by Casey Hagen
The kind of house you only saw in idyllic Christmas cards.
The kind of place you wanted to get cozy, wrap up in a quilt, and watch the snowfall outside the quiet picture window for hours.
The kind of house I’d never had.
I gulped back an embarrassing wave of longing and tightened my hands on the wheel.
I’d planned to arrive with my team to bridge the gap between their hostile wariness and his reluctance. But after a kiss that was better than all the good sex I’ve ever had combined—including the sex with myself—I needed to see him alone.
We had some ground rules to establish.
My tires crunched and squeaked over the snow as I pulled up next to his truck. I caught a glimpse of his Massachusetts plates, a shiny, white reminder this was temporary.
This would all be over eventually, and I’d go back to my biggest worry of keeping Milton and Gerald from killing one another, the next derby season, and building Rylee’s confidence.
I should probably add building a few boundaries with Eve to that list too.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I eyed the open door to the barn on the hill.
“He’s up there already.”
I snapped around and found Lilith leaning out the screen door, the frame propped on her round belly. Her smile had been dialed to the required politeness, but the way she narrowed her eyes, her brows wrinkled as her gaze swept over me and suspicion stamped all over it.
“You’re Maisy,” she said. No question and not quite accusation. But salty.
“And you’re Lilith.”
“Cain’s sister, yes.”
Ahhhh, gotcha. You’re something to him, I’m nothing to him, and this is you letting me know where we stand when it comes to YOUR brother. Got it.
Chilly, but then, being an outsider wasn’t exactly new to me. “Well, Lilith…it was nice to meet you. I’m going to head up and get to work.” I didn’t wait for a reply, just tore up the ground between my car and the hill, stomping over the packed-down path that had been heavily sanded for traction, the roiling in my gut a familiar feeling.
Outsider.
Always an outsider.
I may be an outsider, but then…so was he.
I stopped at the door and spotted his familiar shoulders as he raced around the corner.
An outsider to his own heritage. Mistakes keeping him away from something he ached for. Keeping him away from people he’d die for.
I’d never seen a banked track in person.
Hell, I wasn’t really seeing it now.
Because the man there commanded every last bit of my attention.
The track howled drowning out The Clash playing in the background with the echo of Priest’s skates as he shot down the straightaways. Tucking in his shoulder, he snapped around the inside corner only to speed up down the other side.
Crouched low, his mouth hard, his eyes haunted, he leaned into his power and tore up the surface with every crossover of his feet and swing of his arms. The skates with the flames keeping up with every brutal demand to go faster from whatever he tried to outrun up there.
Because he was definitely running.
The same energy that radiated from him from where he sat in that metal folding chair, from the bar at Banked Track, from the tortured sound of his voice when he told me to get my ass back inside Banked Track the other night—the hint of desperation—it lay unveiled here.
He hadn’t cared that I stood there on the sidewalk with no jacket.
He cared that I’d found a crack to burrow into. A weak spot in that aloof armor he’d clutched for a decade.
And he hated that he couldn’t run.
This was what he wouldn’t let others see. But it lingered behind the shimmering threadbare parts of his defense. If you turned to him fast enough, caught him off guard for just a split second—you could spot the turmoil simmering below the surface.
Here lay his safe place.
He raced around the banked track, his mask gone, a mountain of complications revealed.
I should have turned away and given him his privacy in this moment. Or at the very least, announced my presence.
But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the mysteries swirling around him. Living, breathing, and unfinished, it’s like they wanted to murmur truths he refused to let slip past his lips.
They wanted to be set free.
And at the same time, this track was his lover. He may have abandoned it over time, but he always came back. They had secrets, the two of them. Secrets they whispered between one another with every glide of his skates over the Masonite, and I was the outsider here too.
This was more than agreeing to help a youth center survive. This was so much more than acting on mutual attraction.
These were living, breathing wounds he struggled against. There was safety in the familiar, even if it brought you excruciating pain.
When he held my face in his hands, his soul desperate to protect itself from me—from whatever was happening between us—I didn’t just ask him to help us win an exhibition. I asked him to face whatever haunted him and break it wide open.
My excitement over his agreement crumbled to dust in a pile of apprehension. The weight of his yes crushed my heart where it stumbled in my chest.
And it was too fucking late to run. Whatever unmarked road we’d turned on, that fucker was one lane with grass growing up in the center and all we could do was see where it ended up.
With those rules in place.
He spotted me then. Straightening, his hands went to his hips as he coasted along the straightaway toward where I stood.
His chest heaving, sweat powering down his face, he glided to a clean stop.
“Your sister loves me.”
His lips twitched and I had to remind myself that it didn’t matter that I knew how his mouth tasted now. Too much was at stake.
For both of us.
“I’m sure,” he said with a snort.
“We’re going to be best friends.” I shrugged like I didn’t care what she thought of me, but I did. More than I wanted to. But only because of him. “I’m thinking we need matching bracelets.”
“She’ll warm up. She’s—cautious.”
“Seems to run in the family.”
“You’re early,” he said before chugging back half a bottle of water I hadn’t noticed perched on the rail.
“We need to go over the rules.”
He crouched down and eyed me from the bank. “We will, when everyone gets here.”
“Not those rules—our rules.”
“Our rules, huh?” he said with an amused chuckle. “And what rules would those be?”
“About kissing—”
His eyes flashed.
I forgot to breathe. “And stuff like that,” I croaked.
With a shake of his head, he wrapped his fingers round the handrails and swung out onto the concrete barn floor, his skates landing with an echoing click.
“I’m all ears, Mayhem.” He rolled toward me as he said it—seductively—only inches at a time.
I started backing up. “We shouldn’t do that anymore.”
He lifted his t-shirt and ran it over the beads of sweat running down his face and temples.
And holy fucking abs. Not bare abs either. He had grown-ass man abs. Sprinkled with hair, and in this case a damp trail shooting straight into the elastic waste of athletic shorts hanging low on his hips.
My sprinkler system was a finicky man. I tried not to squirm and failed miserably as I squeezed my thighs together.
“You sure? You don’t sound so sure,” he said quietly. His shoulders bunched and flexed as he continued to stalk me like prey.
“Yes—” My back hit the wall, giving me nowhere else to go, but he kept on coming, that deep dimple in his cheek I wanted to run my thumb over flirting with me the whole time. “It was great and all, but since we’re starting to train…”
“No kissing once training starts. Got it.” But he moved in even close
r, his hands pressing flat against the wall on either side of my head.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my words thick and tight. His heat rolled over me and I fought the urge to rub up against him. Damp hair in spikes, skin still damp with sweat, I didn’t care. I wanted to lick him from head to toe like a fucking ice cream cone dripping in the ninety-degree heat. Lick, lick, lick, lick—and then bite into that creamy mass of deliciousness.
“Training hasn’t started yet,” he hummed, his voice low and hot.
My head thunked against the wood as I ran out of room to retreat. “But—”
He slanted his hungry mouth over mine. And just in case any part of me came to my senses, his palm slid over my hip, across my back, and straight up my spine, until his hand locked on the back of my neck, his long fingers threading through my hair under my bandana.
My duffel slipped from my fingertips and my hand curled into his damp T-shirt, twisting the cotton, pulling him in for more.
I had no fucking clue how I was going to stick to my own agreement. A blend of anger, surrender, and desperation—our kiss the other night wrung me inside out, leaving me vulnerable.
Today—this kindred craving we found in the last quiet breaths before our lips met would prove impossible to ignore.
And even harder to let go of when this was all over.
“I bet you kiss all the girls in this barn,” I murmured into his hot mouth—to reel him in, to reel me in, who knew…maybe both of us.
“I’ve never kissed anyone in this barn.”
Because this barn was his sanctuary and the track—his lover.
His tongue slid along mine and began its retreat—until I drew it back by sucking it between my teeth.
He growled then, with a roll of his hips grinding some seriously lengthy, hard dick against me, making my closed eyes rolled back in my head.
I bet he knew how to use every last inch of it.
“Mayhem?” he murmured against my mouth.
“Hmmm,” I said before sinking my teeth into his bottom lip.
He hissed and pressed his forehead to mine the minute I let his soft flesh go. “I want you to remember something.”
“Mmmhmmm,” I hummed as I scored my nails over his chest, eliciting a hungry sound from low in his throat.
“You said you trust your instincts about me. Just remember that,” he said, taking my hand and laying my palm against his thundering heart. His ragged breath brushed my cheek as his hot, dark eyes raked over me. “When we get started today. Remember…there’s a reason for everything.”
15
Fourteen pairs of eyes stared back at me from my very own infield. Their temperatures ranging from thoroughly kissed slow burn to ice age deep freeze.
Eve’s chilly mood came complete with ice balls lined with razor blades.
It’s almost as if she knew not twenty minutes ago I had her ex-girlfriend pinned to the barn wall, her lips under mine, every inch of her front pressed against every inch of mine—something neither of us were too thrilled at the idea of when I fixed her rib.
Jesus, what was I doing?
All of it. Really, what the hell was I doing?
I told myself I wouldn’t touch her today. I’d convinced myself that our kiss the other night had been a mistake. Nothing more than two frustrated and desperate people taking it out on one another—and scratching an itch while we were at it.
There was no point in going down this road with Mayhem because I had a job waiting in Boston.
And she had the world to save.
I wouldn’t stay.
And I wouldn’t ask her to leave.
The minute I tasted her in the shadows of her dark hallway, I wanted to taste her everywhere. I hadn’t gotten every hot breath, every moan, and every dig of her fingertips out of my head since.
Now I got to face the temptation for the next month, day in, day out, hour after hour, minute after agonizing minute.
As for Mayhem’s rule, it was a hell of a lot easier to follow with her team here. Really, I only had to stick to Mayhem’s rules for another hour, because then she’d be sticking it to me.
They had on their gear…knee pads, elbow pads, wristguards—everything other than their helmets and mouthguards—they stood ready to do this. At least physically.
But one thing I knew about this team from the one time I’d seen them in a bout. They push back when pushed.
They were going to need that.
And sometimes to their detriment. But we’d work on that.
Time to see if they had what it took to ride it out.
“Before we get started…” I glanced down at my notes. “I’ve got the information and format of the exhibition. They’re using the RCDL rulebook. Lucky you it’s about half as thick as the WRDF rule book you’re used to. I’ve printed them out for you. Grab a copy on your way out tonight. Make sure you’ve read it before you walk back through that door tomorrow.”
Someone scoffed and I snapped my head up to look at the team. “Problem?”
“Yeah,” Eve said. “We have the same twenty-four hours in a day that you do. Not all of us are here on vacation. Between our jobs and practice and sleep, you expect us to read it all in twenty-four hours. It’s not enough time.”
“Make the time or don’t walk back through that door.”
“What the fuck?” she bit back.
“You need my help, not the other way around. If you want it, you’re going to do it my way.”
“Bullsh—”
I pinned her to the spot with a hard look that cut off her words. “You’re all here to save Crossroads, right?”
Mayhem stepped out and turned to them. She didn’t say a word, but her eyes sure as hell had plenty to say judging by the way they looked around at one another, their chins dipped low, before giving me reluctant nods.
“You have twenty-eight days,” I said after Mayhem stepped back into the line. “That’s it. Twenty-eight days to learn the same skills as teams who have been doing this for a decade. You’ll either do it my way, or you can walk out that door. Anyone can be replaced.”
A few of them shifted on their skates and glanced at one another; a couple others started to roll their eyes, but seemed to think better of it, and Eve looked like she was ready to set me on fire.
Bastard status reached.
But a few emerged as quiet forces, their cool heads grounding forces for the attitudes on the team.
Not surprising, Mayhem was one of them. Hazy Eights for sure since she’d never once let what she was thinking cross her face and the jury was still out, but probably Hot West. With her serious, wide-eyed expression, she was either dedicated or terrified.
I could work with either. So, I had three out of fourteen with me.
Swell.
“Okay—first, the main differences between flat track and banked track that you’ll learn in the RCDL—jams are only sixty seconds. Penalties are served during the following jam. And lead jammer status changes.” I met Mayhem’s eyes. “Being the first jammer out of the pack guarantees you nothing.”
I waited for it, for some hint of attitude, but her lips—lips I’d been kissing not so long ago—only twitched with amusement.
Good.
My girl was up for the challenge.
I froze.
Not mine. She can’t be mine. Christ.
“Day one will follow the abbreviated game format you’ll find in section 2.2 of the RCDL. Two quarters. Quick elimination rounds. Think sprints, not marathons. You either have it, or you don’t. Let’s make sure you have it.” I tossed the notes on the bench. “Get on the bank. I want fifty laps.”
They strapped on their helmets, slid their mouthguards over their teeth, and headed for the jam line on the track. Just watching them get on the bank told me a hell of a lot I needed to know from the onset, just by how comfortable they were climbing on, getting into position, and taking off.
Almost all of them hesitated at the coping where the track dropped off
an inch and a half or so along the bottom edge.
Well, they could avoid it now, but they’d be getting to know it really well in about fifteen minutes.
Watching them settle in and take off, I’d bet half or more of them had been skaters for years, a hefty portion of them probably having spent a bunch of time at skate parks.
If I was right, it would be a hell of a start. Better than I expected, but still so far to go.
By ten laps in, I spotted a few smiles out there.
The first time flying around those corners, there was nothing like it.
Enjoy it, ladies…once banked track gets inside you, you never get it out.
Their strides lengthened and with each lap, they naturally started to curl their shoulders in and lean into the inside of the track.
Their feet synced next until about halfway through their laps they skated tight and fast, their legs and feet moving together like an orchestrated performance.
I studied each of them and made notes on the roster of players Mayhem brought with her. Made sure I had their names straight since the one time I’d watched them, I’d been focused on one of them in particular.
The one I wanted to be focused on now.
That hungry look came into her eyes again, but this time clean and inhibited by hurt and anger. Her gaze turned into laser sharp focus on the track before her. Everything narrowing down to the bodies surrounding her and the goal ahead.
I just had to harness it. Make that determination impenetrable.
I had to stack her against her biggest weakness.
And she might just hate me for it.
By the time they reached fifty laps, I rolled over and skated the infield along with them while they slowed to a coast. They crept closer to the coping, but none of them crossed just yet.
I skated backwards and kept their pace. “Don’t let it get in your head. Just stagger your feet and roll right off the coping. You’re all going to get really familiar with that part of the track, especially you, Mayhem, since you can’t resist the inside. You’re not out of play until you touch the infield so you can use it to your advantage.”
One by one they rolled off the track. A wobble here, arms thrown out there, a little squeak, but everyone stayed upright.
