Page 28 of Sacrifice

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“Yahtzee,” Will says, breaking the silence. I shake my head and he laughs, standing up. He walks over to the first guy, who’s lifting his head, trying to make sense of what’s going on. In one swift movement, Will’s boot meets his face. His head falls back against the floor. Will looks at me and shrugs. “Just needed to be sure.”

I turn back to the Toothless Wonder. His arms are still out to his sides, the same position they were in after I hit him. He starts to fall forward. I hook my arms under his and catch him before he completely lands against me.

“Was it worth it?” I ask, holding him up. He gurgles his answer, blood trickling down the side of his face. “You came in my fucking bar and scared my favorite bartender. That was a fuckup.” His eyes grow wider, the gurgling picking up pace. I grin. “I think you need to learn a lesson.”

He starts to yell but it never has a chance to escape his lips. The top of my head drives into his skullonce, twice, three times,before I let him go. He melts to the floor.

The bar goes wild. People start shouting and clapping. Jordyn collapses against the wall. I just stand in the middle of the chaos and try to get the adrenaline coursing through my veins to slow down.

Will grabs my shoulder and laughs. “That was more entertainment that I expected to get tonight.”

I shrug.

“You’d probably have managed even if I hadn’t jumped in. But I couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t want you to look like a pussy in front of your fan club.” He laughs, nodding to Adam and Dane.

“You’re such a fuckup, Will.”

He roars with laughter and heads over to Adam and Dane. They have a cell phone aimed at the guy on the floor.

“Dude, you just got knocked the fuck out by Crew Fucking Gentry! You’re gonna be famous,” Adam exclaims.

Dane laughs. “I can’t believe it. We finally got to see him fight. He’s better than I even thought.”

“That was epic. I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Adam says and turns to look at me with a look of amazement on his face. “You’re the man!”

ELEVEN

JULIA

I line up the paint pots across the paper towel covering the center of the kitchen table. The top of the table is still a bit sticky from this morning’s pancakes, but I don’t really care. My mind is too preoccupied to worry, for once, about spilled syrup.

Tomorrow is the day of reckoning. It will make me or break me.

Dear God, please let it be okay.

In a few hours, which I refuse to count because that will only increase my panic, I have to take Everleigh back to the hospital to get the finalized results from her tests.

I know our lives will change forever once the sun comes up.

I think the worst is not knowing exactly what we’re fighting. The possibilities are endless. I caught myself googling things last night, but that only made it worse. I didn’t even understand the majority of what I read and what I did read, I wish I hadn’t.

A cold chill lazily drifts through my body and I shudder, remembering some of the pictures and language that was used. None of that should be used in the same breath as a child.

My child.

I unscrew the lids and listen to her singing “Sugar” by Maroon 5 in her bedroom. It both breaks and heals my heart. I keep holding on to some thread of hope that’s she not truly sick. That it’s a mistake. My grandma used to say that God would never give you more in a day than you can handle. If that’s true, this diagnosis can’t be right. Because I can’t handle it. Not my baby girl.

I listen to her sing and I know that she’s dancing in that goofy way, like me, around her bedroom. I know her smile, the way her right cheek has a hint of a dimple, better than the back of my hand. I’m sure the sparkle in her beautiful eyes is shining and I don’t want to dim that. Not now and not ever.

That’s why I haven’t told her.

Even though she’s five, the wordcancerwould scare her. I don’t want her to worry or be afraid of what’s to come. I know the feeling of being little like that and worrying about things that are way bigger than you are. I want her to have something I never did: the feeling of safety, of being loved, of knowing she has someone that will make it all okay one way or the other.

Because, after all, this whole thing might be a mistake.

I set a piece of paper and a watercolor brush by our chairs and call for her. She comes in, a wide smile...and with black circles under her eyes. My heart pulls in my chest. I try to focus on the good, on the grin, but I can’t help but see the bad.

“Are we painting?” She climbs up into her seat and brushes her hair off her shoulders.