Page 136 of False Start

Because he belonged.

With derby and with us.

If anything, late afternoon only solidified the truth when we pulled out two more wins under his lead.

Sending us into the finals on day two.

Several of us dripping with sweat, out of breath, every muscle screaming, fresh bruises flaring to life, we wrapped our arms around one another and leaned in a circle.

“Did we really just pull that off?” Rory asked.

“Fuck yeah, we did. And you didn’t shit on the track. A raving success,” Sean said with a pant, still trying to catch her breath as the final four teams for the first round on day two flashed on the screen. Beautifully Brutal going head-to-head with the Fighting Furies at nine in the morning.

“I need a masseuse. Someone suave, with an accent. Big hands,” Marty said.

“Order two, please,” Zara said, waving a finger as she also struggled to move air since pulling off the final three points that took the last bout.

“And a bat in his pants. That would be good too,” Marty added.

“Ah, the slide from recovery to porno,” Tilly said with a breathless laugh. “Always a crowd pleaser.”

“Come on, ladies. You kicked ass out there. Let’s grab some food, take care of the injuries, and get ready to do it all again in the morning,” Priest said as he stepped up to us.

“There’s the bat in the pants you ordered,” Rory muttered, making us all burst out laughing.

Because we were totally immature.

And we’d just kicked ass.

We crashedby eight that night and woke up at six the next morning, stiff and hunched—nothing a swim in the heated pool downstairs couldn’t fix, followed by fifteen minutes in the hot tub to get our muscles loose and ready to go.

The mood shifted at the arena on day two. More spectators, the teams in their separate corners, constant glances at the banked track.

The announcements grew more animated and frequent, thanking sponsors and players. The kind of thing you usually tuned out at sporting events, except here, when the charity feature flashed on the big screen, it grabbed me right by the throat.

Each of the four charities vying for the first-place prize got their time in the spotlight on the big screens, with smooth narration from an announcer over the sound system.

And when they got to Crossroads my heart hammered in my ears, the breath stuttering in my lungs at the picture that flashed up there. Me, with Rylee, Addison, Ellie, Noah, and Leo all piled into my arms on Priest’s track, a dopey smile on my face and tears in my eyes.

“Where did they get that?” I asked when he stepped up next to me.

“Wes snapped a picture and gave it to the paper—and me.”

Two emotions swept through me, going head-to-head like the final teams today—sweet relief at seeing their faces, the reminder of what I was here fighting for...and bone-chilling terror we wouldn't pull it off.

“Cain,” I whispered.

His head snapped up at the sound of his real name on my lips. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m wobbling.”

“Nope!” He took my arms and turned me to face him as he bent down so we were eye level. “Not on my watch you’re not. You’re the heart of this team. They take their cues from you and you’re not going to fall apart. Do you hear me?”

I shook my head and gulped back the threat of tears. “Yeah.”

He took my face in his hands and kissed me. The kind of kiss we’d been avoiding here. Keeping our relationship and this exhibition separate.

“No wobbling,” he whispered as he let my mouth go, but pulling me right against his chest, his warm arms infusing every last bit of confidence and energy he had into me. “I’m right here every step of the way with you, Maisy. I’m right here.”

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