Page 138 of False Start

Tempers flared. The desire to win making each side a bit more desperate.

On the line for one final jam, I took off at the whistle and caught the pack one more time. The hits came harder, some illegal as both sides gave everything they got. Skates tangled. Skaters went down but hopped right back up again.

Maven Voyage’s jammer passed the star to their pivot, turning her into their lead jammer. I was just about to push through and chase her down, driving my one skate in as a wedge between two blockers, when the blocker next to me took an illegal hit to the chest, her arms flying out with the force and her elbow catching me in the eye. I hit the track as Maven Voyage’s jammer came in and scored three points.

The final jam.

Maven Voyage won.

The whistle blew and I lay there trying to catch my breath as I stared up at the iron framing in the roof of the complex, the lights shooting in all directions, catching me in the eye.

Nothing was keeping him here anymore.

We’d just lost but managed to come in second place when we wouldn’t have placed at all, and all I could think is that he would spiral now.

He could check us off his list of people who needed him and I knew just what would happen when he did.

He’d run.

The blocker who took me out skated over and offered me a hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, nothing some ice and a cocktail can’t fix.”

Except neither were going to keep me from the broken heart coming.

“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.

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