Page 6 of False Start

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“In townfor all of five minutes and making friends already I see,” Patti said with a bit of side-eye and a whole lot of signature smirk on her mauve-painted mouth.

Taking the last swallow of my beer and reaching for the “fuck you” round Mayhem bought me, I nodded. “Something like that.”

Maisy Mayhem…well, not tonight she wasn’t. She was playing with feelings. I couldn’t even call it vengeance. At least if it had been, she might have had a chance. She was all reaction.

A goddamned jammer on the defensive would always lose.

Six elbows to her ribs. Same side every time.

Tilly needed a good hard knock on her ass, but Mayhem wouldn’t be delivering it anytime soon unless she figured out how to get out of her head…and whatever was fucking with her heart.

Emotional investment wielded great power, but not when it was built on a foundation of bitterness and pain.

She was icing her hip now, but tomorrow she’d be struggling to take a deep breath. Their refs made shit rookie mistakes out there. All it took was one of them to have their eyes on the floor. But no, they were all staring down at the concrete while Tilly took complete advantage of their inattention.

They needed more training.

Maisy needed to run her emotions, not let them run her.

And Tilly? Tilly had always been a problem. Her reputation in amateur leagues was common knowledge in New England…and maybe farther. She needed a coach strong enough to bend her to their will, someone hard and swift—and no bullshit—who could get her to comply.

Because the woman had demons and they were running the show. They’d kicked into overdrive tonight on that track.

Question was…what did those demons have to do with Mayhem?

I glanced over at the woman in question and found her rubbing near her spine where it met her ribs.

Not my problem. Not my circus.

Not anymore.

“Maisy’s a good girl. I expect you to go easy on that one,” Patti warned me.

I had no damn intentions of going easy or hard on her. Again, not my circus. “Good girl, huh? Well, she did buy me a beer.”

“No, she didn’t. I’m putting it on your tab.”

“Bummer,” I said with a grunt, tipping the bottle to my lips.

“You can damn well afford it. She, however…cannot.” Patti rested her hand on her cocked hip and looked over at the corner booth where the team leaned in, their attention on each other as their pivot, Hazy Eights, filled them in on something noteworthy, keeping them enthralled, their drinks forgotten. Patti’s face softened and a smile reminiscent of her Pinup Patti days on the track spread over her face. “Maisy’s my favorite. I know a mother’s not supposed to have them, but I can’t help it. Underneath that makeup, those tattoos, and borderline foul mouth is a tender heart.”

Patti never had kids, but when she took someone under her wing, she may as well have birthed them herself for how protective she became. The look on her face left zero doubt. She’d claimed all six of them here tonight as her own.

And she would slice off the balls of any man who dared do one of them dirty, all with a smile on her face. When she was done, she’d fry them up in the back and serve them with blue cheese dressing and celery sticks for garnish.

My balls weren’t looking for an adventure—thanks.

Besides, they were young. The ladies, not my balls. Probably ten years younger than me. Just babies.

Plus, they were derby…and I wasn’t.

I never would be again.

“It’s fine. I don’t plan to find out.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” she said, turning that shrewd gaze on me. “So, when did you get into town?”

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