Finally beyond the monotony of constant repetitive footwork and finally dipping our toes in the fire that came with real derby, my body hummed with energy. It skittered under my skin, making it nearly impossible to sit still.
My brain latched on and turned that energy into fantasy.
What if?
What if Priest had followed me up to my apartment the night we mauled each other in my hallway?
What if he hadn’t brought Tilly onto the team without warning me?
That was easy—I would have set fire to the no kissing rule in the first week no doubt.
I’d spent almost three weeks staring at his buffet of broad shoulders, arms corded with hard muscle and thick veins, and a rather spectacular ass, round, solid, and so damn out of reach at the moment.
“You look like you want to bite right into his ass cheek like it’s an apple,” Marty said next to me.
I sighed, my quiet moment all too brief. “I bet he snaps like a Red Delicious. The clear, crisp pop, and not too sweet.”
“You should just do something about that already. When you guys sniff around each other with so many white-hot glances that you have the rest of us taking cold showers, it’s time. Past fucking time,” Marty said. “I mean, my down below is on permanent vibrate at this point so hop on that and give us all the details.”
“Would you think less of me if I admitted I was afraid of falling for him only to watch him go?”
“Oh, girl,” Marty said with a wince. “You already fell for him so you might as well take the time you have. You never know, he may surprise you. Or you’ll surprise him.”
“Lunch is over! Hustle up, we’re switching up teams,” Priest called out as he hopped onto the track along the straightaway where it was lowest to the floor. His skates never once slipping from the grip he made by digging in his edges.
There really was something to be said for a guy who had so much control on wheels.
“Okay, team one: Mayhem, Anarch-Eve, Dixie Dom, Lick-Or-Treat, and Sleeping Booty. Team two: Hazy Eights, Lowe Bar, Rory Highness, Tilly the Hun, and Get Hussy. Get out there and push it!”
We skated into position, the blockers stepping in and around each other. One of their blockers moved, one of our blockers followed.
Right now, Eve stayed pressed to Tilly, moving with her every adjustment, never letting her break away.
My stomach rolled, the old instincts, old fears trying to creep back.
No.
Not this time.
We were teammates and I didn’t crush her to dust with my skate the other day. We’d evolved.
All the old shit, it was over.
The starting whistle pierced the air and I dug in my edge taking off at a run on my toe stops. Three steps and a stride had me reaching the pack. In a tight cluster of bodies and legs I fought to get through, trying to wedge into small openings to push my body through and break them apart.
I spun out reaching around the high side along the rail, but Rory was right there to close the gap and send me toward the bottom of the track. I found another gap along the bottom, took advantage of the coping, only to have Tilly plant her left skate in front of mine and drive me out of bounds.
Whistle after whistle, play after play, Tilly didn’t stop. She never once threw an elbow, she even managed to avoid an illegal hit when I dipped and gave her my back, but she never backed off of me either.
Like there were two different jams going on out there.
She and I.
And everyone else.
Eight jams in and I just couldn’t pass her.
It was me. All me.
She’d gotten in my head again, and I’d let it happen. Here we were, on the same team, no more bullying, no more spite, and she was still fucking with me.
With one final drive of her hips, she sent me into the infield and the whistle blew. I rolled along the inside, mumbling to myself, my fingers steepled over my head while I rested my hands on my helmet.
It’s not the same. Let it go. Just let it go.
“Praying to your dead mother?”
The whispered sneer slithered over my shoulder. A second later, Tilly skated past me, the smirk right back on her mouth, every bit of progress we’d made obliterated and fuck if I knew why.
I’d never escape this. As long as we coexisted in this town, I’d never escape this or her. She’d find a way to steal every piece of joy I carved for myself.
Every safe place.
My sport.
Even my kids by sabotaging our chances at the exhibition.
My heart hammered behind my ribs, the blood stampeded through my head, and my control snapped.
Memories cascaded through my mind like a stack of pictures slipping from slack fingertips.
My mother tossing the end of her broken and frayed green lace in the trash the last time we skated together.
Waking up alone in our shared room, shivering under a blue flowered quilt the morning she died.
The police at the door telling me I had to go with them.
Every night from then on in a bunkbed, my scratchy standard issue blanket jammed against my ear to drown out the melody of employees' shoes squeaking on the linoleum, screams of kids lashing out in pain and fear, and the sobs of lonely, heartsick girls in the darkness after the lights went out.
The echo of a lifetime collection of her words all came flooding back, cracking open the recently sealed tomb of my pain.
The taunts, the insults, relentless everywhere I turned until she snatched away every bit of comfort I managed to find in a scary world where I was well and truly all alone.
No mother, no father, no family to speak of.
No family friends.
Just me.
Never belonging.
A haze covered my eyes
