by Casey Hagen
“You let her get in your head.” The low rumble of his words, cocky and rich, the kind of timbre a woman craved dancing over the skin of her inner thigh.
The beat forgotten, I flicked a glance in the direction of the deep, unfamiliar voice.
Him.
Casual fucker from the front row.
He tipped back a longneck bottle, his gaze never leaving mine even when they closed to slits.
“Really? And how the hell would you know that?” I would entertain him. Why not? He’d toss out his observations, this guy I’d never once seen at a single bout; he’d make it embarrassingly clear he didn’t know shit about derby, and I’d go back to my drinks, ice in hand, and the rockin’ fucking tunes in my head keeping me happy.
“She manipulated you to the inside every single time and you never failed to fall for it. The minute you got there, the refs were too busy concentrating on your feet to see her throwing you elbows.” His lip curled with distaste. “Six times.”
Okay, he knew a little bit more than nothing.
“Here you go, Maze. Let me know when you need a refresh,” Patti said with a couple pats to my cheek, something I normally liked, except on the heels of the dude’s assessment of my game play, the endearing gesture only making me feel immature and stupid.
Kind of appropriate all things considered, but a kick in the tits just the same.
“Thanks. His next beer is on me,” I said with a nod toward the judgmental bastard at the end of the bar.
Patti raised an eyebrow and glanced between the two of us.
“For the unsolicited play-by-play.”
Heading back to the corner booth we always settled into after bouts, a coveted spot in the bar that Patti reserved for us so no matter if it was just the six of us or the whole team, we’d have room, I dropped into a chair, my back firmly to the bar.
More importantly, my back to the asshole hell-bent on taking my inventory.
My teeth clenched the minute the ice hit my hip, both from the shocking cold soaking through my thin shorts and the deep-seated throb playing a tempo of its own through my fucking pelvis.
Thank fuck our drinks had been delivered while I was gone. The Banked Track, a mixed drink Patti invented, the kind of concoction strong enough to put hair on your chest, or maybe even stop your heart.
I didn’t care…because it started out with a heavy root beer flavor.
Too bad it ended with a swift punch of paint thinner.
I’d just stay away from open flame. No biggie.
Think I’m kidding? Right there in the drink menu, in parenthesis next to The Banked Track—a stern warning about the consumer’s new flame rating after consumption.
Three gulps in, the root beer flavor so strong it filled my sinuses, I set the glass down and blinked up at my team—well, some of my team.
All eyes on me, silently studying me, I started to squirm in my seat, until my hip screamed in protest. “What?”
“You have no idea who you were talking to, do you?” Rory said, sneaking a glance past me, presumably to the dude.
“Sure, some bar rat who thinks he can mansplain derby to me. Call me fucking shocked.”
Rory shook her head, her ordinarily confident voice dropping to a breathy whisper. “That’s not a bar rat…that’s Priest.”
“He’s a priest? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“No, just Priest,” Rory said with a shake of her head.
“I wouldn’t mind praying at that altar,” Zara said, casting a quick side-glance at the bar.
“He was a roller derby coach here about ten years ago,” Marty went on. “The roller derby coach. He was fucking brilliant…and gorgeous to boot. Like seriously, next level looks here. The women flocked to him.”
Okay, so not mansplaining. But still, I didn’t ask for his opinion and he just couldn’t help but give it.
A few of her teammates salivated with breathy delight from the glances they stole of him across the bar.
Yeah, he was good looking. The way he filled out a sweater and his jeans should have been declared borderline obscene. His wide jaw and seductive mouth didn’t hurt anything either…but ultimately, it was his voice and the way it rumbled through the air in that deep timbre that set off a damn ache tried to seep into her you-can-just-fuck-off-with-your-assessment attitude.
In thirty seconds of conversation, he went from the kind of guy with the power to tickle my lady bits with just a smug glance, to the words coming out of his mouth making me want to roll my skates right over that face of his, to the low rumble finish of his voice destroying my underwear.
“I can’t believe he came back after what happened,” Sean whispered. “I hope you’re ready, because Galloway Bay is about to explode.”
"Well, maybe not all of Galloway Bay, but the squeakiest wheels in our town are definitely not team Priest.” Rory said, lifting her glass to her lips. “But then that’s what happens when you stack your team with underage talent only to have one of Galloway Bay's most promising teens end up in a wheelchair on your watch. I don’t have to wonder why so many people in this town would love to go all Game of Thrones up in this bitch and mount his head on a pike."
2
“In town for all of five minutes and making friends already I see,” Patti said with a bit of side-eye and a whole lot of signature smirk on her mauve-painted mouth.
Taking the last swallow of my beer and reaching for the “fuck you” round Mayhem bought me, I nodded. “Something like that.”
Maisy Mayhem…well, not tonight she wasn’t. She was playing with feelings. I couldn’t even call it vengeance. At least if it had been, she might have had a chance. She was all reaction.
A goddamned jammer on the defensive would always lose.
Six elbows to her ribs. Same side every time.
Tilly needed a good hard knock on her ass, but Mayhem wouldn’t be delivering it anytime soon unless she figured out how to get out of her head…and whatever was fucking with her heart.
Emotional investment wielded great power, but not when it was built on a foundation of bitterness and pain.
She was icing her hip now, but tomorrow she’d be struggling to take a deep breath. Their refs made shit rookie mistakes out there. All it took was one of them to have their eyes on the floor. But no, they were all staring down at the concrete while Tilly took complete advantage of their inattention.
They needed more training.
Maisy needed to run her emotions, not let them run her.
And Tilly? Tilly had always been a problem. Her reputation in amateur leagues was common knowledge in New England…and maybe farther. She needed a coach strong enough to bend her to their will, someone hard and swift—and no bullshit—who could get her to comply.
Because the woman had demons and they were running the show. They’d kicked into overdrive tonight on that track.
Question was…what did those demons have to do with Mayhem?
I glanced over at the woman in question and found her rubbing near her spine where it met her ribs.
Not my problem. Not my circus.
Not anymore.
“Maisy’s a good girl. I expect you to go easy on that one,” Patti warned me.
I had no damn intentions of going easy or hard on her. Again, not my circus. “Good girl, huh? Well, she did buy me a beer.”
“No, she didn’t. I’m putting it on your tab.”
“Bummer,” I said with a grunt, tipping the bottle to my lips.
“You can damn well afford it. She, however…cannot.” Patti rested her hand on her cocked hip and looked over at the corner booth where the team leaned in, their attention on each other as their pivot, Hazy Eights, filled them in on something noteworthy, keeping them enthralled, their drinks forgotten. Patti’s face softened and a smile reminiscent of her Pinup Patti days on the track spread over her face. “Maisy’s my favorite. I know a mother’s not supposed to have them, but I can’t help it. Underneath that makeup, those tattoo
s, and borderline foul mouth is a tender heart.”
Patti never had kids, but when she took someone under her wing, she may as well have birthed them herself for how protective she became. The look on her face left zero doubt. She’d claimed all six of them here tonight as her own.
And she would slice off the balls of any man who dared do one of them dirty, all with a smile on her face. When she was done, she’d fry them up in the back and serve them with blue cheese dressing and celery sticks for garnish.
My balls weren’t looking for an adventure—thanks.
Besides, they were young. The ladies, not my balls. Probably ten years younger than me. Just babies.
Plus, they were derby…and I wasn’t.
I never would be again.
“It’s fine. I don’t plan to find out.”
“Uh-huh. Sure,” she said, turning that shrewd gaze on me. “So, when did you get into town?”
“This afternoon.” My gaze snapped to the corner and found Mayhem blatantly watching me while her team darted guilty glances my way.
Subtle, ladies.
Problem solved…her buddies were filling her in and that’s all it would take for her to steer clear of me anyway.
“Not even one night home and you’ve already been to a bout. Like I said, go easy on that one.”
Not my style—but then, I’m not her coach so there’s that.
I shrugged. “It was the last bout of the season. I’ll be long gone before the next season kicks into gear.”
“Now that’s unfortunate,” Patti said as she reached out and cupped my cheek, showing me I was also one of the lucky few under her wing.
Instinct told me to lean into that affection as much as I itched to run from it.
When I let people get close, they got hurt. Time and again. The adventure always changed, but the outcome...the same every single time.
“It’s damn good to see you again. You look tired. You should sleep more.” She patted my cheek once—hard—and turned to the pass between the bar and crammed kitchen that churned out a small menu of American favorites.
Okay, she smacked me—kind of—as though she could sense my unease, so she made it playful, giving me a way to retreat.
I’d tip the shit out of her when I settled up.
She dropped a basket next to my beer. “For you.” Leaning on her elbows, she settled in and snagged a mozzarella stick. “So, have you seen her yet?”
Lulling me with fried food…so freaking Patti of her. “No,” I said, my clipped voice harder than I intended.
“You plan to?”
“Yes.”
“Her parents aren’t going to be happy about that.”
I met her gaze but said nothing. It didn’t matter what her parents thought. I was in town; I would see her. They had no say. Not anymore.
“Oooooh, bound up tighter than a colon seized up by a five-day cheese binge.”
I dropped the cheese stick I’d picked up. “That’s disgusting.”
“And all too common around these parts. You ever see a seventy-year-old man grunting out a cheddar log?”
“And with that, I’m never eating cheese again. Tell me you didn’t meet this seventy-year-old cheese addict online.”
“Sorry to break it to you, but there’s more cheese in your future. You’re going to eat it and you’re going to like it,” Patti said, plunking down a double cheeseburger and cheese fries in front of me. “And don’t worry, I didn’t meet him online…he’s local.”
“I didn’t order this.”
She pointed her index finger at me and huffed out an exasperated breath. “I’m taking care of you for a few minutes. Now stop interfering. Hey, at least it’s not cheddar.”
“Fair point.”
“Enough small talk, Cain. Spill…what brought you home?”
“Lilith is having complications and Jordan can’t get back just yet from his deployment. So here I am.”
She straightened, her mouth pressing into a thin line. “She’s going to be okay though, right? And the baby?”
“They’re going to be fine, but if she goes into labor early, we don’t want her to be alone.”
“Already a good uncle. Look at you.”
“Yeah, well, jury’s still out on that.”
“The only jury is the one you’ve got locked in that head of yours. Being sequestered has an end date. You should give them a break,” she said, rapping her knuckles against the bar and turning toward the crew at the end of the bar calling her name. “Duty calls. Don’t leave without checking in with me. Got it?”
“You’re the boss.”
“See, now if everyone could just get that through their head as a given, life would be so much easier.” She tossed the words over her shoulder with a laugh and a twinkle in her eye that had me smiling back.
The flex of those facial muscles felt foreign, and I had to wonder how long it had actually been since I had something to grin about.
My skin tingled and the hair stood up on my neck. Turning to the likely source, I found Mayhem had moved to the booth, her hostile stare roaming over me.
I had to wonder if my assessment of her shit play put that pinched look on her face or if it was the result of the gossip fed to her by her teammates.
Whatever.
Turning back to my burger, I did as I was told and ate. I wasn’t stupid. Patti wouldn’t give me a lecture if I turned down her food. She wouldn’t cuff me. She’d hit me with another nightmare inducing anecdote, maybe not about cheese, but it seems likely geriatric colons might be involved.
The woman in question glanced over at me, her eyes narrowed.
Yeah, I’d do as I was told.
Pick your battles, Bishop…this one wasn’t worth it.
Frustration pulsed through me with renewed energy since I rolled into Galloway Bay. This town had been my salvation and eventually my home until karma found me and took a devastating swipe, turning every part of my haven into a festering reminder that I didn’t deserve the sanctuary it offered.
I carried the broken parts of me from a shitty life, into this idyllic place. Relieved to have broken free from my nightmare, I failed to notice the broken pieces in me planting seeds that later flared to life in the fertile earth here. Standing ready to shatter any illusions I might have of peace.
Peace didn’t exist. Turmoil…and ironically, mayhem, I had those in spades.
The last of my burger down, I wiped my mouth and tossed my napkin on my plate. What flicker of good mood I’d found soured to shit.
This frame of mind called for hard liquor, a willing woman, or better…both.
But nope, I get to go home and deal with my sister.
My pregnant, moody, perceptive sister.
Life really knew how to deliver a merciless double nipple twist.
Tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the bar, I slid off the stool, but stopped when I spotted Patti waving her hands at me, rushing over with a takeout bag.
“Take this to your sister for me. On the house. Pregnancy is the one time you can eat your feelings with no judgment.”
“Pregnancy or not, it’s no one’s business what goes into our mouths.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
“What is it?”
“Prosciutto and Brussels sprout panini with her favorite pepper jack. Five minutes in that air fryer of hers and it will be just like it came fresh from the pass.”
“Brussels sprouts? She doesn’t like the vile little bastards.”
“Well, she does now…apparently that baby loves him some Brussels sprouts too.”
“Must get it from his dad. Thanks.” I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a squeeze. The lingering scent of her familiar floral perfume eased something bound tight in my chest and I closed my eyes.
“Welcome home,” she murmured before kissing me on the cheek, only to swipe at my skin a second later to wipe the lipstick print she no doubt left there.
“It’s temporary,” I said ov
er my shoulder as I turned for the door.
“We’ll see,” she called to my retreating back.
Galloway Bay would never be what it once was for me. Too many mistakes and long memories would make sure of that.
It could never be home again, no matter how much I wished it could be.
Gravel crunched under my tires as I turned off Old Mill Road onto the winding driveway to the farm. Between the sound and the winking of stars peeking through the pine trees lining the drive, the night ignited dozens of memories, each taking aim at my most vulnerable places.
Gnashing my teeth, I forced them out of my head, knowing even if I planted the seeds of my warmest memories here, those seeds would only grow so far before the broken pieces of me, already flourishing in their maturity, choked them out, leaving them withered piles of lifeless hope.
I’d dared to hope for more once. I’d even reached for what I didn’t deserve only to be knocked on my ass for my audacity.
Damaged goods.
It never failed. Being home played games with my head and assaulted the fragments left of my bitter heart.
Rolling to a stop, I turned off the engine and clutched the wheel. Lamplight burned in the picture window in the living room as it had for decades from sundown until sun up every single night. A gift from my grandmother to my grandfather when they first bought the farm, she insisted it would always be on no matter how late he had to stay up, no matter what went wrong in the middle of the night, lighting the way back to her.
Lilith insisted it would do the same for me, for as long as it took.
She was pushy like that.
Colors flickered from the TV bathing the room in a colorful glow. The fluorescents over the kitchen sink illuminated my sister’s profile as she rubbed her round belly, a peaceful smile on her lips as she talked to her unborn son.
Okay, so maybe it didn’t all turn to shit. Lilith would get her happy ending. She’d always have peace.
