17. Nia

17

NIA

Ipress the bag of ice to my wrist, the purple and blue settling in so fast, there's no way I can avoid the hospital for this one. It burns, an agonizing ache that reminds me what true pain feels like when it's fresh.

When the jam ends, Harvey skates in the same direction as Reese, disappearing behind the locker room door. Mo and Venice eye each other, no words passing between them, but the look of concern on both their faces is enough to make the ongoing jam nearly meaningless. A small tilt of Mo's chin in the direction of the locker room is all Venice Witch needs to discreetly skate away from the bench.

I stand to follow, still clutching the ice around my swollen wrist.

The pull of my shirt's collar around my neck throws my center of gravity off, almost causing me to fall, but Mo's hand on my back catches me. I turn to see them shaking their head in a warning, but I disregard them, waving them off and following behind Venice.

She's already in the locker room by the time I get through the door, reaching for Harvey in an attempt to pull her off Reese Ender. The swollen red lump around Reese's eye lets me know Harvey's already hit her at least once. She breaks out of Venice's hold and throws her fist into Reese Ender's face again, this time right under the chin.

"Harvey, that's enough." Venice holds her back by the arms, Harvey's chest heaving hard with each breath.

Reese Ender scatters herself back up onto her skates, legs wobbly and unsturdy as she skates away from Harvey. "Wait." She commands her to stop right before me. "Apologize to our jammer."

"What?" Reese doesn't look at me.

"Say you're sorry." Harvey gives her the same look she's been dishing out to me all week, but for some reason, it feels far more lethal when directed at her.

"S-sorry," Reese stutters out as she flies past me, holding her face behind her hands. Only when the door bounces back the third time does Venice let Harvey go, looking back and forth between the two of us before slowly backing up.

"I'm… gonna go let Mo know you're good," she says, her voice filled with pure uncertainty. "You're good, right, Cat?"

Harvey cuts me a look, that same vicious one that turns my spine to gelatin. Her gaze stays fixed on mine. "Yeah. I'm good."

Venice skates in reverse until her back forces the locker room door to swing, giving us just a peek of the crowded rink behind her. "You sure?" She checks again, but this time, she's looking at me for confirmation.

I nod silently.

It feels like minutes before the door stops swinging from her exit, but it's only then that I can break away from staring at Harvey's face to notice the smaller details.

Like her knuckles.

"You're bleeding." I'm at her side in less than three strides, lifting her hand up to take a closer look at the torn skin.

"Didn't you see the other guy?" She gives me a goofy grin, filled with energy that feels so familiar, so natural between us, and yet completely out of reach.

My stomach is a nervous mess of butterflies any time I look at her.

She can barely stand to be around me.

Yet, here she is, settling a score on my behalf. What the hell is this?

The laugh bubbles out of me awkwardly, just like anything else in my life. "Like I said, I can't quite tell if you hate me or?—"

She cuts me a look again. "Or what, princess?" The command in her tone forces me to shrink.

"You hit her for me," I whisper, just in case we aren't alone, though I know damn well it's just us.

"She was playing dirty, and she hurt you." She says the last bit through clenched teeth, her nostrils flaring, like thinking about it again is enough to piss her off.

"You hurt me too." I shrug, biting back a nervous smile.

"It's different," she says sharply.

I harden my gaze and challenge her, "Why? Because you think you're justified in your hatred of me?"

"It's just different. She's not part of this." Harvey gestures between the two of us.

I don't know what this is.

I don't think she does either.

"Oh, so only you can hurt me?" I ask, her fingers still in my hold.

She pulls them back, clenching her fist shut at her chest, her nostrils still flared.

Harvey frowns, and the rest of my confidence dissolves as I put distance between our bodies. She winces, a kind of disapproval she can't vocalize for some reason.

She's looking at my wrist when she speaks again. "You surprised me out there. You killed it."

My eyes widen, this conversation taking turns I didn't think possible for the two of us. "Are you… complimenting me?"

"I can admit to being wrong." She crosses her arms over her chest and looks me up and down.

"You're a better woman than me. I can't." I laugh at my own joke, though I know it's partially true. She doesn't laugh with me. Instead, she steps closer, her eyes glued to my lips. "Are you?" I ask, my voice so shaky when I continue. "Admitting to being wrong?"

Harvey lets out a humored scoff under her breath. "No." Her gaze shifts back up to mine as she takes the final step to close the distance between us. "I said I can."

I shake my head, not sure if I'm any less intimidated by her now that she isn't actively hating me. I release my bottom lip from the bite of my teeth, realizing I've probably been gnawing on it this entire time. "Thanks for having my back."

"Well, someone needs to have it. You're pretty fucking fragile." She sounds annoyed, but her expression doesn't match her tone. She's still all crooked smiles, and her eyes are soft.

"Still faster than you, though." I use my elbow to shove her away, but she grips my hip and pulls me into her.

She's hard and soft against me all at once, and my pulse quickens.

Her expression sobers as she looks down at my hand. "Let me see your wrist."

I pull away the ice pack, the bruise dark shades of blue and purple, the shape of the skate wheel almost visible if I squint hard enough. It's not the bruise that's concerning, though; it's how fast the swelling grows. My wrist is the same size as the rest of my arm now, and not even half an hour has passed.

"That doesn't look good." She grimaces as she inspects it, her touch so gentle, I can barely feel it. "You should get that looked at now."

I sigh, knowing she's right but dreading another hospital visit. After my post-accident residency, I was told it was normal to develop an aversion to health care facilities. I entirely loathe them. Even worse, I despise paying for them.

"You're gonna get that looked at, right?" She doesn't let me avoid her gaze, pinning me with a look that's full of concern.

"I don't know. Maybe?" I'm too flustered to do anything but answer honestly. A lie is a performance I can't quite nail down at the moment.

She exhales heavily. "Where's your shit? I'll take you."

"N-no, that's not what I meant," I try to counter. Owing Cat Harvey was the last thing I needed.

"You can't really drive while you're using one hand to ice the other." She starts skating toward the door before she turns back, uncertainty on her face for the first time since I've met her. "Unless you're waiting for K to take you?"

"What? No. That's fine, we can go." I don't need Kade to handle all of my problems. "They deserve to celebrate tonight."

"K? Socialize with the rest of us? Yeah. I'll pay to see it." She's arrogantly confident.

"Do they typically not?" I ask, realizing that while they've been warm and almost sibling-like toward me, I haven't actually seen Kade interacting with any of the other skaters.

"K has pretty much kept to themselves since they tried out two years ago, aside from Lonnie and Dread," she says before skating in my direction. "Sit on the bench," she orders.

Dropping to her knee pads in one smooth move, she begins to unlace my quads and undo the straps. I feel like she can probably hear my heart beating from down there, but I'm hoping she'll at least pretend she can't, for my sake.

She takes my skates in her hands, leaving me only responsible for the ice on my wrist. Harvey opens the door out to the rink, the bout finishing up, clearly in our favor. K-Otic is in the lead, and in just a few more minutes, the Devil's Dames will have their first official WFTDA win in five years. She goes through the doors for our own team's locker room to retrieve our things.

I stay back, watching the Devils secure the win.

It doesn't take her long to return with both our gym bags in hand. She gestures with her head toward the door, and I follow behind. We're exiting just as the final whistle blows, and thankfully, we're far ahead enough that we'll beat the exiting crowd.

"That's a nice hairline fracture." The ER doctor points to the X-ray, and I groan. "I'm surprised you're not in more pain.

"I'm in a lot of pain," I grit back, annoyed that medical professionals carry this expectation of their patients. I'm not here to put on a show; I shouldn't have to make a big scene to convey that something is broken.

"Could have fooled me," the doctor says under her breath.

Or maybe she can tell I'm still high, which is likely keeping me from feeling the full force of the break.

"So now what?" Harvey asks the doctor.

"Now, she can take this discharge paperwork down the hall to ortho and they'll make her a cast for the next six weeks, and this prescription down to the pharmacy on the third floor for pain management." She doesn't look up from the paperwork to deliver the news.

"Six weeks?" I shout, every possible plan and hope going out the window.

"If all goes well, yes. I'll take a look in six weeks to see if we need any more time," she confirms.

"Fuck." Harvey exhales. "Is she going to be able to skate?

"Does she need her wrist to skate?" the doctor asks her, like I'm not even here.

"No," I answer for myself. "I don't need my wrist to skate." I stand, annoyed, and grab the discharge papers from her with my good hand.

Harvey's following behind as I make my way down the hall to get my cast. "Are you okay?"

"I don't like doctors." It's not a lie; it's just a really simplified version of the truth.

"It's not the end of the world." She's trying to reassure me, and it feels odd coming from her. "It's just like skating with a bigger wrist guard."

I laugh. "Except if I fall, I break my wrist twice as bad."

"That is the gamble." She shrugs just as we get to orthopedics.

"You don't have to stay for this," I feel compelled to say.

"It's fine." The corner of her lip curls up, and she peers down at me. "I'm kind of enjoying seeing you in pain.

"Good to know that my misery is what it takes." I throw her a sarcastic look just as we get called back to the little office.

The doctor looks to be in his seventies, little tufts of white hair scattered at the top of his head, the only fullness on the sides. He wears round, metal-rimmed glasses and greets me with a warm smile.

"The swelling is pretty bad, so I'll have to make the cast bigger to accommodate since the injury is so recent," he explains. "You'll need to come back in a week or two for a new size, for comfort. By then, we may be able to get you in a softer cast."

"That would be great." I try to paint a smile on my face, to pretend I'm not in pain or that I don't want to just get home and blast my face off until I can't feel anything.

Anything.

Including the gaping hole shredding my heart, where I can still hear Lonnie whispering of their disappointment in my recent decisions.