Of course it was. Fucking wonderful.
“I hope they aren’t saying it like that. Pretty sure I haven’t ‘popped bone’ since I was fifteen.” I took a sip of coffee, the biting flavor punishment on my tongue.
“Well, yeah, you are kind of getting old. Takes more work for the pop, huh?”
“You’re a month older than me, Stone.”
“Yeah, but poppin’ all the damn time.”
“I’m not sure I’d be bragging about that. Somehow the only thing the town stoner, mid-thirties, running a roller rink, sporting unpredictable wood has child molester vibes written all over it.”
He snorted. “Former stoner. I gave that shit up.”
“Really? Now that’s news in a town where nothing ever changes.”
“Yeah, it’s not as fun when your dad decides he wants to get high with you. I’m pretty sure I only did it to piss him off and the day he asked to light one up with me, he sucked every last shred of joy from it.”
“You still skate?”
“Fuck yeah, I do,” he said, tilting his head. “You?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“So that’s the tension rolling off you.”
Glancing out at the empty rink, I avoided his comment.
I sucked in a deep breath, memories when I first started skating here with my grandparents, mom, sister, and brother colliding with what came after.
Just after.
When I broke away from my siblings, anger took over as the Devil sitting on my shoulder while I raced around the rink. No matter what I did, how fast I went, my gaze always going to my mother’s favorite corner table.
One now used by another family, another smiling mother.
Every pass, that spot a cutting reminder that she’d never sit there again. I’d never see her smile, hear her laugh, or breathe her in when I hugged her.
She’d never again reassure me everything was going to be okay.
Each glance at the corner carving out the good in my heart, leaving gaping holes for the rot to seep in and fill me up from the inside out.
I let that anguish rule my decisions. I let grief push me to run away.
From my grandparents, from the pain, from feeling adrift in a world I’d always thought would hold me to it with unwavering gravity.
Heartbreak and desperation fucked with my head, leading me to manipulate my brother and sister into leaving the security with our grandparents on the farm to go live with our dad.
The price of my disastrous decision was never paid in full.
The balance destined to hang over my head for a lifetime.
What the hell was I doing here?
What business did I have getting involved with anyone, carrying my stains into their lives, making them bear the cost of my mistakes?
This was why I avoided this town. Why I limited myself to brief visits lasting only a handful of days. I could get in and out before my past could be picked apart, before self-torment could take hold. I never had to worry about running into Lana’s parents, my presence drawing slivers of resentment to the surface only to spill over, becoming one more thing for Lana to handle.
The weeks to come loomed before me and if I didn’t find something to sink my energy into, some sort of purpose, everything I’d done, the wrongs I couldn’t right, would swallow me whole.
I glanced down at my hands, the way my fists clenched tight, the edge of my fingernails digging into my skin, the only outward sign of the storm brewing in me. Muscles rigid, gut churning, the pressure built, the desire to rage out of control terrifying after the years I’d spent learning control.
Words I might have said turned to ash in my mouth. I didn’t want to talk anymore. I wanted to burn up every last bit of energy I had, leaving exhaustion so heavy I couldn’t muster the strength to agonize over the gossip, the town, my mistakes, or the way I could still feel Mayhem’s heat which had somehow burrowed in a dangerously vulnerable place inside me that had been cold for more than half of my life.
And I didn’t want to do it alone.
God, that sucked to acknowledge because needing someone meant I’d get close. Getting close meant someone would get hurt. But damn, I wanted a friend alongside me.
“Want to tear up the floor with me for a while?” I said, my throat thick, my voice almost rusty with disuse despite the conversation between us—the timbre exposing just how shredded my spirit was inside me.
“With you, Bishop? Anytime,” Jackson said, clapping my shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Let’s do this shit.”
I jogged out to my truck and grabbed my skates, the relief beginning to push against the anger brewing in my heart.
We laced up and Jackson flicked on the lights suspended over the rink, sending rainbow beams of light—another new addition instead of the standard white—dancing over the gleaming wood. Plugging in his phone to a state-of-the-art sound system way better than the muffled shit from our teen years, he resurrected our youth with a playlist full of angst and grit from the very first beat.
The song vibrated in my chest, rattling me from the inside out. I pushed off, the easy glide of my wheels sweet relief in a fucking abrasive world. My muscles warmed with every glide. The old moves came back as natural as walking.
Moves that had always been a core part of who I was.
The ones my mother taught me.
Jackson kept pace, matching his motions to mine. The tempo commanded our feet. With every move we reawakened the familiar kinship from endless afternoons jam skating as teenagers.
Song after song we skated in tandem. Moisture broke out over my skin and my heart pumped blood so hard and heavy through my veins it echoed in my ears.
On what had to be the twentieth pass, I shed my flannel shirt, balled it up, and ditched it over the wall.
Spins, slides, crazy legs, snake
