AllFreeNovel
Share Us
You know whatwasn’tconsensual? The stuff you said about my dad.
“You can be White,” I say, cutting, expecting—wantinghim to be offended.
“Thank you,” he replies with no trace of irony. “I’m going to need that.”
It makes me hate him even more, and so does his stupid opening— pawn to e4. I answer with the Sicilian. I roll my eyes and put my knight in c6, just to derail him, some niche line I vaguely remember studying with Defne— Rossolimo Variation.
Lots of pressure, very fast, and he doesn’t care, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even blink in the dim lights. His forehead is smooth. Hands steady. His knee brushes against mine, not every move, but sometimes. He doesn’t seem to notice, and I hate him. I feel clumsy, a lumbering, unwieldy, broken beast next to him. I feel raw, see- through, broken open, like he can reach inside my skull and pluck sharp, painful shards of my past and make me bleed with them.
Then I lose a pawn, and I feel stupid, too.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“It’s just a pawn,” he murmurs without looking up.
“Shut up.” I advance my knight with shaky fingers, and then it’s not just a pawn. I left my bishop uncovered, screwed up my castling opportunities. I watch Nolan unhurriedly take my piece and immediately attack him from the side with my rook— I’m going to make himhurt. Except, I knock over two pieces and completely overlook the way his queen inches toward my king and fuck, fuck,fuck—
“Mallory.” His hand covers mine, trapping it on my knee. I look up to his handsome, hateful face. “I’m sorry about what I said. I was out of line.”
I don’t want to hear it. “Let’s finish.”
“I don’t know how things went with your father— ”
“Let’s. Finish.”
He shakes his head.
I laugh, bitter. “You’ve supposedly been pining for this game for months— ”
“That’s not what I’ve been pining for, and you can stop lying to yourself about it. I don’t want to play with you like this.”
“So now you need perfect conditions to play? Should I rearrange the furniture? Sage the room? Let me know what youresteemed requirementsare, what you want, and— ”
“You know what I fucking want, Mallory?” He leans forward, suddenly furious. “I want you to not be here.”
I gasp in outrage. “Screw you!Youasked me to be your second— ”
“I want you to be elsewhere. Training with yourownseconds in preparation forme. So we can play a real match in Italy. The real thing.” His eyes blaze. His hand is still flat on mine. Pressing. Warm. “Your presence in this house might be what gets me up in the morning, but we can stop pretending this situation is anything like what either of us wants or needs.”
I close my eyes. He is right. This . . . It’s wrong. All wrong.
“It was our only chance,” I whisper. “And I fucked it up.” Just like I fuck up everything. Friendships. Families.
“There will be other tournaments.” Nolan takes a deep, calming breath. “In two years there’ll be another World Championship— ”
“I’m not going to be doing this past the summer.”
He swallows. “Okay. Well . . . It is what it is.” He glances away. Then turns back to me, his expression softer. “Iamsorry. You’re right— I don’t know anything about families. Please, accept my apology so you can stop playing the worst game of your life. Let’s just . . . let’s go to sleep. We’re tired.”
I look down at the board. Black’s position is an amateurish, reckless mess. “God, what’s wrong with me?”
“Transient global amnesia, one can only imagine.”
I let out a laugh, and my anger melts like snow in the sun. He laughs, too, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek. We’re that close.
“I’m sorry. For this game.”
There are little specks of gold in his eyes. He has freckles, light and scattered, just a handful, and they look . . . pretty. Yummy. “Youshouldbe sorry.”
