Page 98 of The Knockout

“Baby, before you got here last night, I was thinking about the fact that my dad would never know you as my wife. He’d never meet our kids. And now, on the day we’re going to lay him to rest, we find this out? I kinda feel like it’s a gift from him.”

Ares

You never know what real strength is until it’s tested.

I’ll never measure strength by the power of my fists again—because real strength is standing by your mother’s side all day as we say our final goodbyes tothe greatest father I could ever have. The man who gave me my love of hockey. Who showed me what a man is and how he loves. Real strength is in the legacy you leave behind at the end of the day.

I slide my hand into Grace’s as we step from the limo out into the sun at my parents’ house, where the luncheon has been set up outside.

She hasn’t talked to her family about anything yet. Everly and Nixon are the only ones who know about us or her decision about ballet. And it’s obvious from the looks we’ve been receiving all day that questions are coming.

She and I carefully and slowly move into the backyard. She’s been queasy all morning. And the faster she moves, the worse it seems to get.

“Oh, Ares, honey.” Annabelle wraps me up in a big hug as soon as we get close enough, and Declan kisses the top of Grace’s head. “We’re so sorry. Your father seemed like one of a kind.”

“Thank you. He was.” I shake Declan’s hand and watch a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth as his wife hugs their daughter. He pulls me against him. “If you break her heart, I will kill you,” he whispers, and I look up at him, wondering if he realizes how fucked up those words are today. But then I think about if the roles were reversed and that was my daughter.

“I’ll protect it with my life,” I tell him just as quietly.

“Good man.” He pats my back, and I’m pretty sure I just got Grace’s dad’s blessing.

Might change his mind, though, when he finds out she’s pregnant.

Grace kisses my cheek. “I’m going to go inside and get a drink. Do you want anything?”

“Why don’t you let me get that?” I offer, but she shakes her head.

“You know these people. You need to go talk to them. I’ll be okay.”

I watch her walk away and miss her touch immediately.

GRACE

Istand in Ares’s mother’s quiet living room and study the walls filled with family pictures. Birthdays. Graduations. A Christmas spent with Bellamy in a hospital bed with teenage Cross and Ares on either side of her. It’s a wall of love. Of memories. And there’s a picture on it with Ares and a beautiful young woman decked out in a tux and gown that I’m guessing is from a prom. Even as a teenager, the early makings of my god of war are written all over his handsome face.

“That one was his senior prom,” his mom walks up behind me, and I jump. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I can’t imagine the kind of pain she’s in right now, and I feel helpless to do anything. “No. I’m fine. Can I get you anything?”

She lifts the picture from the hook it hangs on and traces Ares’s face with the tip of her finger. “He looks the most like his father.”

“He does,” I agree with a smile and find myself wondering if our baby will look like Ares or me.

“Hey, beautiful.” Speak of the devil. He drops a kiss on my head, then runs his hand over his mother’s back. “Do you need anything, Momma?”

“I need everyone to stop fussing over me. Today is a celebration of your father’s life and the legacy he leaves behind. Not his death. He lives on in each of you kids.” She hands me the picture, then looks outside and wipes an errant tear from her eye. “I better get back outside. Gracie, honey, if you don’t feel well, you should go lie down.”

“I will, thank you.” I wait until she leaves and smile at the picture in my hands. “Wanna tell me who this is and if I should be jealous?” I tease.

But Ares doesn’t smile, and I immediately worry that I shouldn’t have joked today.

He takes the picture from my hands and studies it for a minute. “Sarah was a girl I dated in high school. You know, when you think you know everything there is to know about the world and what life is going to be like. Really, I didn’t know anything.”

“Hey,” I move into his chest, sensing this is hitting a nerve I hadn’t realized was exposed. “I’m sorry. We don’t need to talk about it.”

“She’s why I hate liars,” he says the words so carefully, it’s almost like he’s saying them to himself and not me. At least until he looks at me and cups my face in his hand. “She’s why I hate drugs too. She was a gymnast and tore her ACL our senior year. It’s terrible how easily someone can become addicted to pain killers and how fast that can snowball.”

The final piece of the puzzle clicks into place, and my heart sinks. “Ares... I’m so sorry. Did she get help?”

---