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I have to take some deep breaths to calm myself when she gets elbowed. And when she swings those sweet hips wide to bump another skater, I catch the flash of determination in her eyes.
Next thing I know, she catches an elbow in the face and falls backward. I’ve lost control of my body. I’m off the bench. I don’t feel my feet on the ground as I run to her, scooping her into my arms.
“Are you okay, sweetness?” I ask, when she’s cradled against my chest. She feels so fucking perfect there, despite her knee pad cutting into my arm, her elbow pad into my chest, and her askew helmet.
But what I mostly notice is the way she stares up at me with a recognition that there’s something more. We’ve locked eyes before and toyed with this feeling, but always in private.
Now, we’re in public.
“You should put me down,” she says cautiously.
“I need to take you home.” I might be losing it. I swear that she smells different. It’s not the sweat. She and my brothers heated things up plenty of times.
“We can’t do this.”
“Cheri—” A sharp elbow into my gut is all it takes to enforce her point. I’m pulled back to the moment. She practically jumps out of my arms. I hold onto her waist, steadying her on the skates.
She raises her fists and triumphantly escapes back onto the track. The crowd goes wild.
I’m glad that she’s okay, too, but I can’t bear the thought of everyone staring at her.
Taking a walk of shame back to the stands, I try to label the rejection as part of the show. Quicksand lures me deeper with each step. The muck fills in the cracks in the wall around my heart. She deserves more than I can offer.
Detouring to the exit, I rush outside. I don’t ever want that vulnerability again. Letting her in hurt; it showed me how weak I can be. I can’t do my job if I’m worried about her. How could I have been so fucking dense?
The parking lot beside the stadium is a sad and lonely place. The occasional roar of the crowd tears at my heart. If I’m going to go on, I have to remind myself how to block everything.
I head back inside, grab a bucket of popcorn from the concession stand, and return to the front row with my brothers. We watch the bout in silence for several minutes until Commando says, “We’re going to talk to her afterward.”
“I misspoke earlier. Do it without me.”
“You fucking inspired us.”
“Go for it.” My words are terse and definitive. “She gut-punched me, and not just figuratively. The girl knows how to throw an elbow.”
Taz scoffs. “What did you expect after scooping her up like that in front of everyone?”
He’s right, but so am I. There’s no way I can leave her at home and focus on a mission.
“We just need to talk to her in private,” Commando says, as if that will solve everything.
I let the conversation drop off, but when the bout’s over, Taz rushes to her. “We need a minute with you.”
She glances from one of us to the next. She looks like she’s going to say no, but she doesn’t. “I have to change. Meet me by that door.”
We hang out where she points, watching the skaters pair up with family and friends. It strikes me how different they all are now that the bout is over.
As one group after another files out, it becomes more and more obvious we’ve been stood up.
Avery, the pregnant waitress from the diner, is packing up the swag table. She calls over to us, “Waiting on Cheri?”
Commando answers, “She said to meet her here. Can you see if she’s still in the locker room?”
Avery motions at the nearly empty space. Three people are peeling the boundary tape off the floor and rolling the cord onto a spool. If I was allowing myself to feel, I’d be impressed with the system of taping a cord to the floor to establish the track. Keeps the whole thing mobile. But I’m not allowing any feelings. It would be too risky.
She says, “You can check, just call out before you go in.”
I head to the exit while Commando carries out the formality. I’ve got my bike revved and am rolling out when he and Taz come out, alone.
