The opening score is 1–0, black team.
I hit the team bench, my chest heaving. Violet is benchcoaching for my team. She hustles over. “Maude woke you up right off the bat there,” she says, handing me my water bottle. “You recovered well. Keep your eyes open out there, okay?”
“Yup,” I say, and force myself not to look out into the stands.
“You okay?” Violet asks, knees bent so we’re eye-to-eye.
“Yup,” I say, hoping she’ll believe me.
I don’t think she does, but she knows better than to get into it now. Instead, she taps me on top of my helmet and moves down the line to send other skaters out onto the track.
I go back out in the fourth lineup, Jax by my side again. I’m starting to block out Dan’s absence and really get into the game. This time the two of us decide to try some partner blocking. When Tilly, who’s jamming for the white team, hits the back of the pack, Jax and I form a wall of ass, holding her back while Mercedes, jamming for us again, whips around the outside with a helping hand from Jax. We manage to hold Tilly back for almost a full lap, giving Mercedes the opportunity to score five points.
As we approach the half, everyone’s adrenaline is up. I can hear Wyatt and Grace’s screams and Decker’s loud whistles, and they fuel me. Despite my rough start, I’m in it now. Violet keeps sending Jax and me out together; our wall of ass is becoming a signature move. My hips have come alive, and I’ve started taking down opposing jammers, smiling as I send them out of bounds.
I’m sweating and aching and smiling and having the time of my fucking life.
Almost.
There are just under two minutes left in the half when Violet sends me back out on the track. I line up against Maude again. She’s tried to take me down twice more, but each time I’ve shaken off her attacks.
I think I’m ready for her.
I don’t even see Madelyn coming.
She’s skinny but sharp. When her shoulder collides with mine, the pain is instantaneous. I make the tragic mistake of standing straight up in shock.
And that’s when Maude swoops in.
Her knees are bent, her ass low, but this time her hip doesn’t connect with mine. Instead she slides in front of me, tossing her shoulder back. It connects with my sternum, sending me backward just as Mercedes hits the pack. I try to catch myself, but it’s no use.
I go down.
Hard.
Mercedes tries to jump over me, a tangle of arms and legs on the floor, but she can’t get enough height and trips, her skate landing directly on my ankle.
I scream.
CHAPTER 38
DAN
“Dan, you’ve got to eat something,” Jameson says.
We’re gathered around the kitchen table in their small but well-appointed apartment. Jameson has cooked chicken parmesan using pasta he made from scratch. It smells incredible, but I feel like my stomach is full of lead.
“Leave him alone,” Marcel gently chides, then refills my wine glass.ThatI have an appetite for. I’m not drunk, but I’m two glasses in and appreciate the low-level numbness that has taking over my body. Marcel reaches over and places a hand on my arm. “I’m still not totally sure what all’s going on. Like I said, the call from the lead investigator was very odd. I think there’s something strange happening with this case.”
“Yeah, like the fact that the wrong guy is going to prison,” Jameson snaps. He raises his glass in a snarky toast. “Eat the rich.”
“I was rich,” I say, sliding my eyes toward Jameson.
“Oh, please. Compared to Anders Holt, you were practically Little Orphan Annie. That motherfucker was rich and hestillstole. From elderly people! It’s only our corrupt capitalist system that has you fearing for your future right now.”
“Sweetheart, you went to Princeton,” Marcel gently reminds his husband.
“I majored in art history!” Jameson cries. He’s also had a couple glasses of wine.
