Glancing at the clock above the hallway mirror in the entryway, I swung my gym bag over my shoulder. Picasso padded over, head bowed low. He laid down in front of the door with a mournful and throaty plaint.
“Buddy,” I spoke softly, kneeling down to pet him. “I’m gonna be gone for a few hours at the very most, but Rowan is coming over to hang out with you. You like spending time with your dad.” Sensing free cuddles, Dali joined us. She bumped my hand, the universal signal for a good scratch behind the ears.
“You guys,” I sighed. “I know we’re not your actual parents. I also know you can’t fully comprehend, but I promise you. Rowan and I love you so much. Humans are idiots sometimes, okay? Your dad and I are King and Queen Dumb. If we could’ve gotten our shit together, you wouldn’t be hurting. If only I could crawl into his head and fix things. I’m sorry I can’t do that. He’ll be here soon, though. There’ll be playing and a long w-a-l-k.”
I grabbed my phone from my back pocket and snapped a picture of the furry pair. I sent it to Rowan with the caption: Your biggest fans can’t wait to see you.
It was a weird thing to do. Texting Rowan. I probably shouldn’t have done it. He might get the wrong idea.
Oh, who was I even kidding?
I would get the wrong idea. The only consolation — a tiny one — was that couples with kids needed to talk, no matter how bad things got between them.
One text message about the dogs was not a gateway back to Rowan Walker.
It was wholly for the sake of our dependents.
“Behave, you two,” I warned lovingly.
Picasso moved away from the door, but barely. Sensing his distress, Dali sidled up to him.
“See?” I forced some cheer. “You’ve got each other.”
Off in the distance, I heard, actually heard Penny driving up my long laneway. It was impossible not to. She listened to her music way too loud. I kissed the furbabies goodbye and locked the door behind me to a blaring tune streaming out from the bright turquoise crossover vehicle. With Pénélope behind the wheel, it fit that the brand of the car was a four-letter word.
“Allons-y, mademoiselle.” Penny wiggled her eyebrows and (thankfully) turned the volume down on the radio. The low thrum of whatever metal band was playing made my heart thump despite the decreased volume. “Are you ready to kick some serious ass?”
“Yup.” I threw my bag into the backseat before buckling up.
Pénélope snorted, her fingers tapping her steering wheel as she maneuvered the vehicle backward, foot to the floor. Noticing my clenched fists, Penny threw an accusing glance my way.
“You okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re so convincing. J’te crois même pas,” she added in her native tongue.
“Which translates to…
She flipped me the bird with a good-humored chuckle. “French is one of two official languages in Canada. You really should learn a bit.”
“I know, I know. And if we had more French-speaking instructors, we wouldn’t be losing our clients to the gym in Saint-Canton.”
“Ding, ding, ding. I can teach you, though I’m not the greatest teacher.”
I scoffed. “Says the woman who spent the last month pleading with me to let her teach a yoga class.”
She waved me off, pulling an exceptionally dangerous maneuver to merge onto the highway. My stomach rolled, and I gripped the holy shit handle.
“You drive like a lunatic. I really wish you’d let me drive into Ottawa.”
“I’m a wonderful driver,” she argued. “You need to unclench that fine ass of yours.”
A peek at the speedometer told me that she was driving thirty kilometers over the speed limit. Penny also had a hard time using her signal lights.
“You’re tense.” She passed a little green car on the inside, earning her a loud honk from the driver.
I motioned to the road. “Can you blame me?”
“We’re literally on the way to a roller derby game where bloody noses and bruises are par for the course. Don’t be so precious.”
“I mean.” I pulled out my favorite go-to words.
To me, it was a complete sentence. Sometimes I didn’t want to elaborate; other times I thought others should know what I meant.
“Violette en bicyclette.” The French nursery rhyme Penny used as my name didn’t make me laugh this time. “This is a good exercise for you. Chill.”
“What? Shaving years off my life because you insist on driving?”
“It’s good for you to relinquish control.” She tried to lead me into some meditative breathing.
It didn’t work.
As the ride into Ottawa took about forty-five minutes from Eastwood, carpooling to our game made sense. I only wished I was the driver. Pénélope stuck me into a deal when I joined the team: she drives, or I stay home. It was a challenge – a dare. Obviously, I couldn’t back down.
Tonight, we were playing against the reigning champions, Satan’s Rejects. It would be a rough game, but all done with enthusiastic sportsmanship. Fall on your butt? No problem. Someone would help you up. Elbow an opponent in the nose? Nice shot shouted out without a hit of malice, simply well-earned revenge.
That’s what the pack, the other members of the team, was for. Our team, The Patriarchy Smashers, was made up of fourteen women. I was on friendly terms with most of them, but they were Penny’s crowd. She was one of the founding members, going back a few years before we met. She begged me to join because they needed a jammer.
I enjoyed roller derby. A lot. It reminded me of my fighting days as a young teen. Despite Pénélope driving like a toddler playing bumper cars, I couldn’t wait to skate on the track, to shove past the other team to score points. The excitement coursed through me; I nearly leaped from the moving car a couple of times. I couldn’t wait to let loose. I had some stuff to work through during the game.
Mostly the strange sensation curling around me ever since my tense hug with Rowan. That forehead kiss nearly earned him a good smack.
Or a visit to our bedroom.
I wasn’t too sure. Hence the deep need for some contact sport.
“Dude. Where did you get your driver’s license?” I asked Penny as I grabbed my gym bag from the backseat once we arrived (sort of) safely at the arena.
She laughed and locked the doors of her deathmobile. “I’m a fine driver, Vi. You’re a little old granny for some stuff.”
Penny hooked her arm in mine and hip-bumped me with another giggle. “I might drive fast, but I’ve never crashed. I know what I’m doing.” Her pastel rainbow hair was completely at odds with the glint in her eyes.
It was no use arguing with her. Besides I wanted to enjoy the moment as we walked into the arena. It always gave me a thrill, bringing me back to my MMA competitions. It was the same sort of rush that sped up my circulation. I loved competing. Though I typically preferred individual sports, roller derby was different. I enjoyed playing my part in the game, knowing the others had my back.
We pushed through the front door and made our way to the changing rooms. The place was packed with both teams, not that you could tell we were about to tear into each other while teetering on roller skates. Happy shouts and jabs were thrown around as we all slipped on our gear and jerseys – red and white for Satan’s Rejects and purple and black for us.
Our logo, a fist punching through a brick wall, spanned across our chests, where our opponents had a sexy demon winking at us as we made our way to the flat track. As a leisure league, we weren’t ready for a raised one, but Penny had dreams of leading us to that level. That would be when I bowed out. I did this for fun. It was a good way to unwind, but that was it.
That and burning off intense hugs and sweet kisses.
The stands weren’t exactly packed, mostly populated with significant others and friends. We streamed into the arena to some classic rock, all sang by badass women, obviously.
“You ready, Violent Rose?” Penny slipped on her mouthguard.
“You bet, Penny Dreadful.”
She cackled, getting a kick from our player names. She tapped the star on my helmet that labeled me a jammer. My whole purpose was to lap the other players around the track. For every opponent I passed, I earned the Patriarchy Smashers a point. Penny and the rest of the pack had to block the other team’s jammer and thwart their pack from intercepting me. It was a fast-paced game that could lead to some interesting injuries, but it was a good time. Our team played pretty well together, even though we didn’t have that many practices.
I spend most of my life in complete control of absolutely everything. My business, myself, my (ex) boyfriend. It all hung on the very thin balance beam. When on the track, that melted away.
I became Violent Rose.
A completely different person. There was no control. There was adrenaline. Freedom. Speed.
Skating with everything I had, I wove through our rivals. The flight of my feet was liberating. My vision cleared, my instincts guiding me to the right, tight spots. If only life was this easy. Moving through obstacles, knowing nothing but bruises could hurt me. Maybe a couple of cuts.
No heartache, though. I’d take physical pain over an emotional wound any day.
By the time Penny and I drove back to Eastwood after a pretty close game, I was lighter. My thoughts were sharper, my muscles blissfully tired. I barely noticed Pénélope’s speeding.
Barely.
“I needed this tonight.” I laid back in the seat, closing my eyes for a second. I ached, but it was well worth the release of endorphins exercising always gave me. I was bone-tired and would no doubt sleep really well if Picasso didn’t perform his whole werewolf routine. Hopefully, his evening with Rowan had curbed the dog’s anxiety.
“Bon! See? And it only took you a thousand years to join up.”
I chuckled. “Focus on the road.”
“Right. You sit pretty and let the magic of the derby heal the holes in your soul.” She turned the volume up on the stereo.
For once, it wasn’t loud, headache-inducing metal. It was a soft folksy tune with a simple guitar melody and a smooth male voice. It was familiar. Too familiar.
“Is this Flynn Blair?” He was something of a local legend in Eastwood. My brother booked him and his band quite often at Tankard. He recently returned to town from an extended Canadian tour, playing a few fairs and small music festivals. Many women and some men of Eastwood would love nothing more than to date the songster. I was shocked. Flynn was very different from Pénélope’s usual music – and dudes. “The Flynn Blair?”
Despite the dark, Penny’s blush was pretty damn obvious. “Yup.”
“Do you care to elaborate?” I turned in my seat, curiosity prickling my scalp.
“Nope.” She popped the p.
“Huh. How come?”
Pénélope snorted. “Do you care to explain why your ex is spending his evening at your place?”
“I retract my question.” I crossed my arms against the answer I wouldn’t… couldn’t give.
Victorious, Penny snickered. “That’s what I thought.”
We lapsed into silence, but after the sixteenth close call with another car, I threw my hands up. “It’s not like he’ll still be there when I get home.”
“Sure.” Penny didn’t believe me. I didn’t either. Or maybe it was hope that dropkicked my pulse into a frenzy the closer we got to Eastwood.
“No. Really,” I insisted, ignoring my dumb, sucker-for-punishment heart. “Rowan went over to keep the babies company. I didn’t want them alone all night after a full day of no human contact. Not with Picasso’s anxiety. The vet made me do it.”
“Okay.”
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
I clicked my tongue. “Being so quiet and agreeable. It’s not very Pénélope Labelle of you. I know you’re judging.”
“Am not, no. I’m only concerned.”
“About me?”
She inhaled and held her breath for a few seconds. “About the effect Rowan has on you, my dear boss lady.”
“He doesn’t have an effect on me.” My argumentative tone fell flat.
She snorted. “Yes. He does. He really does. And what’s worse, you know he does. After nineteen years together, all of his… stuff? And a breakup? You’re still in love with him.”
“I didn’t break things off because I stopped loving him.” Speaking the words out loud for the first time didn’t take away their power. At all.
In fact, they seemed to take shape, become a real, tangible weight that wrapped around me.
I love him, but he’s too lost. He won’t let me help, and I’m too weak to stand by and watch him destroy himself.
“Then why?” She flicked her eyes toward me, away from the winding highway.
I swallowed despite the ball of unshed tears that had low-key suffocated me for weeks now. “I was scared for him.”
Penny frowned at the road. “For him?”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “I tried to help him after the accident. I tried and tried. I did everything I could think of, but no matter what I did, he retreated further away from me.”
Penny flicked off the stereo. She meant business. She never didn’t have music playing. “Violet, the man lost his father in a pretty horrific way.”
“I know.”
“There’s no time limit on grief.”
“I know that, too. But it doesn’t mean I have to stand by and watch someone I love destroy himself. I did that once. I’m not doing it again.” My voice broke on tears I immediately knocked back with a solid one-two.
“Oh, pinotte,” she sighed. “You can’t compare those two situations.”
My eyes burned. “Can’t I?” Because it was too late. “He needs help.”
Rowan refused to acknowledge it. I couldn’t be the last line of defense between him and the darkness. I would fail. I had failed.
I had made up my mind and ended a nineteen-year relationship. Rowan and I went through a lot together, even before we were a couple. When we were kids, itty bitty humans, we grappled with the possibility of death without understanding it. Not really. Rowan lived with us while his parents stayed in Ottawa to be close to the NICU for the first six months of his sister’s life. For a long time, no one knew if Libby would see her first birthday.
We thought that was hard.
We had no idea.
When Craig died years later, hardship was redefined. Loss was no longer this shapeless shadow. It was a concrete weight around my neck.
My older brother was one hell of a rowdy child. He did whatever he wanted with very little regard for the people who loved him. He listened for a little while. Then, he started to slip further away into his wildness, completely losing touch with reality. It didn’t matter how many times I pleaded with him to slow down. He saw foes where he once saw his family. He pushed back, back, and back some more until he ignored everything I said.
Until he full out ignored me.
Craig became unreachable, even if he sat by me at the dinner table. The last words I spoke to him would haunt me for the rest of my life. We fought. Hard.
And just like that, he was dead. I’d driven him too far away, and I’d never get to fix it.
Craig was gone because he was too attached to his harmful ways to see that he was loved and mattered to many people.
Rowan was doing the same.
He pulled away from me, retreating deep into the waters where I knew I would lose him. I’d buried one self-destructive person. I wouldn’t do it again.
I couldn’t.
“The breakup hurts less now.”
Because I decided it had to. Because it wasn’t a sudden death. Because I controlled it. It can’t hurt if I do it to myself.
“Lady, you need help.” Penny whistled low. “Way more than roller derby.”
I flipped her off, knowing she was right.