7. Harvey

7

HARVEY

He's still going to start her. Unbelievable. She has no center of gravity, no muscle to hold her up, and the only way for her to win a jam is if the other team is somehow severely injured.

Bullshit.

Scott is punishing me for not smiling and playing along with his power trips. I'm not here to coddle a grown man's ego. I'm here to skate. With the announcement of this weekend's Slam Night roster, I storm off the track into the locker room. Should I be grateful that I'm skating at all? That I'm starting pivot?

It's impossible to feel that way when all I see is the opaque, blistering hate for these changes forced into my life. It's not like I'm some immovable force, unwilling to adapt and change. It's the opposite. I've been constantly molding and remolding myself to fit the circumstances of my life, an exhausting feat, for over two decades. When I moved to Devil Town four years ago, I was sure that things were changing, that being somewhere small and quiet would ease the internal noise disruption, soothe the need for chaos.

It worked for a while, but ever since Lonnie's death, this place has become a prison, and now more than ever, it feels like everyone and everything is working against me. I've never been a violent person. Angry? Sure. Physically capable of putting my hands on someone? Never.

But this girl?

This girl makes me see red.

Every time I think about the fact that Lonnie is gone and she is here, it drives me beyond reason. I throw my dirty clothes into my gym bag, not bothering to wait for the shower to turn hot before stepping in. The cold water is a startling shock, a welcome sensation against my hot skin.

Ant?nia was practically my baby, Lonnie would say with pride anytime a skater brought up the fact that the Nia-Death Experience had come from Skateland. You would have loved her, Cat.

Yeah. Sure. If this is love, then I can't imagine how it feels to hate her.

Clenching my fists tightly and pressing my knuckles against the cold tile of the stall as the water beats down against my skin, I wish for a dead person to come back to life. A light tapping comes from just outside my stall.

"What?" I ask, turning the water off and wrapping myself in a towel.

"You okay, Harvey?" D-Stroya's voice is quiet and meek, reminding me her confidence is likely shattered after being one of the few skaters to not pass their skills test.

She's still a Devil's Dame. It doesn't matter what Scott tries to claim. You can't take away the family we built here with something as trivial as a speed test. Still, it doesn't make it any less painful that she won't be rostered or even benched during a bout. The most she can contribute will be working merch or concession.

It suddenly makes my anger seem minimal.

"Are you?" I ask with a sigh, drying myself off as she slumps onto a bench.

"I'll be okay." She tucks a few loose locs behind her ear. "Scott's letting me test again next practice." D drops to her back, staring blankly at the ceiling while I slip on my underwear and then gym shorts over them.

"You'll pass," I assure her. Deandra's one of my longest friends on this team; skating without her wouldn't just be weird. It wasn't right.

"And if I don't, I'll be okay." She gives me a sad smile that makes me question how much of that is true and how much of it is her trying to convince herself.

I slip over my head a green Celtics basketball jersey over my sports bra before giving her a you're full of it look.

"I mean it, Cat. I'm turning forty-five this year. I've been skating for over a decade now. I was here when Lonnie bought this place, when Nia broke her leg. I was here the first time you fell on your ass." Her eyes well with tears, and she shakes her head. "I don't think I can stick around for any more changes."

"If you give me some kind of ‘I'm too old to keep skating' bullshit, I'll drag you to the rink for the next ten years myself, D," I deadpan, throwing her my flattest expression and reaching for the towel to dry my hair off.

"It's not that. I'm just at a point in my life where I crave predictability. I open the boutique every day at nine, close it at four, go home to my husband and kid, and three times a week, I come here to kick ass with you bitches." She sighs. "The money, the promises of glory, the Scott," she emphasizes with a snort, "that's not for me."

"You said you were testing again, so why does it sound like you're already giving up?" I drop the towel into my bag, zipping up the rest of my shit with no method or reason.

"Maybe I am. I just figured you deserve to know. You're one of my best friends."

Skaters trickle into the locker room, as if practice is just now officially over.

I'm sure the crocodile will have something to say about me checking out early.

He can fuck right off.

"That means I'm the last person you've told, doesn't it?" I raise a suspicious eyebrow, trying to temper my mood, because I can't risk directing it at D right at this second.

"You've been off the last couple days. I didn't want to add to your list of problems." She bites her lip, her gaze looking over at Nia coming into the locker room, all smiles and laughter as she chats with DreadPool.

I can't help but blurt out, "Does she know?"

D frowns. "Yes. Nia is also one of my oldest friends. She held my daughter when she was born, Cat."

I slam my locker shut, a few skaters flinching from the noise and pausing their casual conversations. "That's actually why I was hoping to talk to you before everybody got here." Her voice gets quieter. "Whatever you're dealing with, it isn't Nia's fault."

"Are you kidding me right now, Deandra?" I'm not about to sit through this.

"Stop." She pushes at my chest, keeping me from walking away. "If Lonnie was here, they'd be handing it to you right now. I'm happy to do it in their stead." Her voice sharpens, no longer quiet and meek, but laced with authority. "You either look out for that girl like she's family, or you're going to find yourself alone in Skateland, Harvey."

The look she gives me is cold, a warning that chills me from the inside before she turns on her heels and walks out of the locker room. I feel a stare itching in my peripheral, turning my gaze just slightly to see Nia looking at me from across the locker room.

She couldn't have heard what D said, but I'm just as annoyed as if she had.

"Jesus Christ, is that from today?" DreadPool's voice grabs her attention, swinging my gaze over to where they're inspecting Nia's already-bruising hip.

"Oh. Yeah." She gives an awkward laugh. "I bruise easily."

"Harvey also hits like an MMA fighter. You're going to be purple all over tomorrow." Dreadpool laughs, slapping her on the ass before sauntering over to the shower stalls.

There's a glint of annoyance creeping up, but I shake it off.

"Learn to take a hit." I shrug, picking up my duffel bag and throwing it over my shoulder.

"I can take a hit just fine when I'm not being bullied," she murmurs.

"Excuse me?" I drop my bag to the ground once again and turn to fully face her.