the flashing lights activated by the sound. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. In fact, you should do it more often. I’m sure River would love to see his mother smile.”

  I didn’t respond as I chewed on my lower lip thoughtfully. A habit I must have picked up from Four. Ignoring that familiar longing, I watched Nurse Honey lift the door on the side of the incubator. Every morning, they weighed River to monitor his weight gain. He needed to be at least four pounds and graduate from incubator to an open crib before he was allowed to go home—wherever t
hat may be.

  I waited with bated breath for her to remove him. He was still so tiny and fragile. Instead, Nurse Honey paused, and I wondered if she could read my thoughts when she stared at me thoughtfully. “Would you like to do the honor?”

  Without realizing it, I took a hopeful step forward. “Me?”

  Her head tilted to the side as she offered a smile that could only be born of pity. “Of course, dear. We usually encourage the parents to do this part to give them time to hold and bond with their baby.”

  Panic speared through my chest as I backed up a step. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Holding him, bonding with him…I couldn’t risk that. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t keep my promise. River deserved more than me.

  Nodding once, she carefully lifted River from the incubator. I quickly calculated his steady growth rate of eight to ten grams per day and held my breath as Nurse Honey set him on the scale nearby. Cranky as ever in the mornings and still sensitive to touch, River fussed and flailed his arms. I knew any moment now he’d fill the room with his hungry cries as the lights built into the wall flashed their warning.

  “Three pounds exactly,” she noted out loud as she wrote it on her chart. “He’s doing so well.”

  My legs inexplicably shook, so I sank onto the sofa and ignored the warmth flooding my belly as I watched her remove River’s pacifier. They’d given it to him to encourage the sucking and swallowing reflexes he’d been born too early to develop. After setting it aside, she returned him to the incubator, and I exhaled my relief only to straighten in my seat when Nurse Honey sat next to me. River was now screaming, most likely from hunger, which made me wonder why she wasn’t preparing his feeding tube. As daunting as it sounded, the tube was a step up from the IV line they used when he was first born.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Just fine,” she quickly assured me. And then with a gentle smile, she added, “Actually, I’d say everything is perfect. River is showing signs of being ready to be fed normally.”