by Casey Hagen
“I was listening in when I shouldn’t have been.”
A lump of dread lodged in my throat as I told myself to stay calm and keep the conversation light. “You’re not going to get in trouble, honey. Just tell me what you heard.”
“Mrs. Rutledge said she didn’t know where the kids would go after March. Do you know where we’re going?”
I glanced around at the kids sleeping peacefully in the van, my stomach pitching. “Maybe she wasn’t talking about you. It’s hard to know what she was talking about when we don’t know what the other person said, right? That’s the danger of eavesdropping.”
“I didn’t mean to. It’s just, she sounded worried. Really worried. Like my mom used to sound right before my dad came home.”
Rylee’s father spent years beating his wife and kids with little to no consequences. Over and over her mother took him back, accepting his apologies, lying to herself, thinking that maybe this time if he did fly into a rage, he’d keep his hands off the kids and only hurt her.
And so what if he did commit to only hurting her. Every yell, curse, slap, punch, and kick, even if only directed toward their mother, was a yell, curse, slap, punch, and kick for them.
Sheriff Chase and his officers repeatedly hauled him off to jail only to let him out hours later because Rylee’s mother made excuses for him or worse, refused to press charges.
Rylee’s dad was a pro at making sure to be careful of the visible marks he left on their mother, making it hard to press any sort of lasting charges. It wasn’t until Rylee borrowed a friend’s cell phone overnight and caught one of his worst beatings on video that the kids finally broke free.
Their mother had a long way to go to prove she could handle having her kids back. First, she had to start with getting well herself.
As for Rylee’s dad, he’d be behind bars until well after Rylee became an adult.
“Mrs. Rutledge’s words gave you that funny feeling in the pit of your tummy?”
Rylee nodded and snuggled in closer.
The sign for Crossroads appeared around the corner, letting me know I only had a couple minutes to make her feel better.
“How about I speak to Mrs. Rutledge and make sure everything’s okay? How does that sound?”
She nodded against my chest and sighed. “I’d like that.”
“Okay. For now, I don’t want you to worry about what you heard okay? March is a long way away and next week we’ll talk about it. It’s all going to be okay; you’ll see.”
We bumped over the side street alongside Crossroads and pulled right up to the door. I shuffled the sleepy crew off the bus and helped them shed their boots and jackets, reminding them along the way not to just toss them in a heap, but hang them on the hooks where they belonged.
“Can we go skating again next week, Miss Maisy?” Noah asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his fists.
I laughed, his sour mood from earlier today all but forgotten. I bet Noah was going to set his cousin straight the minute he saw him again. “Let me talk to Eve, but I don’t see why not.”
“Can Mr. Jackson and the man with the flames skate with us again?”
“I’m sure Jackson can, I’m not so sure about Priest though. If I see him, I’ll ask. Okay?”
Noah grinned. “Okay,” he said right before he took off at a run chasing after Leo.
Once the kids settled into activities with a few of the other staff members, I went in search of Mrs. Rutledge for a few answers.
I just hope she had the ones I wanted to hear. Not that I would tell Rylee because when it came down to it, I couldn’t imagine any conversation where the words Rylee overheard were innocent.
I found Mrs. Rutledge standing by the tall windows of her office facing out onto the snow-covered gardens we used each year to teach the kids about responsibility and good nutrition. Turns out kids had a whole lot more interest in eating veggies and fruits if they had a hand in planting, growing, and harvesting them.
Now I had to wonder if the raised beds we’d put in three years ago, all funded through our derby team, had seen their last harvest and we just hadn’t known it at the time.
I knocked on her open door. “Mrs. Rutledge, do you have a minute?”
She told me to call her Rita a million times, but it just seemed weird when she’d been the director at Crossroads from my own days here. Looking at her now, with the forlorn expression on her tired face, her eyes heavy with worry, I wanted to call her by her first name. I wanted the kinship she offered when she’d torn down that barrier.
Especially when her face told me everything I needed to know, and the news wasn’t good.
We were in this together…and our ship was sinking.
“Come on in, Maisy. I expected to see you,” she said as she turned and leaned on the windowsill, her hands curling over the wood.
“Then it’s true?”
“I spotted Rylee outside my door at an unfortunate moment. The minute Rylee overheard me, I knew I’d screwed up and if she was going to say anything, it would be to you.” She slumped even more at the admission. “That little girl adores you. You’re the first person who’s managed to earn her trust again.”
I waited her out and didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything past the ache throbbing in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” she said, scrubbing a hand down her weary face.
“What happened?”
“Budget cuts. Assholes who only see dollars, not hearts. If we don’t have a waiting list to get into the program, we’re not worth funding. All of the above maybe. I don’t know. The official word is budget cuts and without an infusion of cash, the program isn’t worth saving.”
My skin grew hot as anger streaked through me with how callously faceless suits could discard children. The same people who’d used the success of this program as a feather in their conceited little caps for years at church, brunches, and during their golf game, as though they had a hand in what we built here when we’re the ones who did the real work. “Fuck that shit.”
Rita’s lips twitched and she shook her head, but tears welled in her eyes. “Fuck that shit is right.”
My past, my present, the memories made, the ones I thought would come to be, they tried to slip away with the news, destined to become fond recollections and lost connections if I didn’t do something, but fuck if I knew how to fix this.
I walked over and wrapped my arms around the woman who’d been one of the constants in my life since my mom died. “What can I do?”
She clung to me, her sniffles just making the situation more real. “Unless we find the money to fund the program to the tune of fifty thousand a year, I just don’t see a way to turn this around.”
I let her go, snatched a tissue from her desk, and handed it to her. “Will you lose your job?”
“No. There are other community programs they’ll have me focus on. Basically, they’ll shuffle me off to the same place they shuffle the money. Bastards. They’ll make me handle budgets using the same cash they’re taking from my program without one worry for the kids they’ll hurt by shutting us down.”
“How long do we have?”
“The end of March. I may be able to get them to stretch it a month, but after that…we’re done. They want to use the rest of this year’s funds to change over to whatever the hell they intend to do. The kids will go into a few after-school programs, but during the summer—I just don’t even want to think about it. They rely so heavily on us then, between the meals, summer school needs for those who are behind, escaping troubled homes. We know there are more than a few of those.”
A throb started in the front of my skull as I struggled to hold back tears of frustration. I hated crying and I knew I had one little girl out there who’d be watching my face when I left, searching for clues to her fate.
At least they weren’t angry tears. Because nothing fueled my anger more than someone who made me cry tears of rage.
But these tears hurt. They lodged in my
throat and made my chest ache. I grabbed my own tissue, dabbed my eyes, and fanned my face.
“You didn’t see me cry, Mrs. Ru—Rita.”
“Well, look at you, you finally did it. You finally called me by my name.”
“Yeah, well, I needed you smiling. So smile. Because if you keep crying, I’m going to keep crying, and Rylee is going to be onto both of us.”
“We’re equals now,” she whispered as she took my hands.
“Yes, and we don’t have much time.” I blew out a rough breath and squeezed her fingers reassuringly before letting them go. “Okay. I’m calling a team meeting and we’re going to figure something out.”
“I love you girls so damn much, but don’t get your heart set on saving this. Really. It’s a lot of money and the people in this town don’t have a lot to spare.”
For a split second a weird shift rippled through me, like any last part of me who spent time with these kids only to play, faded into the background and thrust me into true adulthood where worries loomed.
I’d take the responsibility, but hell if I’d let the shift snatch away the fun parts. I wouldn’t let it. I’d be the bridge between responsibility and fun. I just needed a crash course on tightropes. Hopefully my good balance would give me a leg up. “No, but I’m willing to squeeze every last person who does,” I promised as I headed for the door while my eyes were dry again.
“Yes, well, squeezing people means unexpected piles of shit too, so wear boots.”
I laughed, the tightness easing in my chest when I did. “Good advice.”
“Maisy?”
Holding the edge of the door, I turned back to her. “Yeah.”
“I just want you to know, the time you’ve spent here with us giving back, working with you after seeing you go through this program yourself—it’s been the highlight of my career.”
I crossed the room and hugged her hard one last time. “Thank you…but wipe your eyes and prepare to be here for a good long time. We’re not going down without one hell of a fight.”
11
“Patti said the drinks are on her tonight, but we’ve got work to do so don’t let it go straight to your head,” I told my team as I settled in and straddled my chair.
Almost every player managed to break away and meet me at Banked Track to brainstorm how to save Crossroads. Of course, with everyone here, this left them squeezed into the corner booth made for ten.
They had a couple choices—keep their arms pinned next to them or arms resting straight out on the table.
And they had to choose wisely when they slid in.
One choice was a waste of perfectly good free alcohol. We couldn’t have that.
I made sure to pick a chair.
After sex-on-skates Priest whipped me into a tizzy with the way he commanded a roller rink, only to be plummeted off a cliff with a devastating blow an hour later at Crossroads, I needed to find my mellow or I wouldn’t sleep tonight.
The tears had broken free again when I left the youth center, so I called Patti from the road. I know, I know, hands-free laws, but I made sure to pull over before I dialed and put her on speaker. I had to pull over anyway because trying to see through tears was like trying to find the road in a downpour with no wipers.
Patti had mercy on my pathetic, sobbing, snotting soul and saved the corner booth and the surrounding tables so we could have an emergency meeting. She even helped me get ahold of the entire team, strong-arming them to be here at seven.
Free booze worked wonders. Her idea of strong-arming. The idea was brilliant, really.
“Look at her just handing out alcohol like lollipops,” Carmen said, raising a glass toward the bar. “She’s the first person to hit up for a donation.”
“Wait!” Rory screeched, shooting out of her chair and throwing up a hand between Carmen’s puckered lips and her first sip. “I know a bunch of you aren’t familiar with the tradition, but let’s not jinx this. Maisy…toast!”
“That’s just for games,” I said, waving off her suggestion. How I ever got into these toasts, I’d never know, but after five or so years, I was rapidly running out of material.
“And you don’t think this situation has epic battle written all over it?” Marty said with a snort. “You better toast us. Why risk the bad juju?”
“Fine…” I caught a glimpse of Priest hanging his jacket under the counter before taking a seat at the edge of the bar closest to the exit.
Another sweater.
Another pair of blue jeans.
Another pair of boots.
Another insistent throb of my c-bone.
Flaming asshole.
I really wanted to hold on to that.
But he wasn’t. Or he was, but just not in the certified 100% USDA beef kind of way.
I stood and held out my drink. “To fast skates, hard abs, great hands, powerful jaws…oh, and you know what, another shout-out to that straight piece in Tetris.” I gulped down a generous amount of my drink, hissed at the burn, and opened my eyes to find my whole team staring at me, their drinks untouched.
I froze. “What?”
“What the hell kind of toast was that?” Eve sneered.
“Hey! People still play Tetris.” I dropped into my seat again and glanced away from her. Not because she put me on the spot, but because the bulldog possessive energy coming from her had me dreading the confrontation looming on our horizon.
I had no intention of burdening the team with our shit. Hell, I didn’t think we had shit, but apparently if the first person I was interested in dat—nope.
If the first person I found hot—wow…really not better—set her off this way, we had a problem.
A big fucking problem.
Mutual parting of ways, my ass.
“She’s not talking about Tetris, you hussy,” Rory said with a smirk.
“She’s talking about that quick eye fuck you aimed at Priest and then all but toasted to his attributes,” Marty pointed out.
I itched to turn around and glance at him again because my hormones had stellar fucking timing. “Noticing someone walking through the door is eye fucking them now?”
“The way you just did it? Yeah,” Zara squeaked, her eyes wide. “I mean, that was evidence for a restraining order right there.”
“Whatever.”
“What’s up with you two?” Rory asked.
“Nothing.”
“This is the second time we’ve been sitting in this spot with your vag vibrating in his proximity,” Eve said, slamming her glass on the table. “That’s not nothing.”
Carmen’s gaze darted back and forth between our core crew. “Shit, I need to make time for these meetups because I’m missing way too much of the good stuff.”
“Yup, same here. The minute my college classes are done, I’m never missing a Banked Track night again. I don’t care if I’m so sick I have the shits. I’ll wear diapers,” Dixie said, raising her glass before finally taking her first sip.
The conversation about Priest died on that particular picture so I took the opportunity to steer the direction back to the point of our emergency meeting.
“Okay, guys…let’s focus. Money. We need to squeeze money out of the people in this town.”
Marty nodded toward the bar. “Patti’s in for 10K.”
I choked on my drink and wiped my mouth as it dribbled down my chin, my gaze shooting to the woman in question as I stood up. The minute I opened my mouth, she slammed the cash register shut and aimed a determined finger in my direction.
“Shut it, child. You’ll take my money, and I won’t hear another word. You know what, you’ll take it again next year too. Just consider it a standing donation for the next, say, five years. We’ll reevaluate after that.”
Priest’s eyebrows furrowed, turning to slashes over cool, dark eyes with what seemed like permanent irritation—well, other than when he had skates on his feet—but his lips quirked with amusement at Patti’s words.
He should see a doctor a
bout the two moods of his face.
“She told you,” Marty said.
“Focus. What kind of cash do we have to come up with?” Sean asked.
“Fifty grand and that’s just for a year. After that we have a revolving funding issue,” I sighed. My phone vibrated on the table and started to slide toward the edge. I flipped it over, noticed the same bullshit number, and turned the ringer off.
“Guess we should cancel that girls’ trip to the exhibition. We can pool the money we were going to use into this,” Marty said.
Rory shrugged, her gaze locked on the pattern she’d begun swirling over the table with her fingernail. “I can manage without the vacation, but that’s not going to come close to putting a dent in what we need.”
“Too bad we didn’t do banked track; we could register and go for the prize. That would keep the youth center going for a few years,” Marty said.
The conversation died as we all took keen interest in our drinks all of a sudden. A few sips later, a swelling silence took hold with a life of its own, followed by furtive glances, no one really wanting to be the first one to admit to actually considering the idea.
“How hard could it really be?” Zara asked.
“Pretty damn hard when we don’t even have a banked track to practice on. Even under the best of circumstances—which these aren’t—we’re dead in the water,” Eve pointed out. She always had to come in like gangbusters and pop a squat on hope.
Okay, maybe that was my irritation talking. Maybe Eve was just the realistic one and I was the dreamer.
“How much are they to buy?” Zara asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” Eve said with a snort. “Probably pretty damn expensive, and then you need room to set one up.”
“Sid’s Aviation would totally let us set it up there if we had one,” Sean chimed in.
“If…and according to my search,” Marty said, holding up her phone. “They cost almost as much as one year running Crossroads so we can just get that idea right out of our heads.”
“It was a pipe dream anyway. We need real ways to capture dollars in a town where bake sales, auctions, and spaghetti suppers rule. That kind of shit is great, but not for the kind of money we’re looking for. We aren’t trying to fill a piggy bank, for fuck’s sake,” Rory said.
