Page 102 of Forgotten Sacrifice

It’s not long before I’m strolling the boardwalk. Stopping at a vendor setting up for the day, I buy a bag of cotton candy. “Getting an early start,” the vendor jokes.

“Breakfast of champions,” I agree.

I plop down on the nearest bench, pinching off a wad of cotton candy from the bag and bringing the pink fluff to my mouth. The sugar dissolves on my tongue as I scroll through chess blogs on my phone.

In the game of kings, a new queen is crowned.

The article highlights my career and yesterday’s “stunning” upset of Grandmaster Morrell, with a picture of me in my statement T-shirt.

I read through the comments, really wishing I hadn’t.

What a bitch.

Who wouldn’t be distracted by those tits?

She’s a DEI Grandmaster.

“Fucking trolls.”

I finish off my bag of cotton candy, examining my mental chess board. I’m a Grandmaster. One step closer to breaking into the top fifty players in the world. One step closer to becoming the number one player in the world. So why am I not more excited?

My mind goes to blaming Vince, but I shut down that line of thinking. He isn’t the problem here; I am. I’ve completely lost sight of my endgame with Vince, and for that, I have no one to blame but myself.

We’re not friends. God knows we shouldn’t be lovers. What does that make us, then?

I’m not sure about us, but I know what it makes me. A silly little girl who spread her legs for the man who Stockholm syndromed her; the man who could ruineverythingfor her.

Vince

I take a seat at my brother’s bar. A few minutes pass, but Aldo doesn’t make an appearance. “Guess I’ll help myself,” I callloudly as I walk around the bar and pour myself a cup of coffee. Taking a sip, I cough. “Damn.”

Nursing the horrible coffee, I contemplate how this is my life. Week after week, hustling blue collar boomers in a game they can’t win. And now hustling Luna in a game shecouldwin, had I not gotten my dirty hands all over her and jeopardized her odds.

I settle up with my clients: all but the one who ghosted me. His mistake, because now I’ve got to play the role of enforcer, and I’m already in a shit mood.

The clock ticks by, and I’m starting to get concerned about my brother. Sticking my head in the back, I call to the cook, “You seen Aldo?”

“He’s with a friend.” He jerks his head to the utility closet.

“Enzo?” I thought Aldo broke things off with the soldier; my brother was tired of having to sneak around. Aldo’s openly bisexual, but Enzo’s still hush hush about his sexuality.

“No. Some new girl.”

Since my brother likes to be all up in my business, I decide to return the favor. I hang around until the door opens, and out struts Aldo with Bridget—her hair wild, her lips swollen.

“No wonder I couldn’t get any bar service,” I comment loudly, and their heads snap to me.

“Ladies first, that’s Al’s Sports Bar’s motto,” my brother says, and the girl’s cheeks turn bright red. “Talk to you later.” He grabs Bridget and kisses her.

“Um, yeah,” she says, her face flaming as she nods to me before hurrying out.

“Gotta love those chess stars, huh, big brother?”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Sure you will.” He smiles knowingly.

“I’ve got some business to handle, but I’ll be back.”