by Casey Hagen
“I hear that,” she said with a laugh. “You guys gave us one hell of a fight out there. No one will doubt you guys next time.”
Next time.
Would there be a next time? Would Priest be there with us?
“They better not.”
She skated away and joined her cheering team.
My crew skated up on the track and joined me, Priest cutting through all of them, wrapping his arms around me, lifting me clean off the floor.
His arms swallowed me whole as his body curled around mine. I curled into his heat and closed my eyes while I memorized the sound of his racing heart by my ear.
“I’m proud of you,” he murmured.
I squeezed, afraid to let him go. “We didn’t win.”
“Second place is something to celebrate,” he said, his lips next to my ear as I burrowed into him even more, grasping on to his every word. “You never forgot what you were fighting for out there.”
“I’ll never forget anyone I fight for,” I whispered.
He stilled with my quiet words, his arms loosening on me as I slid to my feet, before letting me go entirely. My team overtook me then, and he faded into the recesses, standing next to Jackson, but with each minute further and further away.
Maven Voyage skated over and everyone began to introduce themselves, congratulating one another, and tearing about the plays, full of laughter now, the intensity of the bout slowly sliding behind us.
No animosity. No tempers.
We shared something here—misfits and mothers, artists and businesswomen, every walk of life met here on this track, what united us so much stronger than what divided us.
These were the kind of women who didn’t judge how new you were in town, what kind of job you worked, or who you loved. You’d be welcome in their home and at their table. You could pull up your differences and celebrate them together, not let them divide you.
This was exactly what I’d been searching for.
With these derby sisters, the ones on my team and the ones I competed against who understood the passion and sacrifice, I was found.
After the last of us showered, all of us clean and comfortable, we poured the drinks.
“First thing next week, planning session to fund Crossroads on the long term,” Marty said, handing out glasses as she filled them.
“Where’s coach bat-in-his-pants and his sidekick? They should be here celebrating with us,” Rory said.
Eve took a sip of her drink, winced, and dumped more liquor in. “Call them up and get their asses in here.”
“What room is Jackson in?” Sean asked as she plopped on the couch in the open living room section of the suite and grabbed the phone.
“Room 308,” Rory said over their heads as Dixie and Carmen got chatty and loud.
“And Priest?” Sean called out.
“Room 324,” I said as I grabbed a fresh bag of ice from the miniscule freezer.
“Got it. Get ready for some testosterone, ladies, because I’m not taking no for an answer,” Sean said. “I hope they like margaritas...and if they don’t, well, they better just pretend they do.”
“How’s the eye?” Eve asked as she looked me over from multiple angles.
“Could be worse, I didn’t need stitches,” I said, giving Tilly the eye which only made her ass sidle on up and clink her glass to mine.
“The stitches were totally worth the outcome,” she said as she wrapped her arm around me.
“Jackson’s on his way. Priest didn’t answer,” Sean said. “Maisy, you wanna go grab your boy?”
“On it.” I handed my glass to Tilly. “Don’t drink that. I’m coming back for it.”
“Don’t come back too soon,” she said with a wink as she lifted my glass to her lips.
“Hey, I mean it. That one’s mine.” I aimed my finger at her. “I’ll be right back for it.”
I padded down the hall, passing Jackson on the way, giving him a smile and a nod.
“How’s that eye?” he said as he passed me.
“Great. I should look human again in a few days.” I said, turning around, walking backwards as I called out my answer to him.
“Try a few weeks,” he said with a laugh.
“Awesome.” I glanced at the sign at the end of the hall, again, because direction has never been my strong suit, and adjusted my ice pack, my steps slowing as my skin prickled.
The empty sensation of being completely alone filled me.
“You’re being stupid,” I muttered, but when I got to his door, I hesitated and flattened my palm to the cool metal instead.
We had a flight in the morning. Where was he going to go?
I knocked and waited, but there was no movement on the other side.
Sliding my cell from my pocket, I tried to call him, but it went straight to voicemail.
A lump of panic lodged in my throat, my stomach dropping to my toes as I leaned against the wall across from his room and I brought up the number for the hotel and asked for Room 324.
“I’m sorry, but the guest in Room 324 checked out.”
My phone clattered to the floor.
My back slid down the wall until my butt hit the floor.
Tears burned hot trails down my cheeks, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest as I struggled to breathe past the ache.
He was gone.
29
We’d been home for a week. We’d done interviews with local TV and the newspapers and a goofy ceremony turning over a big-ass check.
Yes, the numbers were big, but it was the actual check ironically that was big. Obnoxiously so.
Three feet wide to be exact.
We gave them all the tap dancing they wanted after getting their personal guarantee the program would live on for an additional year and we’d have a grace period every year to come up with more funding.
Gee, look at us twisting their arms, when really they had us by the tits. They got money and us doing the work for them. But I didn’t give a shit. I wanted my kids and being able to look into Rylee’s eyes and tell her with absolute certainty we weren’t going anywhere was worth being small-town show ponies for a while.
A win.
And it gave me a focus.
With her worries gone, it took those kids less than sixty seconds to change the topic to Rockabilly’s and the banked track, asking when they were going to see Priest again, if he would skate with them, if maybe he’d teach them how to do roller derby.
Just like that they’d latched on to him even as he let go.
I was trying not to be a bit butt hurt that they didn’t ask us to teach them.
Really, guys?
I’d gone through all the motions in the past one hundred and sixty-eight hours since the last day of the exhibition. Smiled when I was supposed to, put the kids off about Priest by changing the subject, telling them he had to go on a trip—basically lying to them—and when the performance ended, I went to my apartment and cried.
And cried some more.
When I told him he could go and I would wait, I didn’t know I was committing myself to the pain of being sliced in half, all the essentials still connected to support life, while I went back and forth between total and utter agony with brief periods of numb shock before drowning in the pain all over again.
Flaming asshole.
My teammates called. Eve even stopped by, threatening me with an intervention, but I didn’t need an intervention.
I needed a hug.
And not by them.
By him.
I wondered if he knew he was a good hugger.
The best hugger.
And he probably needed one too. That was the worst part. Remembering that look in his eye. Knowing his penchant for punishing himself with no one there to remind him just how worthy he was of love and having someone who cared for him the way he cared for others.
“Maybe decaf ain’t so bad after all,” Milton said, taking a sip of his second cup that morning.
“Wha
t decaf?” I asked as I shot Gerald a look over my shoulder, catching him in the act of slipping his hand toward Milton’s bacon. “Yours is coming. Be good.”
“I’m a little disappointed in you, young lady. You’re slipping. I’ve already taken one piece,” Gerald grumbled.
“Don’t be thinking I don’t know what you’ve been doing back there, Maisy Jane. I let you get away with it because you put up with an old curmudgeon like me,” Milton said.
I rounded the counter and put my arms around both of them. “I love old curmudgeons like you.”
Milton patted my hand and tipped his head against mine. “I hate seeing you sad like this, sweetheart. He’s going to come back, you know.”
But it wasn’t just that, it was also the way he left. My last moments with him in an arena six hundred miles from home.
There were things I would have said. Feelings I would have reassured him of.
I would have told him I love him.
No hints, no alluding to it. Just three simple words.
And I would have had some sort of goodbye, that last hug to sustain me while he figured his shit out.
“You know what you need? You need to go get a sniff of Lilith and Jordan’s new baby. He’ll cheer you up,” Milton said.
I raised my head and stared down at him. “You’ve seen him?”
“Sure have,” he said, gesturing with his cup. “Lilith was bragging on you and how you helped her through having him. I’m kind of surprised you haven’t seen him yet since you were there when he came into this crazy world.”
I did do that. So, I had rights, right?
At least some sort of honorary thing. What did you call someone who did that anyway? Honorary aunt?
I could bring him a baby present, but none of that practical stuff. I could bring him something frivolous—a puppy!
Actually, a puppy probably wasn’t what they needed right now, but it was a farm, and it was sorely lacking a dog.
Okay, so better than a rattle and not as awesome as a dog…
Kitten…but again, something that needed to be kept alive.
I closed my eyes and time sucked me back to when Cain delivered that little boy and the stricken anguish on his face in the quiet stillness after. Brief, but breathtaking, the look slid into gritty determination as he worked, and a flood of sweet relief when he heard that first wail.
I blinked open my eyes, tears burning again, but I knew just the thing.
I slid my phone out of my pocket, made sure Scooter wasn’t watching because he’d been ornery lately and no one needed more of that shit, and dialed Rockabilly’s.
“Yo,” Jackson answered.
“That’s how you answer the phone?”
“It’s early. You should be more surprised I’m awake to answer the phone.”
“Have you heard from him?” I asked, trying not to hold my breath while I waited for the likely answer.
“No,” he said quietly. “I wish I had a better answer for you, Maze.”
Knowing what he’d say didn’t make his answer hurt any less. “Any chance you can do me a favor?”
“Anything,” he said, his voice remarkably swift for such a laid-back guy.
“You can make skates, right?”
“Yeaaaahhhhh,” he said, drawing out the word.
“Can you make skates for say…a two-year-old?”
“Sure.”
“With flames on the side?”
“I see where you’re going with this,” he said, his voice perking right up at the idea. “You know what, I can. I’ll get started now and call you when they’re done.”
This was gonna be great…I just wished I asked him the timeline because I’d be watching the clock all day now.
If this was, say… a week-long job, I was in some serious trouble. Plus, I was not going to wait a week to see that baby.
I finished out my shift, ready to go home, but my phone rang instead, and thank fuck this time I knew the number.
Jackson.
“They’re ready.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’ve even got them all packaged up for you in their own box and ready to go.”
A half hour later, he handed me a bag with a custom-built pair of black skates just like Priest’s, with little red leather flames affixed to each side.
“If he doesn’t come back here and scoop you right up,” he said, holding my car door for me, “I’m going to go down to Boston and kick him in the balls for you.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” I said, kissing him on the cheek before firing up my car and heading out to the farm.
I parked next to Lilith’s SUV, grabbed the bag, and headed for the door, but hesitated when I got there. I’d always knocked when we used the bathroom during practice because this was another woman’s house and it felt disrespectful not to.
But I’d helped Lilith through childbirth here.
I’d done laundry.
I saved a quilt.
Read from a well-loved book in the easy chair by their grandfather’s lamp.
I’d started to let Cain go here even as I held on to him while we made love all night in his bed.
Fresh tears burned in the back of my eyes and I froze, unable to knock, unable to walk away, so damn heartbroken it choked me as I stood staring at the supply sled propped against the wall on the porch.
The door crept open and Lilith gave me a sad smile and opened her arms…where I fell apart again.
“Aww, honey, you haven’t heard from him?”
“No,” I mumbled against the burp rag over her shoulder. “Have you?”
“Just once,” she said quietly.
“Did he ask about me?” I said, pulling back and wiping my eyes.
She didn’t have to answer; the look on her face said it all with the way her mouth flattened, and the frustration flashed in brown eyes so very much like his. “No.”
“Okay.” There was that word he hated, but fuck him. If he wanted to take issue with it, he could just get his ass up here and do so.
Lilith tipped her head and smiled. “Do you want to hold a freshly bathed squishy bundle of baby?” She took a step back and held the door.
“Yeah, I think I do,” I said, stepping inside. “I even brought him something.”
She led me into the living room where a large man with short-cropped, military-issued sandy hair I could only assume was Jordan sat with a sleepy satisfied smile on his face while he held their son in his arms.
The bundle of baby had a scrunched-up face like he’d just caught a whiff of some geriatric-grade methane.
“Jordan, this is Maisy. Maisy, my husband Jordan.”
“Nice to finally meet you,” I murmured, handing the bag to Lilith as I snuck a closer glance at their sleeping bundle.
“I don’t even know his name. What are we calling this little cutie?”
When they didn’t answer, I glanced up and found them looking at one another.
“What? It can’t be top secret. Is it one of those weird Hollywood names?”
“Cain,” Lilith said quietly. “We named him Cain.”
“Oh—well—that’s…shit.” I ground my fingers into my temples. “I’m swearing in front of him already. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m pretty sure he won’t pick it up just yet. You’re good,” Jordan said with a laugh. “He learned all kinds of salty language when I checked to see if he needed changing and sunk my fingers in a loaded diaper.”
“He loves it and he knows it,” Lilith said next to me with a laugh in her voice.
Jordan stood and nodded to the chair. “Settle in and I’ll pass him over.”
I took the offered seat and curled my legs up under me.
Jordan leaned down and laid Cain right in my arms where he cracked an eye open, decided I was good people, shuddered out a breath, and drifted off again.
My mind went back to that moment in the barn and the way Cain muttered under his breath, like he could will his nephew
to breathe with chanting words, prayers, whatever he had to say in those moments that I couldn’t make out.
The relief on his face the minute the baby finally let out his first scream.
If he were here holding his nephew, I had no doubt what he would do.
And since he wasn’t, I’d do it for him until he could be.
I leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Cain’s soft forehead where it met his head full of dark hair and breathed him in.
30
I walked through my apartment door for the first time during the daylight hours after spending more than a week working double shifts, avoiding drinks and basketball games with my friends at the precinct, waiting for something to feel normal. For anything to feel normal again.
I couldn’t even find some sort of familiarity in the obscurity I once loved about the coffee shop around the corner where I counted on no one knowing my name or caring to talk. And why? Because the woman behind the counter that I was used to seeing day in and day out quit while I was gone and now, the only familiar thing I had left was the forgettable flavor of scorched coffee on my tongue that I could get from any gas station or truck stop.
On the third day, I’d taken out a pizza box to the dumpster—because that’s what I did now—field trips to the dumpster, and when I’d gotten back to my door, the neighbor introduced himself, thinking I was new to the place.
I’d been here for five years.
Turns out he’d been here for four.
Neither of us could back out of that conversation fast enough.
Alone in a city of millions.
And now the stark light of day was a ruthless bitch ready to deliver a one-two punch by making sure I saw every single impersonal corner of my life in desolate detail.
The problem with the impersonal—it showcased the intimately personal.
One thing stood out. The one thing always stood out here.
Abel’s ashes.
And the harsh truth that I’d been keeping him here. All this time, I’d been keeping myself in my own prison, unable to let him go.
To what end?
I’d never be able to change the last time we spoke. I’d never be able to change what I’d done when I reported them. And I had to be honest, what really bothered me is that I’d do the same thing again if I had to do it all over again today.
