“All right, what time will you be done?”
My head jerked up. Micah’s eyebrows flicked up at me with an expression that said, “Well?”
“Um, usually around nineish.”
“Cool. I’m helping with a roller derby fundraiser and should be done by then. I can text you when I’m done.”
Before making my exit, I cast a final glance at the guys working in the back, silently thanking my lucky stars for escaping their notice. “Yeah, sounds good.”
Micah ran the back of his knuckles over my stomach and smirked. “Can’t wait.”
MICAH
Hard Knox Roller Derby always held their bouts in one of the larger convention center rooms. In a matter of two hours, volunteers had taped down the middle of the room into a makeshift track, set up the commentator station, and started blasting music.
Dakota and I were setting up the concession stand for the night, and I pulled out a stack of bills from the register to count. Beside me, Dakota arranged napkins, condiments, and such, chatting with a derby girl decked out in neon makeup that made her look like a mermaid.
I didn’t give them any attention. It was impossible with my head caught up on being with Nik three nights before. He’d been there all day, his touch thrumming in my blood, feeling the phantom weight of his body on top of mine as he held me down and rolled his hips against mine.
We’d barely had our clothes off when we came. Sex with Nik was rough and messy, and we both walked away with bruises from our teeth to prove it. Damn, I wanted more.
Dakota set down a stack of boxes, resting his hands on his hips as he looked out into the crowd. The track was already filled with skaters dancing along to the music. “Looks like a good turnout. Whenever you wanna get on the track, just let me know, and someone will come fill in for you.”
I glanced at the bag with Ada’s and my gear inside of it. When I’d pulled it out of Ada’s closet, it was dusty from neglect, and I immediately put her gear into a new bag. The last thing I wanted was for Ada to be reminded of how long she’d been off the track.
Then something tugged in my belly, an old, familiar sensation. It was an instinctual connection that began at conception and strengthened in the water of the womb, long before I took my first breath on my own or opened my eyes to the light of the world.
“Micah,” Dakota said, caution woven in my name. I knew he was trying to prepare me, thinking that I hadn’t already known she was here. “Ada—”
At the entrance, Ada regaled some story to an old teammate, her hands wildly pinwheeling. Her oversize T-shirt barely hung onto her too-thin frame, dragging down to her bare knees. It made her look like a frail, lost child. She continued to ramble, unable to recognize the discomfort on the other woman’s face.
She was high.
What she was on, I didn’t know, but she needed to get out of here before she made a scene. I shoved the cash into Dakota’s hand. “Finish this.”
Walking to the other side of the convention hall felt like I had walked the entirety of the earth. My ears rang, blocking out the commentators, the music, and the cheers of the crowd. Fire burned in my veins fueled by fury, betrayal, and hurt.
My body ran ahead of my mind as I grabbed Ada’s arm, pushing away the humiliation that rushed through me when the other woman slowly backed away while I pushed Ada out into the hall, ignoring her protests.
“What the fuck are you doing coming here like this?” I said as we stumbled into the parking lot, unable to stop myself from shouting. Ada stared up at me, her pupils eclipsing the once striking blue of her eyes. She swayed and blinked slowly, nearly collapsing into my arms. I gave her a shake, praying it’d make her come to her senses.
When it didn’t work, I tapped at her face, watching some lucidity show up in her blinking eyes. Ada looked at my hand and tried to shake out of my grip. “I told you I’d come,” Ada said, slamming her forearm on my chest in a weak attempt to push me away. I snatched her other wrist, shocked at how my hand that encircled it almost closed into a fist. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Air punched out of my chest so hard it felt like my heart had stopped beating. I’d heard Ada churn stories that were furthest from the concept of truth countless times. She’d promised and begged and offered the world to anyone who’d listen to get what she wanted. But I knew in her mind it wasn’t lying. It was an act of omission, a check that she would sign but couldn’t cash later.
This time she had almost told the truth.
I had figured at some point, I’d get used to her showing up high, but it never happened, and tonight I was mortified. I’d fooled myself into thinking she’d be clearheaded enough to remember it.
Sensing a moment to attack, Ada stabbed her finger at me. “You don’t get to be angry, okay? You asked me to show up, and I showed up.”
“Yeah, I asked you to come here, but not like this. Jesus, Ada, you’re loaded at a family event. There are children in there.” I rubbed my hands over my face to resist the urge to pick her up, shove her in the back of my car, and drive her to the nearest rehab. “I just—I want you to get help.”
Ada thrashed and smacked at my chest until I had to let go or risk hurting her. Her lip curled in a sneer as she yelled, “Will you stop saying that? Every time I see you, that’s all you say. I am getting help!”
My breath hitched. A million questions scorched in my throat. Was Ada attending meetings again? Had she found a rehab but had to wait because there was a waitlist? Did she come tonight because she really needed my help?
Could this be the moment I would get her back?
Those answers would have to be for another time. Ada could turn cold at any moment, and I had to handle this with care.
I lifted a hand toward her, taking a careful step closer as Ada stumbled away, and a sob ripped out of her. It rang in my ears and my stomach sank as she placed a palm over her mouth to cover another toe-curling scream. She was nothing but a little girl, helpless and afraid.
“Where are you getting help?” I asked, keeping my voice soft.
Ada began to pace in front of me, her shaky hands picking at the air like she was trying to puzzle out how to put a sentence together.
“There’s this—this number you can call when you’re using, right? And, well, they talk to you so if anything happens, they get help.”
This was a new development. I doubted that this hotline was doing anything to help her, but it could plant the idea that she could work to recovery. What if this was what it took for me to break through the fog of her addiction and have her really get the help she needed?
“I hate how you want me to be someone I’m not,” Ada said, rubbing the heel of her hand over her nose. “I hate how you’re ashamed of me.”
I scrubbed a palm over my face. “Bubbie, I don’t think that at all.”
“Stop calling me that,” Ada said with a vibrance that carried through the parking lot. She picked up her pace, rushing up and down the sidewalk, her hands flinging in front of her. “Every time I come and see you, you’re always giving me a hard time. I don’t even know why I bother.”
