But having both of them there, watching me, grounded me in a way nothing else could. I got out of my head and into my body, skating harder, cleaner, sharper. I hit lines I’d been missing. I held my walls. I broke through when it mattered.
When we finally called it, we were all sweaty and flushed, clustered around the benches with water bottles in hand. Mel skated over, clapping once to get our attention.
“Alright,” she said. “Five days. That’s your first bout. For the three of you.” She pointed at me, then the others. “But I wouldn’t be throwing you in if I didn’t think you were ready. You’ve got this.”
I believed her.
Everything felt . . . good.
After I changed and slung my skate bag over my shoulder, I stepped back out into the rink lobby. Alex and Ava were still talking, heads bent together, laughing over something I couldn’t hear.
I paused.
There was a small pang in my chest, watching my daughter with another man like that. A whisper of grief, of what could never be.
But it was different now. Alex would never be Ava’s dad. But he could be someone in her corner. Another safe, understanding adult in her life. And there were never enough of those.
Alex looked up and saw me. “We decided,” he said, smiling, “that we’re going to The Joint for burgers.”
“That sounds perfect,” I said.
The diner was loud and warm and smelled like fries and grilled onions. Ava was in a booth across from us, crayons scattered everywhere, already halfway through covering her placemat with skulls and flames.
“That was so cool,” she said, barely looking up. “When you skated past all those people, it was like—whoosh. I want to do derby someday.”
“You would be terrifying,” I told her fondly.
She grinned. “What’s going to be your derby name?”
I paused, thinking about it. “I don’t know yet. The team gives it to you on the night of your first bout.”
“That’s awesome.”
“I know. I have a few ideas, but none of them feel quite right.” I rattled off a couple—half jokes, half hopes—and Ava made thoughtful humming noises as she drew.
I went back to my own little corner of the placemat, adding a few flames of my own around one of her skulls, just for fun.
Under the table, Alex’s hand was wrapped around mine, warm and steady.
Maybe it was time.
Maybe it was time to move toward something that felt this easy, alive, full of color instead of silence.
The thought didn’t scare me.
It felt like home.
45
ELEANOR
The day of my first bout felt like standing at the edge of a cliff.
My first draft was turned in. The first chunk of my advance had hit my bank account that morning, real and solid and terrifying in the best way. And I was going to move out of my mother’s house. Toward something that was mine.
My mom still wasn’t speaking to me. She moved through the house like I was a ghost, even as I boxed up my life in quiet defiance. It would have hurt more if I weren’t so busy building something new.
Becca picked up Ava just before noon, all smiles and excitement. “We’re going to get the best seats,” she promised. “Leo’s already losing his mind.”
