Page 67 of The Life and (Medieval) Times of Kit Sweetly

I scrambled to my feet and stood beside Chris. “Yeah, get out. We don’t want you here.”

Dad’s face fell. “Fine,” he said. All the fight drained from him. “But never say I didn’t try to give you a better life.”

When his car had pulled out of the driveway and gone swerving down the street, Chris turned without a word and went to the freezer. He brought me a half-eaten bag of frozen peas. I pushed it to my cheek and let the cold seep in, hoping it could numb all the way to my heart. Chris sat down on the bottom step of the split-level staircase and let out a shaky breath. I slumped down beside him and leaned into his shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said to me. “We’ve got each other.”

Exhaustion, sadness, and the remains of his anger played across his face, like cloud shadows shifting across the ground on a windy day.

I nodded, as tears ran down my face. At least we had each other.

A few days later, Dad came back. And this time he stuck around for more than three years. None of us ever mentioned that fight again. But when I look back on it, I can see the man Chris became in the boy he was.

But now I know he’s worried because he can’t work any longer. And what’s Mom going to do? And how can we find Dad so the divorce can go through? And everything else in between. Reaching over, I squeeze his shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay,” I say softly. “We’ve got each other.”

He shoots me a tired, grateful smile.

DESPITE THE DOCTOR’S WORRY THAT CHRIS’S KNEE IS MESSED up, he makes it from the car to the front door without too much trouble.

I help him hobble up the front stairs, and then we’re standing on the landing.

“Upstairs or down?” I point at his room on the lower level and the kitchen and other rooms upstairs. “I made you a bed on the couch if you want to be closer to the fridge.”

“Let’s go up,” said Chris.

Our feet move over the spot where we sat together on the stairs so many years ago. With each step, Chris winces. I help him to the couch and get him settled. I hand him the remote, and he flicks on the TV, scrolling through the channels until he lands on reruns of The Venture Bros. I laugh along with him for a few minutes, grateful that he doesn’t want to talk about work or his injuries or my TV appearance.

I don’t remember when I fell asleep, but suddenly, my phone alarm is going off, and it’s 3:30 p.m.

I’ve slept through the better part of the day.

Shit, shit, shit. I’ve got to be at training in half an hour. The TV is still on, but Chris is asleep on the couch. I jump off, grabbing my phone, so I can text Mom to get Chris’s medicine.

“Kit?” Chris calls from the living room. “You leaving, Sis?” Pain medication makes his voice drowsy.

“Just going to Layla’s. I’ll be back with dinner and your meds in a few hours.”

“Fight well, Girl Knight,” he says in a drowsy voice.

“As always,” I reply with a smile.

31

EVERYONE’S ALREADY THERE BY THE TIME I GET TO LAYLA’S house. Alex and Layla are on horses, galloping around the paddock and shouting medieval insults at each other. Penny and Mags (whose hair is purple at the ends today) practice a set of on-ground sword-fighting moves. Mags is surprisingly light on her feet, and she keeps jumping out of the way of Penny’s jabs like she’s skipping rope. Near the barn, Lizzy’s working on a complex slide-out-of-the-saddle-and-roll-to-your-feet move, with the help of Layla’s oldest, most patient horse. Jett films it all, standing to the side in his leather jacket.

“Hey,” I say, punching him lightly on the arm. Because that’s easier than giving him a hug like I want to do. “How goes the documentary?”

He lowers the camera and smiles at me. “It’s mostly done. I edited in the news report today during free period. Now, I just have to add in the tournament footage from this Friday and we’ll be set.”

I stare at my shoes, trying not to hear the excited shouts and laughter of my fellow Knights.

I have to tell him.

“Yeah … about that tournament. I’m not so sure it’s going to happen.”

Jett’s eyebrows quirk. “What’re you talking about? You just told everyone in Chicago to come. I thought you had permission for all this?”