Carter slipped into director mode, asking me to sit down and to move a few pieces so he could see how the sounds picked up. This led to some microphone adjustments—he added another one to the backside of the chessboard, closer to his side of the table. He angled the camera lower, and once he became satisfied with the frame, he stood back. “The chessboard is the main focus,” he said. “Your hands are in frame, and a bit of your upper arms, but nothing else about you. So your—our—anonymity should be safe.”
I smiled at the humor in his voice.
Carter pressed record, taking his seat across from me, checking the levels that he had pulled up on his phone. Once satisfied that everything was in working order, he lifted his gaze to mine. “Ready?”
I tipped my chin. “Your move.”
And then we fell into silence.
Carter at least knew how each chess piece moved, sothat was a roadblock out of the way. He pressed the pawn firmly into the board, so the softthudwas audible to the camera. I mimicked him, picking up my gleaming white pawn, gently thudding it down.
There was something abouthavingto be quiet that made me want to laugh. That, and the fact that Carter’s face was clearly concentrated on the game as he blindly moved his pieces. If he had a strategy, it wasn’t one I’d ever seen. Within four moves, I had a clear path to capture his bishop, if I wanted to.
My eyes flicked up, finding him biting down on a sliver of his bottom lip, focused.
I stole his bishop without mercy.
Carter let out a sigh, one that I wondered would be loud on his video.
Within five minutes, I had his king set for a capture. I looked up, whispering, “Checkmate.”
Carter sat back in his seat with a defeated sigh. We reset the board, the little thuds comforting. I thought he’d use this for his ASMR video until he spoke. “How did you learn chess?”
“My dad taught me when I was little.” I still kept my voice small. “He tried teaching Jamie. I liked it better.”
Dad was bad at chess; he couldn’t plot out a strategy to save his life. But he loved playing, and I’d picked up that same love. Something we shared—until we didn’t. Like a lot of things.
Carter scratched the side of his neck. “I’m more of a checkers guy, myself.”
I laughed. “You don’t say.”
Our second game started, and we fell into silence once more.
“Not very good” wasn’t the right descriptor for Carter and chess. “Abysmal”was better. I won the second round almost as quickly as the first. The third, he lucked out with his flippant strategy a bit more. He captured two of my pawns. I examined the board. It was easy playing with someone who was offhand with their strategy, but I actually had to tell myself not to overthink any potential moves.
But, ultimately, I was left rolling his king in my palm. “Another round?”
“I can just read the comments now,” he grumbled as we reset the board. “Show him mercy.”
“There is no mercy in chess.”
“This next time, you’ll hope so.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs. “I’ll get you this time.”
He did not, in fact, get me that time. Nor the time after that. It was funny, though, that Carter’s spirit remained unbreakable. His determination still shone through the gleam in his gaze, even though his viewers couldn’t see it. All they could see was him getting assassinated, time and time again.
“We should’ve played out in the garden,” Carter mused suddenly, even though we were mid-game and should’ve been quiet. I jumped at the sound of his voice, wholly wrapped up in the game he was about to lose. “The sun is setting so beautifully. The outdoor sounds would’ve been nice, I think.”
I didn’t look out the window. “Maybe next time.” He didn’t need to know I didn’t mean it.
“Eleanor.” Carter’s tone changed enough that I looked up at him. His eyes were shifting around the board, as if he’d forgotten which spot to put his bishop in. “There’s something… I’d like to be honest with you about.”
“Even though we’re being recorded?”
“I’ll edit this part out.”
My interest was piqued. “Okay.”
“You might think I’m weird.”
