I land in New York at five and sit in traffic for an hour, trying to get from LaGuardia to Greenpoint. I’m nearly to Jameson and Marcel’s apartment when I tell the Uber driver to pull over.
The shop looks the same as it did when I left two years ago. Eamon gave me a compass on the inside of my biceps for the road. Funny that it brought me back here.
The sidewalk is somewhat crowded for a Sunday evening, people doing their last errands before the new week begins or squeezing in a meal at one of the bistros that line the trendy street. Everywhere I look there are faces, and none of them are looking at me.
I used to love the anonymity of New York. It felt big and crowded and free. I reveled in it, the invisibility. But all I feel right now is the itch to be seen by the one person who may never look at me again.
“Dude!” Eamon says as he shuffles out of the back. He looks the same, though I’m sure he’s gotten at least a dozen new tattoossince the last time I saw him. He’s still got plenty of real estate, though designs are starting to creep up his neck and down his knuckles. He pulls me in for a back-slapping hug. “Long time! How goes it? How’s Drake and the shop?”
I glance at my watch. Her scrimmage is starting right now. I know she’s in the first lineup. She’s proud to have earned the spot. I should be sitting in the bleachers of the rec center cheering her on. I should be watching the love of my life do what she loves.
I should have known better than to encourage her feelings for me. I’ve been poison for her from the beginning, and knowing that I’m hurting herright fucking now? That she’s scanning the crowd for me and that she won’t find me? It causes an ache deep in my chest that I don’t think anything will ever ease.
All I can do is distract myself from that pain with something else.
“I don’t actually have a whole lot of time,” I say. I texted Marcel that I had to make a stop, but I’ve probably only bought myself an hour at the most before they’re expecting me for dinner. “Can you get me in? I need you to do a quick piece for me.”
“Of course,” Eamon says, leading me back to his booth. “What have you got in mind?”
When I sit down in the chair, ready to feel every single press of the needle, I crack and pull out my phone. The scrimmage is well underway now. There’s no chance a message from me could distract her, so tap out a text. I can’t tell if sending it makes me more or less of a coward.
Then I put my phone down and suppress the urge to ask Eamon to press harder.
CHAPTER 37
CARSON
He’s not here.
I take my position on the pivot line at the back of the pack. Jax is beside me looking fierce, Mercedes in front of them. A vet named Spitfire is playing pivot at the front of the pack, rounding out the blocking lineup for our team. Madelyn is our jammer.
I make eye contact with each of them as we wait for the whistle to blow. I should be going over strategy and rules. I should be sizing up the opposing blockers, my fellow freshies and future teammates.
Instead, all I can think about is the fact that he’s not here.
I looked for him during warm-ups and when Violet, playing the role of announcer, introduced us to the crowd of our families and friends. Grace and Wyatt are both here, wearing brand-new Bloomington Brawlers T-shirts. Decker and Owen are with them, and Felix too, though I think he’s mostly here to check out the other skaters. He was eyeing Mercedes during warm-ups.
At first I figured Dan was just running late. That maybe his tattoo appointment ran over. But there weren’t any messages on my phone. I broke down and asked Grace if she’d heard anythingfrom him, and the look on her face when she said no made me want to cry.
I’m half mad, half terrified that something awful has happened to him. Maybe he got in a car wreck or there was a carbon monoxide leak at the house. Maybe he was mugged, or maybe he’s just stuck in traffic.
A million possibilities fill my mind, ranging from mundane to horrifying, and I fixate on each one.
TWEEEEEEEET.
The whistle blows, and my body reacts, even if my brain doesn’t. Maude Forbid, blocking for the white team, can sense my distraction and immediately cracks me in the sternum with her shoulder.
I got down in a heap.
Shit. I need to get my head in the game.
I jump up onto my skates and take off, trying to catch up to the pack, just barely in front of the approaching jammers. It’s embarrassing to be behind already, but when I glance over my shoulder, I realize that I’m in a perfect position to let Mercedes draft off me. I catch her eye and give her a nod, then race forward, closing in on Maude from the outside. Just like Violet taught me, I bend my knees and lead with my hip, popping up when I make contact to shove her to the inside of the track.
She goes down, and Mercedes sprints by, finding a hole in the front of the pack. The ref points at her and blows the whistle, awarding her lead jammer.
Unfortunately J’Nisha, the white team jammer, sneaks out of the pack right behind her, and it’s a foot race to get around the track and approach the back of the pack. I hustle to get to the front, because if J’Nisha manages to get her hips past mine, her team gets a point off of me.
Mercedes darts into the pack, tapping her hips to call off the jam.
