False Start: A Roller Derby Romance (Beautifully Brutal Book 1)

by Casey Hagen

She’d been through so much. She saw too damn much, but here in this town, in this farmhouse full of warm memories and familiar scents, she could raise her family with the love and nurturing we’d lost the day our mother died.

  The minute I walked in, she would ask where I was. If I told her the truth, it’d start a fight.

  Just like that, I was grateful for the panini bag sitting next to me…even if it did have Brussels sprouts lurking in it.

  Shedding my impulse to avoid her, I headed inside. Clicking the door shut behind me, I turned the deadbolt before facing her.

  “Hey, where have you been?” Lilith asked, cocking a hip against the counter and crossing her arms.

  See, called it.

  “Stopped in at Banked Track for a bit. Patti sent you this nightmare. Says you like it.” I handed over the bag and tossed my keys on the drop-leaf table before heading to the fridge for one last beer, wishing it was something a hell of a lot stronger.

  Lilith’s senses only got stronger now that she hovered on the brink of motherhood. Now, if she just wouldn’t aim her keen talents on me, I might survive the next couple of months.

  She peeled open the bag and her lips twitched. “For three hours?”

  “You watching the clock now?” With a flick of my thumb and middle finger, I shot the cap at the key rack by the cellar door and watched it sink in the trash can, just like our grandpa taught me when I was a kid.

  “You know he’s up there cheering right now. Probably nudging Gram and saying, ‘Now that’s my boy.’”

  My lips twitched. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  She turned her back on me and worked on getting her sandwich into the air fryer Patti knew she had, but I didn’t.

  There was a lot to unpack with how out of touch I was with my own baby sister, but today had already been a bitch between the drive up here and the bout. Especially if knowledge of a small appliance could push my buttons.

  “So, before you ended up at Banked Track…where’d you go?”

  “I drove around for a while.”

  She glared at me over her shoulder, wordlessly calling me on my bullshit.

  “You went to the bout up at Sid’s, didn’t you?”

  Sid’s Aviation, a relic of an airport even before I was born, sat mostly unused, but Sid’s grandchildren so far had refused to sell despite some seriously lucrative offers. Selling meant the recreation derby league would likely lose the hangar they practiced and played in, and with derby being a big deal in Sid’s family for several generations, they would likely hang on as long as they possibly could.

  “And if I did?” I asked, stretching my neck, tugging at the knots lodging in my tight muscles as she gave me the third degree.

  “You haven’t even slept in your bed once and already you’re at it with the damn derby again.”

  She sounded just like Patti—well, Patti with less tact.

  “It was the last bout on the schedule…I think I’d have to go to more than one to classify it as being at it.”

  She slapped her palms on the counter. “It’s not a joke, Cain.”

  “No, it’s not,” I snapped. “But drilling me like I’m some addict that just fell off the wagon is pretty damn insulting, so if you want me to listen to what you have to say, how about you remember who’s older and have a little respect.”

  She hung her head, her voice turning sad, slicing away at me with every syllable. “Roller derby cost me my only living brother. They took ever—”

  “No,” I said, my voice hard and low.

  Pushing away from the wall, I stepped up to her and took her rigid shoulders in my hands. I dropped a kiss on the top of her head and the tension radiating from her into my palms eased a fraction. “They didn’t take anything. I screwed up. There’s no one to blame here but me.”

  “You and I both know that’s not entirely true.”

  “I was the coach—the adult, Lilith. It’s on me.”

  “God, that damn cop integrity of yours,” she said with a heavy sigh. “You’re here for such a short amount of time. Why would you risk dredging it up all over again? People are going to talk now.”

  “People were going to talk anyway. There was no avoiding that. You need help and I want to give it. When Jordan gets back, I’m gone. It’s two months, tops.” I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and dropped my chin on her head. For a second, just a second, it was like she was that little girl again. “Besides, what kind of trouble can I cause between now and then?”

  “You forget I know you better than anyone.”

  “I’ll be good. Scouts honor. It’s the off-season so while there might be talk for a few days, it will die down. I promise.”

  “I wish I understood why you can’t stay away from the sport. I love it too…and I love our family ties to it. But for you, it’s just—I don’t know, it’s beating with a life of its own inside you.”

  “Women took it over and made it their own. There’s something rather poetic about that after how it all started.”

  She patted my hand where it rested on her shoulder and sighed. “Very true and not many men would recognize it. So, was the bout any good?”

  “Not very. A waste of time.”

  “I don’t know, a couple of the teams in the area are applying for the Women’s Roller Derby Federation so they’re getting better. Maybe it was just a bad night.”

  “Where’d you hear about the WRDF?”

  “Patti mentioned it.”

  “Huh, she didn’t say anything to me about it.”

  “Why would she…you’re not staying and even if you were…” Her words trailed off, leaving a heavy silence wedged between us full of harsh allegations and scandal.

  Two months loomed before me, the time stretching out until it felt more like two years. Too tired to finish my beer, I let Lilith go. “If you don’t need anything, I’m going to head on up to bed,” I said, pouring the rest of my drink down the sink.

  “Wait, you’ve got to try just one bite.”

  “It’s Brussels sprouts. I think the fuck not.”

  “Oh, come on. You’ll love it. I swear. I hated the little bastards too, until this panini. It’s power to convert Brussels sprout haters everywhere is downright diabolical.”

  “This is my punishment for tonight, isn’t it?”

  “If that’s how you want to look at it, fine. Just try it, would you?” she said with her hand out, half of the sandwich clutched between her fingertips.

  “Fine.” I grabbed her hand, brought it to my mouth, and took a good-sized bite. Because if I didn’t, she’d make me take another.

  I waited for the bitterness to explode in my mouth, preparing to choke it down with a smile on my face, but to my surprise, I detected none, only a mild sweetness complimented with the rich smoked meat and the kick of pepper jack. “Well damn, give me half,” I said, snagging the piece from her fingers before heading for the stairs.

  “Hey!”

  “What?”

  “I thought you didn’t like Brussels sprouts?” she said with the same mocking tone she’d hammered me with when we were kids.

  “What can I say, you converted me.”

  “Thief,” she called out right before I reached the stairs.

  “Nag.”

  “I love you, butthead.”

  I leaned over the bannister and winked. “Love you too, squirt.”

  3

  “Heard you had a hell of a night last night, Maisy Jane.”

  “Up late gossiping, were you?” I said, grabbing the coffee filters to start a fresh pot of decaf, because I was down to one refill left for good ol’ Milton. Not that he wanted decaf, but what he didn’t know would likely keep his crusty ass alive.

  At least on my watch.

  From the day his wife Mary stopped by, worried about his heart palpitations, I’d begun switching out his brew. I didn’t do it all in one shot, mind you. Some things required finesse—in other words, ten percent increments.

  My boy fina
lly joined the world of full decaf just last week and I couldn’t be prouder. This must be what it’s like for a mother whose baby walks for the first time.

  Mary tried to keep him home, cooking him breakfast so she could control his diet better, but he missed being on his boat and he craved the sea. So he spent his mornings here, the only diner for fifty miles that sat next to a rocky cliff overlooking the Atlantic.

  That’s where I took over, giving Mary a little peace of mind while Milton gave me some real live entertainment…and most days the sailor didn’t disappoint.

  Every morning without fail, he bellied on up to the counter and settled in.

  With his back turned toward his true love, giving it the cold shoulder.

  Stubborn shit. Maybe that’s why I liked him so much.

  “Aw hell, Maisy, I overheard them talking about it over at the general store. You know I don’t do that gossiping nonsense.”

  Sure, he didn’t. “What would you call this?”

  “Going to the source.”

  “Fair enough. It was a shitty night. Not one I want to repeat.” Grabbing the carafe, I hopped over to where he sat on a cracked black vinyl stool. Or at least I tried to hop over, only to have my momentum reduced to a hobble as a fresh wave of slicing pain sucked the next words right out of my throat. My muscles locked tight and I squeezed my eyes shut while the ache rocked through me, a stark reminder why hopping, gliding, dancing, grinding against my mattress with forbidden coach fantasies—basically why existing was a god-awful idea at the moment.

  Bushy gray eyebrows bunched over his cloudy blue eyes. “You okay, kid?”

  “I will be. Just my body reminding me I’m not superhuman after all.” I loved derby. I even appreciated the aches and pains, within reason. But the ice pick wedged in my lungs threatened to steal the simple pleasures I get from the crack of dawn squad who kept me company every morning at The Shipwreck.

  It’s bad enough I couldn’t take a deep breath which meant I missed my morning inhale of smoked meat tinged with strong coffee and pastries brought fresh each morning by Audrey from Crum Cakes.

  Every day for five years, exactly twenty minutes into my shift, the tables and counter still empty, the coffee brewed, and the first of the local bacon and sausage sizzling on the griddle, I’d unpack those sugar bombs and let the quiet settle over me while I breathed in the scent of the closest thing I had to home.

  Each time I soaked it in and committed it to memory, I pretended I belonged to these people and they belonged to me.

  I missed that this morning and it left me out of sorts and almost as grumbly as Milton over there.

  Plus, the pain killed my dancing time. How the hell was I supposed to not dance a little when the oldies station pumped out Dion and the Belmonts at the top of the hour? I’d rather give up Crum Cakes for the day than lose my groove.

  “What’s this I hear about not being superhuman, darlin’?” Gerald said, shuffling up to the counter, all set to take the seat next to Milton.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” I said, snapping my fingers at Gerald. He matched Milton in the stubbornness department, but they didn’t play nice together. “Move over. You know the rule, one stool between the two of you at all times now. You hear me?”

  “She’s in a mood,” Gerald muttered.

  “No leaning either, Gerald,” I called out as I grabbed Milton’s food out of the window.

  “Damn woman’s got eyes in the back of her head.”

  Setting Milton’s piping hot eggs over easy, home fries, and the bacon I wasn’t supposed to let him have in front of him, I shot Gerald a look. “And don’t you forget it. Now, you look at the menu while I take Sheriff Chase’s order.” I glanced between both of them, making sure they were looking at me so there’d be no misunderstanding. “Be good. Don’t make me punish you.”

  “How exactly you gonna do that?” Milton said with a scowl.

  I crossed my arms and arched my brow, adopting Patti’s best “why don’t you try me” expression. “I’ll take away your salt.”

  Gerald smirked. “I’d listen to her. She’s stronger than you.”

  “Shut it, Gerald,” Milton said with a glower at his…nemesis? Friend? Some days it was hard to tell.

  Rolling my eyes, I bit back a grin as I walked away. A smile would only encourage them, and I’d lose all control on a morning when I didn't have the energy or stamina for more.

  I loved the old farts, but they’d better behave. With the relentless pain keeping me company, they might just be able to overpower me at the moment. Not that they’d put their hands on me, but they’d put their hands on each other a time or two and I’d had to get between them.

  They were spry little turds at six in the morning. That’s what happens when you go to bed at eight.

  As for me, I think my eyes finally closed at about one. Which was stupid on my part when I had to clock in at five in the morning, but after the information dump on a certain sexy, shunned coach at Banked Track the night before, and the pain from the shittiest bout of the season, there was no amount of alcohol powerful enough to silence the shitstorm in my head and the throbbing vibrating through my body with every breath.

  Pulling out my pad, I tapped my pen against the paper and smiled at the robust, hulking man dwarfing the corner table. “Good morning, Sheriff. What can I get for you this morning?”

  “Morning, Maisy. I’m actually waiting for someone, so if I could just get a cup of coffee while—oh, never mind, he’s here.”

  “Sorry, I’m late.”

  I froze at the familiar voice behind me and sunk my teeth into my lip to stifle the yelp from the spasm set off in my back.

  Moving aside, I gave him room while he peeled off his jacket and wrapped it around the back of his chair. Worn blue jeans stretched tight over muscular thighs as he slid into his seat. The cable knit sweater he favored the night before had been replaced by a white t-shirt covered with unbuttoned blue-and-black flannel, the sleeves rolled up to just past his elbows.

  Light-brown hair sprinkled over corded muscles. A spattering of freckles dotted his skin. Thick veins peeked out from the underside of his forearms as he interlaced his long fingers and propped his joined hands on the table.

  There should be a law against a flaming asshole having so much hand and arm porn at his disposal.

  Fucking forearms.

  “Mayhem,” he said quietly with a brief nod. His deep molten voice dragging out the word longer than normal.

  “Priest,” I deadpanned despite the dust storm that had just surged up my esophagus, turning the inside of my mouth into the Sahara.

  The sheriff’s tired eyes widened, and he glanced between the two of us. “You two know each other?”

  His lips twitched. “You might say that.”

  His smug tone made my fingers itch to reach out and touch him—hard—but I fought the urge to smack him in the back of the head with a menu. Awfully adult of me all things considered. “Only if you’re a liar. No, we don’t know each other.”

  “I know that tone,” the sheriff said with a husky laugh. “You’re in trouble, Bishop.”

  “There’s a shocker,” Priest muttered with a dismissive snort.

  The sheriff leaned back in his seat and crossed his meaty arms. “Don’t let his surly disposition fool you. He’s got more integrity than anyone I know.”

  “Hmmm, is that right?” I flicked a glance at the stubborn man in question. Mired in scandal, whispered about around town, but beloved by Patti and now the sheriff.

  The pieces didn’t fit, but I wouldn’t ask around, it wasn’t my style. I sure as hell didn’t like the whispering around town about me over the years before I formed a few bonds here, so I wouldn’t be a party to doing the same to someone else.

  I’d always been a transplant to this town where familial roots run deep, with no real ties but for derby, and it took me five years of living here before I even found that. Our team had plans. That meant not blowing it and losing the semi
-comfortable little pocket in the world I’d struggled to make here. And getting close to Priest could only mean casting doubt on our team and ruining every bit of hard work we’d been putting in for so long.

  He’d turned his attention on me for a brief moment in time, but the time passed. The season was over. I’d stay out of his way and if he was as wonderful as the sheriff thought he was, he’d stay out of mine. “I’ll be back in a minute with coffee and to take your order.”

  By the time I made it back to the counter, Gerald had moved over next to Milton. “What did I say?” I snapped, filling two mugs with one hand while reaching for the salt shaker in front of Milton with the other.

  Every day they trained me more and more for motherhood I wasn’t even sure I wanted.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, trying to beat me to the goods. “He came my way, Maisy Jane. I’m the victim here.”

  I pulled my hand back and left the salt in front of him, then pierced Gerald with a hard glare. “You remember, I touch your food before you do. Understood?”

  “Damn, yes,” Gerald said, flicking off his cap and scratching his head before dropping the hat back on. “My drill sergeants were nicer than you.”

  “Yeah, well, they had weapons to keep you in line. All I have is fear.”

  “Back in my day a woman used her feminine wiles to get what she wanted.”

  “Back in your day, women couldn’t have credit cards without their husband’s signatures.” I rounded the counter, two coffees perched on my tray, and stopped between the two men, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks. “Now, be good while mama’s away.”

  CAIN

  Mayhem made damn good coffee. Strong, but not bitter. Nope. She saved the bitterness for the hostile glare she shot me when she set my plate of food in front of me.

  Glancing over my shoulder as she left, I caught sight of Gerald creeping his hand toward Milton’s second helping of bacon. “God, some shit never changes. You got your cuffs ready?”

  Sheriff Chase grinned. “Won’t need ’em.”

  “If Milton catches him, Gerald’s going to be sporting a fork in his hand as a new accessory.”