Winner Takes All: Checkmate, #7

by Finn, Emilia

  The driver in the valley slams his car into reverse and spins his wheels to escape back the direction he came. If I wanted to make the shot, I could end this here and now, but my brain is stuck on Romeo’s actions.

  The usually unflappable soldier sprints through the forest and away.

  Family emergency.

  “Yeah, I’m out too. I’m sorry.”

  “Spencer!”

  “Pull her out!” I jump to my feet and collect my shit. “Your team is out. Pull Soph out. We’ll regroup later.”

  “Spencer Serrano! Where’s the brotherhood?”

  “I’m sorry! I need to go to Abigail.”

  * * *

  I sit beside Troy–Romeo–Rosa all the way back to town. We’re silent. He doesn’t know why I insist on the ride along, but in exchange, he doesn’t tell me shit about his family emergency. He’s got it on lockdown, the way we’re trained. We keep our personal shit personal, because if someone knows your weakness, they have a weapon against you.

  He drives a black SUV he rented and tore out of the lot just an hour after his phone call. Jay and Soph are out of the valley, they’re safe. We’re still in communication with them, and they’re on the road just behind us.

  Theo isn’t receptive to discussion anymore, as though our bail-out was confirmation that we are who he thinks we are. Our running was confirmation of whatever crimes he thinks we’ve committed; he’s wrong, but I can’t stay back to explain today. Beyond making sure Soph and Jay are okay, I shut them out of my head and instead dial Abigail’s number.

  Over, and over, and over again, I dial. I need to hear her voice, I need to know she isn’t the family emergency Romeo speaks of.

  I can’t ask him, because we’ve been brothers and friends since our reunion two months ago. I knew who he was the instant we locked eyes, I knew he was her brother, and I now know why the other brothers – Mitchell and Nixon – triggered me each time I saw them. The familiarity was too much. The eyes, the complexion, the attitude, it was all so obvious. But the fact I couldn’t place them bothered me.

  That was until Troy stepped up and bridged the gap. Now I know. Now I get it.

  But a guy doesn’t tell another guy he’s in love with their sister. He doesn’t blurt that shit out to someone like Troy Rosa without at least having that girl there to mediate.

  So I ride along today and bounce my knee to rid my body of nervous energy just as surely as Troy does the same.

  I dial over and over again as we drive, but I get no answer.

  Maybe Marcie is the emergency, and Troy was getting the news later than I did. Maybe Abigail’s not taking my calls because she’s mad that I haven’t come home yet, so she’s punishing me. Or maybe she’s so twisted up in her grief for Marcie that she can’t come out of the shell she was comfortably jammed inside when we first met.

  No matter which it is, it’s my job to fix it, so I bounce my knee, make my calls, and count the white lines on the road as we draw closer and closer to town.

  We drive all day and night. We stop to piss and buy enough food that we don’t starve, then we keep moving.

  Troy’s eyes don’t droop once. He’s a soldier through and through, and he’s been trained to stay sharp when it’s important.

  His finger taps the steering wheel in a constant beat that reminds me of a heartbeat. A memory he has, perhaps, of the machines attached to his sister all those years ago.

  My heart seems to constrict more and more the closer we get to town, until finally, I can’t hold it in any longer. I crack, when I never have in the past.

  “What’s your family emergency?”

  His eyes come to mine for the first time in hours. “Personal. Not your business.”

  “Make it my business. This is a long trip, and I’m gonna explode if we don’t talk.”

  Watching the road, his square jaw grinds back and forth, as though deciding what to say.

  “I have a little sister.”

  My heart stops in my throat. “Okay.”

  “She’s sick.”

  “She’s sick now?” My voice cracks. “Or she used to be sick?”

  “Both.” He clears his throat. “My brother called. Her blood tests came back bad. It’s time to walk her through her battlefield again.”

  27

  Abigail

  “I understand you didn’t want to remove both of your breasts last time.” Doctor Rhett sits on the stool in front of me and Nixon, trying desperately to detach his grief and guilt for the patients he’s losing every time he turns. Marcie hasn’t been buried yet, but now he’s back on my case. “I understand your reasons for it. But it’s time. We can get onto this fast, and clear everything out.”

  “I won’t have any breasts left?”

  His Adam’s apple bobs, then he shakes his head. “No. But we can have reconstructive surgery. This has been an option all along, Ab. We’ll take care of this, get rid of the old, make sure you’re nice and healthy, then I’ll have my colleague come in and give you new breasts.”

  I clutch Nixon’s hand and squeeze as hard as I can. “But they won’t be mine.”

  He shakes his head.

  “I won’t be able to breastfeed my babies.”

  Again, he shakes his head.

  “Chemotherapy?” Please no chemotherapy. I can’t take more. “Right?”

  He nods. “After surgery, we’ll run you through a three-month course of chemotherapy. It doesn’t appear to have spread to your lymph nodes as yet, so this is good news. It was amazing luck that you brought your tests forward. This won’t be as bad as last time.”

  “But… three months of chemo?” A lone tear slides over my cheek as another of my dreams is dashed. “Three months is an accelerated dose.”

  He nods.

  “I’ll never have babies, will I? I’ll never be able to have them, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to feed them from my own breasts.”

  His eyes drop. “That’s not a definite outcome, Abby. Your first round didn’t render you infertile.”

  “But a second, accelerated dose will.” I look down to my fingers twined with Nix’s, and cry for the future I’ll never have. For the future Spencer will never have if he stays with me. “And even if I could, it would be cruel to pass on these genes. I would never purposely have a daughter and watch her go through this.” Angrily, I point at my useless chest. “I wouldn’t put that on her.”

  “We should take this one day at a time. For now, we schedule surgery and take the first step in ridding your body of this disease.”

  “How long do we have to wait?” Nix asks.

  Mitch stands behind us, and Beckett beside him. Corey is here too, he rushed away from work to come be with me, and Beck said that Troy is on his way. It’s like old times again.

  “We… uh…” Rhett stumbles on his words. “Normally it would take a little longer. We have tests to run, protocols to follow, but seeing as Abigail has a history here, and we already know a lot of our answers, we, uh…” His eyes meet mine. “We can take her in tomorrow at nine, and get this done.”

  “Tomorrow?” Corey balks. “So soon? That’s not enough time to decide.”

  “We had a space open up.” Rhett chokes on his words when my soft tears turn to a painful cry.

  That space was Marcie’s; they were going to go in and try to remove her tumor. I’ll be taking her room, her bed, her surgery slot.

  “I’m sorry this is happening again, Ab. Truly I am.” He looks to Mitchell. “We caught this early. We’re lucky that it was caught so early, so let’s be thankful for that rainbow in this crappy storm. Let’s ride on the fact that we know and can take care of it. Living is our primary objective right now. The rest can be fixed later.”

  * * *

  My phone rings…

  And rings…

  And rings.

  One call from Spencer. Two calls. Two dozen calls. But I ignore each and every one.

  I’ve been admitted into the hospital already, my diet
has been given to the kitchen staff – no food after midnight – and my surgery has been scheduled for first thing tomorrow.

  It’s like I’m Dorothy, caught in the tornado. I should be mourning Marcie, I should be sitting with her parents while I try to ease their pain. But instead, I lay in my hospital bed and try to hide my tears from my brothers.

  They refuse to leave. They refuse to give me the privacy I so desperately need to process the life I almost, almost had. I could have been happy with Spencer. I could have made him happy, and created something special with him.

  But after tomorrow, it all changes.

  I won’t be worthy. I won’t be what he needs. And I’ll be busy losing my hair and vomiting the poison out, none of which he needs to bear witness to.

  Doctor Rhett isn’t my surgeon tomorrow, but he’s promised he’ll be with me the entire time. It’s like I’m a teenager again. I cling to the thought of him being there, I want to impress him, if only because it’s the single shiny diamond I have in a world of dull rocks.

  Spencer keeps calling, but once I take his call, everything will become real. Once I take his call, it’ll be the beginning of the end, and I’m not ready to go there yet.

  So I ignore him, and pretend that nothing has changed.

  I doze off around eight with my brothers talking in low murmurs, but wake again shortly after, when those murmurs turn to rage and snapped words.

  “Absolutely not!” Mitch growls. “Fuck off and leave.”

  I crack my crusty eyes open and blink at my brothers’ backs. They stand in the doorway, shielding me from who is outside, but their defensive stances confuse me. Slowly sitting up, I smile when Troy peeks over Beck’s shoulder.

  He’s my hero, my biggest supporter, the strongest man I know. It’s a tragedy we only see each other sporadically, but I understand his work is important to him. Him being here now is special, but at the same time, it’s terrifying. Because I’m sick. He’s come because that’s what he does. He takes care of me, he helps me fight a war I never signed up for, and then he leaves again until it’s time to fight anew.

  His presence is both happy and sad, a pleasant surprise, and a stark reminder of what tomorrow brings.

  His dark eyes study me from top to toe, from the messy pile of red hair bunched at the top of my head, to my puffy eyes from crying for three days straight, down to my feet covered in the white waffle blankets that the hospital supplies. Troy is comforting but protective; his eyes make sure I’m okay, but then they leave again when Mitchell snaps at someone in the hall.

  Mitch is like a feral dog, snapping and biting in a way I’m not accustomed to. He’s my quiet brother, the one that will usually keep to himself and stay in at night, rather than go to a bar with friends. He’s never brought a girl to us to meet, though I’m certain he has relations with women. He keeps to himself, and gives Mom and Dad no reason to worry when they already have so much to worry about; a sick daughter, a firefighter son, another son in the military who always works away.

  He’s our caregiver, our safe one, so his loud shouts now are like an assault on my ears.

  Troy’s eyes skim over our brother, then stop in the hall and widen in surprise.

  None of this makes sense. None of it seems right on the night before my world changes all over again.

  I slowly fix my pillows and sit up straighter, drawing Troy’s gaze when I grunt. My grunt has nothing to do with my breasts or my sickness, and everything to do with my tender ankle, which is so dumb, considering the reason I’m here.

  I arch my neck and try to peek past the crowd of Rosa men, but then it all becomes clear. It’s bleak and obvious and horrible when the very man I was hiding from literally shoves between Mitch and Nixon, moving them out of his way and slamming them against the other guys as he charges through.

  He’s like a bowling ball through pins. A locomotive with no brakes.

  Spencer looks the same as I remember, but not the same at all. My mind had been able to recall him all this time, but it had dulled the extremes; I knew he was tall, but I’d forgotten quite how tall, I knew he was strong, but I’d forgotten the size of his arms and the width of his thighs. I knew he was broad, but I’d forgotten how he can’t walk straight through a doorway without smashing his arms against the frame.

  Mostly, I’d forgotten how truly scary he is; how jagged his scars are, and how close they came to ending his life. I forgot how flat his lips can become when he’s angry, and how fiery his eyes can get when something is important to him.

  “Spencer?”

  My pulse skitters in a wild beat because I’ve been ignoring his calls. I’m not ready to face the truth. I’m not ready to face his anger at being ignored.

  “You’re having surgery tomorrow?” His voice is cutting and mean. He’s so angry that tears instantly rush to my eyes and spill over. “What the fuck, Abigail?”

  “That’s enough of that.” Mitchell storms forward and grabs Spencer’s arms. “Get the fuck outta my sister’s room! You’ve been warned before.”

  “No!” I surge forward so far, I almost fall out of bed. Spencer won’t go away just because Mitch said so. He’ll fight to stay, he’ll fight my brothers to get his way on this. “Please stop, Mitch.”

  My cry goes unheard as Spencer spins and jams Mitch’s arm behind his back so hard that we all hear the pop. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me, asshole.”

  “Leave!” Beckett rushes forward and shoves Spencer with a roar. “You don’t belong here.”

  “I belong where she belongs!” he replies. “I deserve to know the truth about her diagnosis. I deserve to have a seat beside her bed.”

  “You don’t deserve anything but a bullet in the brain,” Beck snaps. “You need to stay away from her.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Troy pushes Beck aside and stands toe to toe with Spencer.

  All of my brothers are massive in my eyes, but Troy is the clear front runner, and when he steps up to Spencer, there’s not a great deal of difference. Thick chests, rippling muscle, angry snarls. His hands flex by his hips, and his jaw grinds back and forth dangerously. He doesn’t shout like the others. His control is much quieter, which makes it much scarier.

  “You know my sister, Serrano?”

  “She’s mine,” Spencer growls. “She’s my responsibility. My heart. My diagnosis and prognosis. My fucking war to fight, and my girl to protect. I’d appreciate it if someone around here took my fucking calls once in a while.”

  “Spencer, stop.” I shove my blankets off and turn in my bed. My head swims, and my toes tingle from being horizontal for so long, but I slide off the edge and hiss at the pain in my feet when I touch down.

  My dizziness has nothing to do with cancer, nothing to do with my upcoming surgery. My legs are weak from disuse. My head swims from the panic that the man I love and the men who are my brothers are going to hurt each other.

  So I move forward and plaster myself to Spencer’s chest. He catches me, of course he does, and circles around so I’m not caught between him and Troy. “Abigail…” His dark eyes sparkle with pain. “Baby, you’re having surgery?”

  “Baby?” Troy’s eyes widen. “Is this a fuckin’ joke?”

  Spencer doesn’t turn or acknowledge Troy’s words. He holds me up as though it’s easy to suspend a woman a few inches off the ground, then he buries his face against my neck and breathes. Dry kisses, choked sobs, he squeezes me against his chest until I worry I might suffocate.

  “Talk to me, Abigail. You have to talk to me.”

  “I don’t… I can’t…” I can’t push my words – or oxygen – past the lump in my throat. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why wouldn’t you take my calls?” He pulls back and stares into my eyes. He’s not angry anymore, but hurt. He’s deeply hurt. “You think you can just flick me off?”

  “I can’t…” I lick the tears from my top lip and shake my head. “I’m not flicking you off. I’m saving you.”

  “Saving me?” His
head snaps back in shock. “From what?”

  “From me! I’m a mess. I’m always going to be sick. This will continue to come back.” I push away from his chest until I can stand. “I will have tests done every single year from now until it finally gets me. I will always be the sick girl. I’ll always be too fragile for you.”

  “That’s not for you to decide,” he whispers. “I decide what I want. I decide who I want.”

  “It will become a burden, Spencer. I’m cute right now, but it won’t take long for you to get tired of always being switched on. You’ll want a normal girl eventually.”

  “I want you.” He presses a noisy, dry kiss to my lips, and almost sets my brothers on fire when his action registers in their minds.

  This right now, noisy, and dry, and while tears stream over my cheeks, is the first time I’ve been kissed in front of them.

  “You can’t read my mind,” Spencer argues. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “They’re going to do chemo again.” I don’t even care about the snot that dribbles over my lip. I don’t care about looking good or acting like a lady. “I’m going to get a lot sicker before I get better.”

  “I’m with you, Abigail. This is my war, too.”

  “I’ll lose my hair.”

  That slows him down. “Do I look like a seventeen-year-old punk with little man syndrome? Do I love you because of your hair, Abigail?”

  Troy’s eyes widen. “Love?”

  “I mean…” I reach up and touch the red locks. “I think the color is at least half of my appeal.”

  He chokes out a laugh and brings me closer. “Hair grows back, baby. It’s all temporary.”

  “I’ll never have boobs. You like boobs.”

  “Ugh, god.” Mitch makes real, actual gagging sounds. “She just said that.”

  “Boobs are nice,” Spence croons. “But I still want you. Without Abigail, boobs hold no pleasure anyway.”

  “They’re talking about Abby Cadabby’s boobs. Make it stop.” Mitchell’s chest heaves and almost, almost adds a humorous flair to this completely unfunny conversation.