Check & Mate by Ali Hazelwood

I close my eyes. “Absolutely fucking terrified.”

He nods. Still not looking at me. “I never wanted to manipulate you, but . . . you can pay me back for the fellowship, if it’ll make you feel better. That way you won’t owe me anything, and you’ll be free of me.”

My stomach sinks. “Would you like me to pay you back?”

He lets out a small, self- effacing laugh, and finally turns to me. The night air is sucked out of my chest. “How are you, Mallory?”

“I . . . Good.” As it turns out, I’m the one who can’t stand to meet his eyes. I’m the one studying Marcus Sawyer’s impeccable suit now. “I don’t know if I’m good. But I’m . . . better than I was,” I add, because I think he wants a real answer. “It’s . . . You were right. About the way I acted, especially with my family. But things have been better. Well.” I scratch my neck. “I have tried to be better. Less of a control freak on a path to martyrdom and more of a . . . person?”

He studies me for a second. Then I feel him shift forward and I tense— caught, immobile, strung out. Awaiting. He could take my hand. He could tug me to himself. He could wrap his hand around my neck and kiss me as hard as he once did.

He just pulls a loose strand of hair from where it stuck to my lips, straightens back, and says, “Darcy and Sabrina seem good, too.”

I’m . . . dizzy. Disappointed. “You’ve met them?”

“We went for a walk the other day. And I took them for gelato this morning.”

“They didn’t tell me.” I’m scowling.

“It was very hush- hush. Since you are, I’ve been told, known for throwing hissy fits.”

I scowl harder. “Is that why you were late for the press conference?”

He nods. “Darcy needed to try every single flavor before settling on an order. A problem, since samples are not a thing in Italy.”

“Did you have to fisticuff a brawny ice cream man with a gold necklace?”

“Depends. Would that make me more or less cool than bribing him with fifty euros?”

I laugh into the back of my hand. And after that I look at him, and he’s serious once again.

“Nolan— ”

“I’m sorry, too. About what I said. I had no right to imply that what you’ve been doing for your family is not the right thing. And I know I can’t imagine what you’ve been through with your dad.”

“Actually, I think you can.”

He studies me for longer than is comfortable. Galaxies pass through his black eyes, and I wonder whether this second could last a century. Whether the universe could be just me and him, understanding each other on a forever loop. “Yeah. Maybe I can.”

I clear my throat. Okay. Here goes.

“In the spirit of acknowledging that I’ve been hiding behind . . . a bunch of stuff— mostly Mom, and my sisters, and Dad— and that I’ve been using what needed to be done as a shield, I’ve been trying to practice verbalizing what I want. So that I can, you know, live my life for myself.”

“Good.”

“Yeah. For instance, I know now that I want to keep on playing chess. Professionally. I want it to be my job.”

Nolan’s mouth twitches. His eyes widen with that boyish gleam that I’ve come to love from him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. So I’ll do that. Or at least I’ll try. And . . . My friend Easton is here, which is nice. And we made up. But once we leave, I’ll still want to talk with her every day. So I’ll just . . . call her myself. I’ll make it happen. If we’re not up in each other’s business till the day we die, it won’t be for my lack of trying.”

He nods. “Fair.”

“And also, I’ve been talking about Dad at home. Slowly. But more and more. I’ve been looking at some of his games. I’ve been showing them to Darcy as I teach her how to play. Because even if I can’t forget the bad, I want us to still remember the good.”

He knows exactly what I mean. I can tell from the rueful twist of his smile. “You should.”

“And also . . .” I swallow past the lump in my throat, nearfrozen toes curled into the floor. “Also, I’ve been considering things like fate, and coincidences, and the past. Sappy, I know. And you probably never thought of it, but when I was a kid, and you were a barely older kid, we both played chess, both in the same geographical area. And for some reason we never met, but I have to wonder if maybe we were at the same tournament or at the same club, just in different divisions. I have to wonder if maybe we played on the same chess sets, one after the other. I have to wonder if we were meant to be, and only missed each other narrowly. Because when I stopped playing, I was done. Done. Years passed, and it should have been it for you and me, we should have been that narrow miss and nothing more. But Defne’s tournament happened, and it was . . . a second chance.” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t think I believe in destiny. I believe in solid openings, and middle games that show initiative, and swift transitions to end games. But I can’t stop wondering if maybe the universe was trying to tell us something, and— ”

“I can’t believe you prefaced all of this with ‘you probably never thought of it.’ ” Nolan’s tone is dry and amused, and I can’t keep the words inside me anymore.