40. Harvey

40

HARVEY

I've barely walked into the rink, and I'm ushered into what used to be Lonnie's office, where Scott sits behind the desk.

"Okay, I'm here. What couldn't fucking wait a few days?" I'm genuinely pissed. Every skater in this rink has had multiple emergencies, vacations, sicknesses, or job interruptions that have forced them to miss practices or even bouts.

I do it once, and suddenly, this motherfucker thinks I'm not capable of owning the rink?

"Twenty grand for the rink if you sign today." He pushes the contract over the surface of the desk toward me and then leans back into the chair.

"You said twenty-five last time we talked." I don't even know why I'm arguing. Either offer is a joke, and regardless, I'm not entertaining it.

"That was when I had more patience, when I had a rockstar jammer and a solid pivot who were reliable. Look around, Cathrine. I'm not really getting my money's worth here." He laughs, tossing his feet up on the desk and resting his arms behind his head.

"Why the fuck would I sell you Skateland?" I don't bother with politeness now. I've been holding it in for weeks, and I'm ready to get this asshole out of my face and out of my life.

"Because without me, you're going to end up spending more money to keep this place standing, and you'll be wishing you sold it for twenty grand, because a demo team is going to want thirty to clear this land before you can sell. Either way, the rink stays, you lose money, the rink goes, you lose money. Or you can sell to me."

I hate that every word he says is logical. Because he's right—without him, we weren't making it work. Without him, we were spending our own money to keep the rink standing, and even then, we weren't even WFTDA regulated. We were just playing the nearby teams for fun.

Every dime of concessions went to keeping the utilities running, and when it came time to pay taxes, Lonnie figured it out, pulling extra cash from their day job income to cover the losses.

"Ant?nia also owns the rink. I can't make this decision without her." I can't consider anything until I tell her.

"Tomorrow. Nine a.m.," he says, getting up from the chair, packing up some folders and stuffing them under his arm.

"Or what?" I laugh, like this ultimatum can do anything. He can't force me to sell.

"You've breached contract twice now, and your lack of communication gives me the grounds to dissolve your place as captain on this team, which makes me strongly consider removing you from the Devil's Dames altogether." My world is already spinning before the words are fully out of his mouth. "Or, you can buy the league back from me, and I'm gone."

Fucking snake. He's going to sell it for more than what he paid.

Has this been his game all along?

Is this his con?

I'm so mad, I can't think straight, and the minute Scott walks past me, I'm fuming. Once he's gone long enough that I can assume he's not in the rink anymore, I scream, wishing to God Lonnie could come back from the dead and tell me what to do.

Instead, the Devil sends me Stella, who doesn't even bother to knock on the door before barging into the office.

"If that wasn't a cry for help, girl, I don't know what to tell you." She plops down on the ratty old couch and waits.

"Scott is fucking us over," I tell her.

"What do you mean?" Her expression falls. "I thought he'd be buying the rink, y'all get a bunch of money, we all live happily ever after?"

She doesn't get it.

"You think if Scott buys the rink, things will change for the better?" I'm not challenging her; I genuinely want to know.

I've always valued Stella's opinion, even when I don't exactly want to hear it.

"No, I don't. But I figured that kind of money would be life-changing, and I wouldn't blame either of you for doing it, just as long as we get to keep skating." She shrugs.

"Yeah, but do we get to keep skating? Every part of me tells me I can't trust this asshole. Lonnie wouldn't have left the rink to us to sell it. Would they have?" I'm at a loss, overwhelmed, lacking sleep, my candle burning at both ends.

Bilbo once said he was stretched thin, like butter scraped over too much bread. I felt it right now.

"How much?" She bites her lip.

"Does it matter?" I breathe out a nervous laugh, knowing that it should.

I'm not sure that any amount of money could make me sell this place, though, and I know that's why Lonnie left it to me.

"Twenty grand," I tell her anyway.

"Twenty thousand!" DreadPool shouts from the doorway where they're hiding behind the wall.

That's when I notice the rest of the skaters there, listening along.

It's better this way anyway. We're a team. They deserve to be included in these conversations.

"Twenty thousand? That's a fucking joke. The land alone is worth at least fifty. Anyway, that's not what I meant. What's the deal with our contract? The Devil's Dames. We aren't changing our names just to be free of this fucker. Lonnie named us. It's ours." I love when Star gets pissed.

"We're signed for a seven year contract. Or a thirteen thousand dollar buyout." I grimace, hating the way this asshole took advantage of Lonnie, that something they thought would bring salvation to the team is now possibly going to be the cause of our ruin.

"Do you have thirteen grand?" StarScreamer asks me.

"Fuck."

"What's the alternative? Seven awkward years with this asshole benching you, Nia, and whoever else upsets him? Throwing bouts just to prove a point? Replace the team one by one? There's only so many skaters in Devil Town," Nancy Shrew says with a laugh, like the options are ludicrous.

They sound ludicrous, but for some reason, I'm still scared shitless.

I barely know who I am off this track anymore. Seven years benched, and I'll be ready to retire by the time I even get a chance to scrimmage again.

"Yeah." I nod, trying to give them a sliver of hope.

"We can figure this out. We do what Lonnie did back in the day. We rent the rink out on non-practice days. We open to the public more than one day a week. We breathe life back into this place. We can make thirteen grand happen." I'm not confident, but the least I can do is pretend.

Dread is already on their phone, likely texting D everything we're saying like a court transcriber.

"I can't do anything until I talk to Ant?nia," I tell them.

"Is she even capable of handling this kind of decision right now?" K leans on the doorframe, not committing to fully entering the room yet.

"I don't know. She's not a child, though. She's just struggling." I cut them a look, one that says it's fine if you won't put your trust in her, but don't judge me for doing it. "Once she's feeling better, we can figure it out?—"

Venice interrupts, "Do you have that long?"

"No." I sigh. "He wants an answer by tomorrow morning."

It feels hopeless.

A problem with solutions we cannot physically achieve.

By the time I get home, Nia is on the couch, sitting with D and eating a bowl of reheated caldo. It's a fresh batch. Once I realized she wasn't kidding about it being the only food she could stomach, I didn't hesitate to make more. There's a little bit of color back in her face, but she still looks two stone throws away from death.

She's alive, though.

And that's enough for me.

I smile, walking into the room and heading for my girl.

She crawls into my lap like it's the only place she belongs, and I'm soothed by the feeling of her in my arms again. I press my face to the top of her head, smelling the apricot scent of my shampoo on her hair. "You smell good." I grin, looking at D, who's taking full credit for Nia not looking like hot garbage sitting out on the curb.

"D's helped put some things into perspective for me." She smiles back at me, and it's the first time she's said something positive in days.

It feels huge.

"Anything I should know about?" I can't help but be curious.

"Nope. Just between old friends." D sticks her tongue out, then looks back at Dread. "Take me home; I gotta chat with Phil about all this."

I sigh, knowing the gossip's traveled all the way here through DreadPool's texts, and now Deandra would be taking it home to her husband. "Is everyone up to date then?"

Even Nia nods her head.

"What do you think?" I ask her.

"Skateland is home." Her eyebrows furrow like it should have been obvious to me.

It should have.

But what the fuck do we do?

Once Deandra and Dread leave, Nia and I stay exactly as we are. I settle into the couch, pulling her into me and turning on a movie. Something old, with an airplane crash, time travel, and a guy in a rabbit suit. I don't get it, but it's one of her favorites, and the distraction is simple enough.

It's such a small moment, so normal, so boring, so human. It's exactly the proof I need to know this girl is more than a hyperfixation, more than a hobby, more than an addiction. This right here, it feels good, feels right.

I could do it with her for the rest of my life.