Hi it’s me Carson can you pick me up pity please? No worries if you can’t! Violet the skate ref said she could drive me after she gets her fiend from work but you said to call so if I need and I ned a ride thanks you!
Oh I’m at SkateTown USA in Spencer!
No rush, I made friend!
Also it’s Carson!
Ihad a feeling Carson was tipsy when I got her texts, but I am not prepared for the swaying, smiling woman, cheeks flushed and curls limp around her shoulders, slumped on the curb outside the roller rink.
I park my car, my headlights landing on her and the tiny woman with purple hair standing beside her.
“Who are you?” the tiny woman barks as soon asI’m out of the car.
“Dan,” I tell her.
“And you’re here for…” She arches an eyebrow like this is a test.
“Carson.” I glance down at my sister’s best friend. She’s smiling up at me, her deep-blue eyes a little watery, and something in my chest goes watery too.
“It’s okay, Violet. He’s not a murderer,” Carson slurs. She pushes herself up from the curb and nearly makes it to standing before pitching forward. I throw my arms out to catch her, but the tiny woman—Violet, apparently—beats me to it. She wraps an warm around Carson’s waist to right her. Then she lifts her phone and snaps a photo of me, the flash lighting up the night, blinding me.
“If she’s not home in forty-five minutes, I’m sending this photo to the cops.”
I tower over this woman. Could probably do biceps curls with her. But something about her tone tells me she knows plenty of ways to hurt me that I’d never see coming.
I respect it.
For the first time since I got Carson’s texts, filled with silly little typos and too many exclamation points, I let out a sigh of relief. The thought of her being drunk and at the mercy of that idiot asshole in a truck, in need of a ride in the middle of the night, had every muscle in my body tensed for a fight. A big part of me spent the drive here prepared to pull up and throw hands. I’m already in legal trouble, so what’s a little more? Marcel would lose it, but I think it would be worth it. But it’s clear that Carson found someone to look out for her until I could get here.
“Thanks for staying with me, Violent,” Carson says, then reaches her arms high over her head, yawning and stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. “I mean, Violet.”
“Hey, my derby name is Violet Rage, so it’s all good. You were close,” she says. She gently pulls her arm away and lets Carson test her drunk legs. “But seriously, text me when you get home. Iput my number in your phone. And I’m serious about tryouts. I think you’d make a killer blocker.”
The fact that this tiny fighter plays roller derby makes a lot of sense.
Carson snorts. “Sure thing.” She takes two steps toward the passenger door and trips. Violet and I both lunge, but Carson catches herself. “Whoopsie,” she giggles, then climbs headfirst into my car.
“Sorry, I gave her a sip from my flask to take the edge off. I didn’t think she’d chug,” Violet says after the door slams.
“Where’s the leash kid who brought her here?”
Violet barks out a laugh. “Hey, I like you,” she says, pointing a finger at me. “He ditched her. Apparently his ex came a-calling and he went a-running.”
“Thank god,” I mutter, though as happy as I am that Carson isn’t ending her night with that asshole, I still want to rearrange his face for treating her like that. How did he not take one look at her and know what a lucky fucker he was to spend an evening with her? How did he listen to her voice and not know that he had a rare opportunity?
“She dodged a bullet with that one. He looked like the kind of guy who owns one towel that’s never seen the inside of a washing machine.” Violet rolls her eyes, then looks at Carson through the window. Her cheek is pressed up against the glass, her eyes fluttering shut like she’s seconds from passing out. “Anyway, drive nice. I need her in one piece. I think she might be the secret to our season.”
I hope Carson will remember what that’s about in the morning, because I have no idea. And I don’t want to waste time asking, because Carson is clearly walking that line between sleepy drunk and barfing drunk. And while I’ll take care of her no matter what happens, I’d prefer it if my BMW didn’t end up smelling like a frat house.
Violet gives me one last look that I think is meant to conveythat she knows several places to hide a body, then heads over to a battered old Toyota parked at the end of the empty lot.
I start the car, but before I can pull out of the parking spot, Carson reaches over from the passenger seat and tugs at the collar of my T-shirt.
“Wait, do you have a tattoo?”
I was in bed when she texted, scrolling through old work files, and I threw on an old, worn Princeton shirt. The collar is loose, and it reveals the edge of the abacus I have tattooed below my collarbone. She swipes at the edge of the ink with her warm finger, raising goose bumps on my skin.
“A few,” I tell her, clearing my throat and trying not to focus on the spot where she touched me.
