Winner Takes All: Checkmate, #7

by Finn, Emilia

  “We’re doing our jobs! We will not stop doing them. So if you want to bring your teenage rebellion at us now that you’re twenty-five, I’m game. I want you to live and have fun, but I won’t tolerate danger or stupidity. You only get this one life, Ab, and yours is particularly special. Take care of it.”

  “What have I done that is stupid or dangerous? I work in a flower shop, I do the arrangements for fancy weddings, and then I go home to eat with my brothers.”

  “You backtalk, for starters! You never used to shout back. You thought we were the masters of the damn universe, but now you have thug friends and commando guard dogs. It’s like I don’t even know you.”

  “Oh my gosh! Thug friends and commandos? Are you serious right now? They’re clients who got married literally yesterday. They had two babies today, and invited me along to say hello. They’re not my friends. They’re not going to call me next week for coffee and a Snickers bar. I will still be sitting at your stupid house, eating avocado and salmon, because they’re oh so good for me, and then I’ll go home and find Beck on my front step. Or Nix. Or Corey. Or, if I’m really lucky, Troy will come home, and I’ll enjoy the smothering for a minute. Nothing is spiraling out of your control!”

  “You are sick, Abigail.” He leans in close with bared teeth so my heart skitters to a stop. He’s like a feral dog, and I’m about to lose my face. “You are sick, you are fragile, and if you’re not going to follow the rules, then I’ll smother you until you do.”

  “I’m not sick anymore, Mitch.” I grab his hand and squeeze. Thankfully, my angry tears rarely come out to embarrass me when I’m angry at my brothers. Just everyone else. “Am I supposed to be afraid every day for the rest of my life? Am I supposed to waste my second chance, become a cat lady, and live in the dark until I’m finally gone? Why are you so set on keeping me locked up,” I whisper, “when you should be encouraging me to skydive, or swim with sharks, or travel the world, or raise alpacas? I should be living hard! I should be making it count. But you’d rather I melt into your couch and not move again.”

  “I’m calling Mom.”

  I stand in shock as my six-foot-three and two-twenty brother turns away with the world’s most childish threat.

  He tugs his hand from mine and pulls his phone from his pocket. “You need to be straightened out, Abby. So if this is what needs to happen, then this is what will happen.”

  “Ugh. Grow up, Mitchell!”

  He storms away from me, down the hall and through a set of electrical doors. My brother has access to parts of this hospital that I don’t, so he beeps his way through doors I never could, then lifts his phone to his ear to tattle to our Mom.

  I groan and flop back against the wall. Then I push a hand up into my hair and groan again, because I’m sick of having this same discussion over and over again.

  Why does it have to be so hard?

  “Abigail?”

  I jump into the air and squeal like those killer clowns are really coming for me. Spinning, I bring my handbag forward as though to use it as a weapon, but then my squeals turn to a growl when Spencer steps around the corner.

  It’s like even two minutes apart makes me forget how big he is. In my mind, I can bring him back down to reasonable height, but the moment we’re in the same space again, I have to bend my neck further than I remember. I have to step back, just so I can see all of him. It’s disconcerting, because it’s not like I wasn’t raised in a home of giants. It’s not like I’m not constantly surrounded by large men.

  But Spencer is something else. Maybe it’s the way his shoulders always stretch his shirts, or how he looked painfully uncomfortable in a suit jacket at the wedding… like a hunchback, because no matter what size suit he buys, none will ever feel good.

  Or maybe I’ve already romanticized him in my head, because he’ll always be the man that made me orgasm for the first time. And he did it twice in one night.

  “I’m sorry,” he grunts. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stops in front of me in the exact spot Mitchell was standing a moment ago. But closer. “Who were you shouting at?”

  My heart doesn’t slow, despite knowing there are no killer clowns nearby. If anything, Spencer’s close proximity and dark eyes make it race faster.

  “Um… What did you hear?”

  “I heard you tell your brother to grow up… loudly.” His lips pull into a tiny grin as he leans back and looks up and down the hall. “But he ain’t here, so now I’m confused.”

  “He was here.” I wave an arm toward the now closed double doors. “He went that way. Had to make a phone call or something. Why did you do that in Jess’ room?” I find my anger beneath the fear. I let it pulse to the top and spew out just like it did with Mitchell. “Why did you come charging at my brother like you think it’s your business?”

  “It is my business.” He steps forward so our toes touch and his aftershave fills my lungs. “I saw you with a guy, he grabbed you, I reacted. It’s my job to take care of you.”

  “No, it’s not! You do not have a job when it comes to me. The wedding is over, the flowers will soon wilt and die. We,” I dramatically point between his chest and mine, “will likely never see each other again. We never met before Jess came into my shop. She won’t be back again, so you have no reason to come back.”

  “I was in there an hour ago,” he rumbles. “You weren’t there.”

  “I know I wasn’t there! I was here. And before that, I was eating with my brothers, because that’s what we do. We’re a family of codependent adults that have no clue how to adult without each other. You need to back away from me. Literally.” I push against his chest, but gain absolutely no space. “And figuratively. My life is none of your business.”

  “But it is, Priss.” Smiling in that cruel way he does, he lifts his right hand with exaggerated slowness so goosebumps race along my skin faster than his hand. He slides the tips of his fingers over my forearm, over the back of my elbow, over my bicep, and then up to my collarbone. He doesn’t stop until his large hand cups my neck, and then he presses his fingertips to my bottom lip and chuckles when I shiver.

  I’m desperate to lick my lips, because suddenly they’re desert dry, and I might die if I don’t, but that would mean getting closer to his fingers, and I might die if I do that too.

  “Taste, Abigail. You know you want to.”

  “Absolutely not.” I try to step back, only to grunt when I hit the wall and have nowhere else to go. “You need to back away from me.”

  “You need to accept that you’re my business. You need to accept that I’m gonna ask who these men are that feel so attached to you.” He slides his fingertips over my lip, and smiles triumphantly when my tongue darts out without my permission. “And you need to accept that those fingers were inside you last night.”

  “Ugh!” I snap my head away and will the burning from my eyes. Anger? Humiliation? Something else I cannot put a name to, because it’s so new and different for me? “You need to go away.”

  “I’m still expecting you at my place tonight, Priss. Don’t make me come looking.”

  “I will not come to you.” I turn and meet his eyes. “When I meet the man I’m supposed to be with, he’ll come to me. He’ll be romantic. He won’t be crude or demanding. And he especially won’t step up to my brothers like they’re the enemy.”

  “Sounds like a fuckin’ bore. Good luck finding your bag of sand, Abigail. He won’t ever get hard for you, he’ll weigh you down, he’ll make you wish you took a chance on the crude thug. But what do I know?”

  “Nothing.” I push him away a second time, and this time, he steps back.

  The double doors at the end of the hall swing open to reveal Mitch with what may be apologetic eyes, but they widen as soon as he sees me with my blushing face. I turn away.

  “Go back to your life, Spencer. I won’t be visiting you, so don’t stay up waiting.”

  “You will eventually, Priss. I assure you, you will.”

  I
have nothing to say to him, nothing that might convince him that he’s delusional, so I turn away and head toward Mitch before he comes down here and we start all over again with the leg-peeing.

  I hitch my handbag up onto my shoulder and meet him halfway down the hall. “Let’s go.”

  “Let’s not.” He tries to blow straight past me, but I grab on and use all of my strength to… well, I can’t stop him, but I slow him down a little.

  “Mitchell, no. We’re leaving.”

  “I just wanna talk to your friend.”

  “Absolutely not!” My eyes fly to Spencer’s in desperation. He’s not walking away. If anything, he’s squaring his chest and waiting for our arrival. “Mitchell. I said no!”

  “What’s your business with my sister?”

  “No business,” I grunt and try to slow him down. “Mitchell!”

  “Speak, soldier!”

  Oh god! This is going to explode.

  Instead of uselessly trying to stop my brother, I race around him and try to reverse. And the whole time, I stare into Spencer’s eyes and plead. “Walk away. I’m begging you to please walk away.”

  It’s like a switch in his eyes. They’re hard, flat, and bordering on cruel. Then they soften, and he inclines his chin just a tiny bit.

  Without a single word, he turns on his heels – like a soldier – and walks away.

  Gone.

  Like he was never here.

  But the way my heart races says he was.

  “Oh cheese on a cracker. Mitchell!” I turn and smack his chest. “You don’t have to confront him. You don’t have to even speak to him.”

  “Why was he in your face, Abigail? Why are you so defensive about this?”

  “Why are you so defensive?”

  “Because there is a clear power imbalance between you two. It’s like a teacher and his student. A boss and his intern. A doctor and his patient. It’s not okay, and I will not stand by and let shit spiral.”

  “I am not a child! Dammit, Mitchell!”

  I’m disgusted with myself that I swear when frustrated just like the rest of them. I shake my head and walk around him. Hitching my bag up yet again, I walk toward the main entrance and outside into the now darkness.

  Mitch follows me all the way to the parking lot, but when I stop at the side of my car, I lift a hand to stop him. “You’re not invited to my home for dinner.”

  It’s like I punched him in the face. “Abby Cadabby.”

  “And I’m not coming to yours. You can walk home, or call one of the guys. Or you can sleep here. I don’t care. You’re on shift in the morning anyway.”

  I beep my car and open the door.

  “Ab.” Mitch jumps forward. His face is pale, his eyes burning. We don’t fight. Ever. Not the kind where we part with bad blood and hurting hearts. “I wanna come with you.”

  “I want to be alone. For just one night, I want to feel like a grownup.”

  “I’m sorry.” He stands on the other side of the car and leans on the roof. “I’m sorry, Ab. I just want to keep you safe.”

  “Maybe he’s right,” I ponder. “Maybe I am in a controlling relationship. I wouldn’t call it abusive, and I know you love me, but you guys are demanding and controlling. You stand over me so I never see the sun, which means I never get the chance to bloom.” I swipe a hand over my cheek. “Everyone needs to see the sun, Mitchell.”

  “Abby,” his voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”

  I nod and try to firm my shaking lips. “I know you are.”

  I slide into my seat and close the door. Because I know him so well, I lock all the doors just a second before he tries to open his side.

  I open the passenger window and wait for him to bend down. “I’ll come over tomorrow, okay? Everything is fine. Everything will go back to normal soon. But for tonight, I need space to breathe.”

  “You’ll call me if you need me, right?”

  I nod and give a small smile. “Always do. Love your guts.”

  His light eyes sparkle as he nods and backs up. “Love you too, kiddo. But if you don’t call at oh-six-hundred, I’m coming for you.”

  11

  Abigail

  I didn’t go to Spencer’s last night. I didn’t go to Mitch’s or Nix’s, either.

  I got a text from each of my brothers, even Troy, and they all said the same: be good, be safe, get your butt back home and love us. But none of them knocked on my door and infiltrated the privacy I requested for just one night.

  I ran another bath and soaked my body until the water was cold – because my vagina still hurt just a little – which meant my thoughts were constantly circling around to Spencer, and that both excites and exasperates me.

  Mitch might have been onto something when he said I want Spencer to pee around me. When the guys lock horns, it infuriates me, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there’s just a tiny portion of myself that likes the fact that he wants to claim me. It might be nature demanding I find my other half, or my desperation because I’ve wanted to find my prince since I was a child. Maybe it’s delusion, and the hunger I see in his eyes is just about claiming something he can’t have.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that once I give in, he’ll walk away. Heck, he admits it. He wants a good time, and I want my Prince Charming.

  But not one single fairytale includes a tattooed and scarred man who says the C word.

  After my bath, I crawled into bed wearing my nightgown and a towel wrapped around my hair. That’s where I stayed, with frizzy hair and a tension headache that wouldn’t go away until just before six o’clock this morning.

  I called Mitch at six on the dot, assured him that I was fine, that we were fine, then I climbed into my car and headed across town, back to the hospital, but not before taking a side trip to the local bakery.

  Now at the hospital, I step off the elevator and experience the mixed feelings that this place always brings me.

  I’m not here to see Jess today. I’m on the opposite side of the complex, on a completely different floor, but I know this hall as well as I know the halls in my home.

  I wear my usual outfit: pants, a top that covers most of my skin, sensible shoes that won’t trip me up like heels would. My hair has a kink to it today, but instead of washing it out and blowing it straight, I pulled it up into a ponytail and let the odd waves hang behind my shoulders.

  “Abigail!”

  I look up and grin at the handsome face that watches me like I’m his favorite person. White coat, black sneakers, blue jeans, and a tie with rubber duckies. He makes me smile and, somehow, yearn for times gone by.

  “Doctor Rhett. You look good.” I step forward and accept his gentle hug.

  He’s growing out his mustache, which adds a few years to his young face. He’s older than me by more than a decade, but just like me, we could both pass for high school students with our youthful features.

  Too bad I can’t grow a beard.

  “So do you. I missed you last week.”

  “Well, you were on vacation. How was your cruise?”

  “Ah, ya know.” He sets a file on the nurse’s station and flashes a wink at the woman that sits behind it. “We had a wonderful time. Unlimited buffets for seven days straight, dancing, drinking.”

  “And yet, you don’t seem to have gained a single pound.”

  He chuckles. “The dancing, Abby! Lynne made me dance every single day. I was weak. My legs were rubbery the whole time, because she wouldn’t let me rest. I booked a cruise thinking I could sit in the sun and read. Instead, I had to dress up every night and eat with silverware and cloth napkins.”

  “Your life must really suck.” I place my hand on his shoulder and laugh. “You have my deepest sympathies.”

  “Smart alec. Why are you here so early? You normally drop in on weeknights, not at the break of dawn when all the gremlins stir.”

  I shrug and turn to step away. “I wanted to get out of the house, but I didn’t want to go to work yet.”
r />   “So you came here? Really?”

  “Looks like it.” I gently shake the bakery bag and smile. “I’m going to visit and pig out.”

  “Have fun. She’s awake.”

  “Yeah?” I turn back to him with a grin. “How’s she feeling?”

  Doctor Rhett’s smile falls a fraction as his eyes cloud with concern. “It’s been a crappy forty-eight hours.”

  If I ever had the urge to cuss, even internally, now would be that time.

  “Okay. I’ll go see what I can do.”

  I walk along the hall and slow at the door to her room. I take a deep breath and prepare myself, because I find the need to protect myself, even though it’s unforgivably selfish.

  I’m healthy. I’m out.

  Marcie isn’t.

  I knock on the door with gentle taps, but I don’t wait for her to call me in. Pushing the heavy door open and closing it again with a soft snick, I slowly move the gray and blue curtain aside and step into the room I once lived in.

  The girl in my old bed is only seventeen years old. She used to have mahogany hair that hung all the way down to her butt, but it’s long gone. I study her now and paste on the best smile I can manage.

  Marcie’s lips are dry and cracked, her bald head painfully pale. She wears unicorn pyjama pants and a button-up shirt, but her port-a-cath hangs outside of the fabric and brings that prickling feeling to the backs of my eyes. Her eyes look larger than they are because of her lack of hair, but she wears a lovely set of fake lashes that I know make her happy.

  “Good morning, beautiful. Can I visit with you?”

  “Of course.” Frowning, she clears the croakiness from her throat and tries again. “Come sit with me, Red. You’re early.”

  “But I bring gifts.” I shake the bag again, drop my handbag on the visitor chair, then climb onto Marcie’s bed so we sit knee to knee, facing each other. “Do you want blue icing or pink?”

  “Pink?”

  She says it like a question, but there’s no way I won’t grant her simple wish.