Chapter 7 #2
“Hyde didn’t want you alone at Gravemont, but you don’t need to be at the service. You can stay here if you’d rather not spend two hours in the blistering cold.”
For a second, I think she’ll say something, but she pushes away from the table and leaves. Instead of upstairs like I expect, she heads into the living room where Noah sleeps on the couch.
My pulse spikes, throbbing in my temples.
Will she wake him? Will she whisper in his ear that she’s uncomfortable and doesn’t want to be alone with me?
Will she crawl in beside him?
They do have an undeniable connection. I noticed her eyes snap to Noah a dozen times last night. She looks at him for comfort, reassurance, for words she won’t speak. From what I gathered, she’s spent every evening in his room, playing chess and... fuck knows what else.
I don’t think he’d make a move on her. Hyde would kill him. Well, he’d ask me to kill him. But still, there’s something between them. The way Noah watches Millie is a clear sign he’s intrigued.
She comes back a moment later, a chessboard tucked under her arm. Relief rattles through me, so potent it’d knock me off my damn feet if I weren’t already seated. She won’t give me words but doesn’t mind my company.
That’s... well, I don’t know, but I can work with it.
Snatching one white and one black pawn, she shuffles them behind her back before outstretching her closed fists.
And once again, I’m second-guessing my every move.
Normally, I’d poke her hand, but if she’s refusing to speak to me, she probably doesn’t want my touch, either.
I point at her left hand.
This might be the earliest chess match I’ve ever played. It’s barely half-past six in the morning. She opens her palm, showing me a white pawn, and we set the board.
The music changes to one of my favorite songs, “The Cure for Breathing” by VOILá. Millie taps the rhythm against the table, a soft smile gracing her lips.
“You like VOILá?”
She stiffens, eyes narrowing like I’ve guessed something awfully personal. Hyde mentioned she keeps her cards close, but with a shaky exhale, she gives me a faint nod. It’s not words, but it’s communication, so I’ll take it.
I make my move, and then Millie’s index finger curls around her piece. I’ve never seen anyone hold the pieces quite like that. It’s elegant, a little quirky, and somehow... sexy.
She loses the first round, and the second, and the third, but smiles every time I check her king.
“You’re losing on purpose,” I say as she’s resetting the board.
Her smile fades, making me regret my comment.
Who fucking cares? She was obviously enjoying herself. Enjoying her time with me. Why the hell did I open my mouth?
“I know you don’t want to give me your words, so how about instead of saying check, you double-tap my king?”
A soft blush spreads over her cheeks, highlighting her bone structure.
She sets up the board without acknowledging what I said, and I refill our coffee cups.
The sound of running water starts when I sit back down, a telltale sign either Dash or Hyde is up, so I have less than twenty minutes left alone with Millie.
I’m surprised Noah hadn’t dragged himself off my couch at the sound of chess pieces moving across the board. He was the junior speed-chess champion three years in a row back when he couldn’t blow his nose without Mommy’s help. I always thought his brain was conditioned to the sound.
Millie adds milk and sugar to her coffee, eyes on my fingers as I make the first move. Three minutes later, as she taps my king after eight moves, I realize I’ll never win against her again. I stare, wondering how the hell she cornered me so fast.
I look up, confused, and my chest cracks open at the satisfaction written all over her pretty face. She’s beaming, her smile so genuine I’m rendered speechless.
There she is...
Her eyes sparkle, the contrast between hazel and blue more prominent, her cheeks deliciously pink. Even her blonde hair seems to fucking glow as it frames her face.
If this is what I’ll get every time I lose... I’ll lose forever.
“Again,” I say, setting the board up once more.
The shower upstairs stops running a moment before Millie taps my king... nine moves in this time around. I avoid being overthrown for three more turns, all the while watching how alive she looks, how pleased with herself, every time she cuts off my defense.
Once Hyde’s heavy footsteps ring on the stairs, Millie backs me into a corner and my king falls.
“Morning.” He enters the kitchen, a crinkle between his brows, eyes jumping from me to his sister. “You’re up early, sis.” He kisses her head before moving toward the coffee machine. “Who won?”
“The first three times I did.” I lean back in my chair. “Then I realized your sister’s a cheater and we agreed she’ll tap my king when it’s time to check because she was losing on purpose so she wouldn’t have to speak.”
“And then she kicked your ass,” he guesses.
“In eight moves,” I admit. “Either Noah’s an excellent teacher or she’s been holding back.”
“The latter. She’s played chess since she was five.”
Her face hardens on cue, eyes drilling holes into the back of Hyde’s head. I don’t think she appreciates him sharing that detail, proving just how close she keeps her cards these days.
Dash joins us moments later, his hair disheveled from sleep, eyes hooded, muscular chest on display. He’s only wearing his boxers, and my jaw tightens as he stops in the doorway.
“You have no fucking shame,” I clip. “Go get dressed.”
He just shrugs. “I’m not naked.”
Smiling, Millie turns to look at him, then quickly whips forward again, eyes wide, cheeks red-hot.
“Put that thing away before you poke someone’s eye out,” Hyde chides, pulling a chair out on my left.
“It’s morning.” Dash strides past us to pour himself a cup of coffee. “You know how it goes.”
“Yeah, but we’re not alone and my sister doesn’t need your morning wood at the breakfast table. Get dressed.”
Dash chuckles. “She’s a big girl, Hyde. I bet my morning wood isn’t a novelty, right, Mini?”
She pinches her lips, cheeks heating even more but there’s a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. I can’t help but wonder whether that means the wood is or isn’t a novelty...
I can’t tell why she’s blushing.
She’s either embarrassed about her inexperience or that her experience is being pointed out in front of her older brother.
Fuck. I’m spending way too much time wondering.
Thankfully, before I start spiraling, there’s a knock on the door, immediately followed by the doorbell.
“That’ll be my dear aunt,” I say, exhaling a long breath. “Let the shit-show begin.”
Yanking the door open, I take one look at my dearest aunt and know she stopped at the funeral home on her way. Every wrinkle and crease of her fifty-eight-year-old face emanates deep distaste as she props her hands on her waist.
“No honors?!” Greta snaps, barging inside. “A pine casket?! What the hell are you playing at, Elias?”
“Come in, why don’t you,” I mutter, shutting the door while she shimmies out of her trench coat.
She’s dressed to impress, her heels so tall she’ll need a hip replacement if she trips.
I fucking hope she does. An elegant black dress hugs her plus-sized frame, gloves to match, hair coiffed and makeup applied by a professional.
It doesn’t hide the wrinkles, but it does make her look a few years younger.
I swallow my scoff.
She’s a widow. Her latest husband’s been rotting in the ground barely a year, but it looks like Greta decided her brother’s funeral is as good a place as any to bag number four.
I bet she was hoping for a high-ranking general.
With an outraged scoff, she starts toward the kitchen, dropping her coat mid-stride and expecting me to catch it. I don’t. It falls to the floor, but I reluctantly hang it up as Greta falters in the kitchen doorway. I doubt she expected company this early.
“Morning.” Hyde rises from his seat, ever so polite as he extends his hand. “Hyde Ward. This is my sister, Millie, and this is Dash Ryker. We’re sorry for your loss.”
Dash Ryker and his morning wood.
“Thank you, Hyde, that’s very kind of you.”
“Coffee?” I ask, passing her in the doorway. “Or would you rather have something stronger?”
“It’s eight in the morning, Elias. Coffee will suffice.
” She drops into the seat beside Millie, squeezing the bridge of her long, crooked nose.
“Explain yourself. Why no honors for God’s sake?
I talked to Jeremiah about funeral arrangements when we buried your mother. He wanted a full military burial.”
I set a cup of coffee in front of her, catching Dash sneaking out with a shit-eating grin.
“Maybe it can still be arranged?” Greta continues. “We could move the funeral to tomorrow and—”
“No,” I snap, “He’s going under today.”
Greta recoils as if I slapped her. “You can’t possibly think I’ll agree to bury my brother in a pine coffin. He was—”
“He was a modest man,” I seethe, the lie harder to push past my teeth than I expected. “So, I’m giving him a modest send-off. He’s dead, Greta. What difference does a fucking coffin make? How is cherry instead of pine going to help? It won’t bring him back, will it?”
Thank fuck for small mercies.
Her lips part, then close, eyes welling with performative tears as she reaches across the table for my hand. Her fingers are as cold as her tiny black heart.
She leans in, the scent of her sickly-sweet perfume fanning my face. “I know this must be very hard for you. And I’m truly sorry for your loss, but—”
“There’s no but. It’s done. The funeral’s in three hours. He’s ready and prepped and lying in the coffin I paid for.”
Her expression shifts to polite disdain. “Is it the money? I thought your father had savings!”
Plenty of savings. In fact, I’ve inherited much more than I thought I would, not that I’ll let Greta know. Turns out my father was a clever monster.
“It’s not money.” I stand, done with this conversation. “You can argue until you’re blue, but it won’t change anything. The funeral’s starting soon. I’m going to get ready.”
I don’t glance at Millie as I round the table. I don’t check her expression. I don’t look to see if she’s set the board for another match.
If I do, I won’t fucking leave.