The Mane Squeeze

CHAPTER 28

Gwen rolled around and around that little hallway about a hundred feet away from the locker rooms. She should stop, take a breath, but the fact she couldn’t breathe was making at least one of those impossible.

With her hands clasped tightly together, Gwen kept focusing on trying to force herself to breathe and not vomit.

Vomit, bad. Breathing, good.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. And she’d been a fool to agree to this. But now Gwen was in and couldn’t get out.

Why? a sane person may ask.

Because, in the end, Gwen had been unable to pass up the chance to take the trophy out of McNelly’s mannish grip. And that’s exactly what Blayne had used to get Gwen to agree to this stupidity knowing that Gwen didn’t give a fuck about Pack wars or Smiths or men named “Eggie.” No, it was Gwen’s ego that had gotten her here. And either this would go down in history as the bout that stopped a war or it would go down as the time an O’Neill vomited on the track.

What had never occurred to Gwen, what she hadn’t thought about when she’d agreed to this, was her fear of facing the screaming crowd—again. That’s what had gotten her nailed during her first bout all those years ago and it seemed that fear hadn’t changed. And that’s why she felt ready to vomit.

God, what if I do vomit on the track? There will be no coming back from that! she thought hysterically.

The door to the small hallway where she’d been hiding opened. “I’ll be fine, Blayne,” she said without looking up. And she knew it was Blayne, because the wolfdog had been trying to calm her down for the last two hours, but she’d only managed to make Gwen ten thousand times more nervous. “No need to worry. I’m fine.”

“And you call me a lousy liar.”

Gwen’s head snapped up and she never thought there’d be a day where she’d be ecstatic to be startled by a grizzly.

He would have walked right by her if it hadn’t been for her scent. That would never change—thank God—but the rest of her sure had. At least for the moment.

She had on thick black eyeliner and her naturally long lashes were even longer and thicker. She wore blush on her cheeks, and her lipstick was dark red and glossy. She had her curly hair pulled into two small ponytails and a black headband covered in skulls and crossbones tied around her forehead.

Lock had debated about coming back here, not wanting to make her any more nervous than he already knew she was, but then he’d gotten that text from Blayne. It had one word…“Help!”

Gwen rolled over to him and right into his arms. “Oh, my God! I’m so glad you’re here!”

Rubbing her back, Lock decided not to be too freaked out about her wardrobe. He didn’t mind the glittery, bright red four-wheel skates. They were cute. But Gwen was hot when she wore her cargo pants and an old Eagles sweatshirt. Now she was volcano-hot in black fishnet stockings with kneepads over them, a miniscule red pair of shorts, three layered tank tops with red on the bottom, black over that, and white on top, black elbow pads, and body glitter smeared on her biceps and neck that made the tattoos on her arms pop.

He was torn between wanting to show her off to everyone and covering her with his jacket.

But before he could worry about that, he had another concern at the moment…

“Why do you have Van Holtz on your ass?”

Startled, Gwen glanced at her ass as if expecting to find Ric there. Thankfully for the wolf, he wasn’t. However, his name was there…right on Gwen’s ass. Or, in this instance, her shorts. Her derby name—TastySkate—and her number “59” were on her tank top.

“According to Blayne, he’s a sponsor.”

“Does he know his family name is on the asses of a Roller Derby team?”

“Doubt it.”

Okay, that was actually kind of funny. “And TastySkate?”

She let out a sigh. “You know…like Tastykake.”

“You mean the fine makers of my favorite Krimpets?”

She glared up at him and hissed, “Yes. Like the Krimpets and cupcakes and the pies that we of the Tri-States all grew up loving. It was either that or Philly Killsteak.” When Lock frowned, she added, “You know…like Philly cheesesteak?”

When he laughed, she scowled, so he stopped.

“Gwen, you’re going to be great. You shouldn’t be worried.”

“Oh, I know. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She was lying again. He knew that because Gwen was shaking. His Gwen. Fistfight with an entire derby team? Nothing. Taking his intimidating uncles at poker? Nothing. Getting in a vicious revenge fight with crazy wolves in the basement of a club? Eh.

Putting on derby skates and facing off against her mother’s reputation? A mess.

“Gwenie?” He tightened his grip on her, hoping that talking would get it out of her. Although, Gwen wasn’t much of a talker. “What is it? What’s really bothering you?”

Gwen may not be much of a talker, but once she got going…

“What if I screw up? What if I blow it? What if I let the team down? What if I make a complete fucking idiot out of myself? In front of everybody? What if I lose to that humongous bitch? What if I get so injured I can never walk again? What if there’s a war anyway? What if I embarrass my mother? What if I embarrass myself? What if your parents find out? What if your sister does? What if—”

“Okay, okay.” He had a feeling she could run with the “what if” scenarios until the next millennium and he knew they didn’t have that kind of time right now. So what should he do? Tragically, he knew what he had to do. As much as it appalled him, he knew there was only one thing he could do at this moment to snap his Gwen out of this.

So, taking a page from the Alla Baranova-MacRyrie handbook of motivational techniques, Lock said, “Hey, I totally understand if you can’t do this.”

“You do?”

“Sure. I mean…McNelly’s good.”

Gwen snorted. “She’s brute force. That’s different from being good.”

“But she’s bigger than you, weighs more than you, and you can’t shift into cat or pull out that razor blade when you’re on the track, so you have no real advantage over her. And…to be honest—” Oh and this would be the hardest part to say “—I don’t want you out there. I want you home, safe…where I can protect you.”

Gwen eased out of his arms, her body gliding away because of her skates, her gold eyes peering at him curiously. “What?”

“I said, go put your clothes back on and let me take you home. This is no place for you. You’re mine now and I want you safe and preferably unmarred.”

Her hands went on her waist, her red, white, and black nails tap-tap-tapping against her hips. “You don’t think I can do it.”

Lock shrugged. “Sweetie, she’s gonna kick your ass.”

“Did you just call me sweetie?”

“You rather I call you baby?”

Without another word, Gwen rolled past him and into the main hallway that led to the stadium.

“Good,” he said behind her as the Babes rolled out of the locker room, Blayne moving in front of them. “I’ll take you home and we can forget all about this. I’ll always take care of you, Gwenie. You’ll never have to worry about anything.”

Blayne’s eyes grew wide and her gaze bounced back and forth between Gwen and Lock.

Slowly Gwen faced him. “I don’t need anybody to take care of me. Especially freakishly sized bears with kumquat heads.” She held her hand out and one of the Babes slapped a helmet into her palm. “Now get the fuck out of my way.”

She rolled toward the stadium entrance, where they’d wait to make their grand entrance, and the team followed right behind her.

Reaching out, Lock snagged Blayne by the forearm and pulled her back. “When this is over, she still better love me.”

“Don’t worry about anything,” Blayne promised. She leaped up and kissed his cheek. “You’re the bestest bear ever.”

“Yeah, but I better not be the loneliest,” he called after her.

Typical. Absolutely typical. Show a man a moment of weakness and he figures he can turn you into a barefoot breeder making him honey-soaked meals all day.

“You all right, Gwenie?” Blayne asked.

When all Gwen could manage was a growl, Blayne didn’t say another word.

As they waited in the long hallway that led out to the stadium, the Furriers rolled in. Their uniforms were cute little plaid skirts and tiny pink and black tops to match. But it didn’t matter. McNelly still looked like a big bitch in a cute-girl’s outfit.

McNelly stopped in front of Gwen and stared down at her. What was happening between McNelly and Gwen was something that went back to their mothers’ time when the derby queens wore a lot less makeup but lived the life of the true derby girl.

Now all that past shit was coming down to this and Gwen wouldn’t back away. Yeah, her mother embarrassed the holy hell out of her, but she was still her mother and Gwen was still an O’Neill.

“See you out on the track, O’Neill.”

McNelly followed after her team and Blayne muttered, “I hate her.”

“Yeah…but I hate her more.”

And that was why if Gwen went down tonight, she’d go down fighting—and she’d make sure to take McNelly with her.

Lock stood at one of the entrances to the VIP seats, searching for his parents and Ric. His father had insisted on coming. “How could I miss something so interesting?” Of course, his mother was no better. “Females in a battle of strength? Why would I miss that? Besides, it’s our Gwenie!” Iona, however, had simply stared at him when he mentioned it to her. But she did promise to have the emergency room on alert should any of the players need medical care.

After a few moments, Lock saw Ric with Brody and Alla sitting behind him, but when he saw who surrounded them, he started to back away until two sets of strong hands grabbed him from behind.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

The two lion brothers hauled him toward Ric.

“You didn’t really think we’d let you get out of this so easy, did you?” Brendon Shaw asked.

“You wanna be with my baby sister, then you’ll have to get the full experience,” Mitch said.

They dragged him to the section that had been taken over by the O’Neill Pride, the Smith Pack, and the Kuznetsov Pack. Several of them had banners, air horns, and superbly made T-shirts with Gwen’s name on it.

“Lock!” they all cheered when he stood in front of them.

“I’m so sorry,” Ric mouthed. He glanced at the female who had her arm around him. Roxy O’Neill.

“Lock! You sit right here, baby-boy.” She nudged Ric. “Move handsome. I want this gorgeous grizzly to sit near me.” Once Ric had moved over, she patted the empty spot beside her.

Mitch and Brendon pushed Lock and he snarled, snapping at them both.

Roxy O’Neill laughed and clapped her hands together. “And cranky just like a bear should be! I love it!”

Remembering well how his mother warned him falling in love often had unpleasant side effects, Lock stepped past several rows of Gwen’s family and friends until he could drop down next to Gwen’s mother. He held his hand out. “Hi, Miss O’Neill.”

“Call me Roxy, Baby-boy. Everybody calls me Roxy.” She ignored his hand and pulled his head down so she could kiss him on the cheek. “I’ve just been chattin’ with your parents.”

“It’s been fascinating,” his mother said, but when he looked back at her, she crossed her eyes in exasperation.

“But you and I will talk after the bout,” Roxy threatened. “I want to know all about you.”

Lock scowled at both lion males sitting one row back and over, and they gave him the finger. Philly bastards.

“I can’t see past your giant melon head,” a thick Southern accent complained.

Lock looked over his shoulder. “If I tear your head off that measly body, I can put you in my lap for a much better view.”

“Or we can switch!” Jess said, stepping over her mate and forcing him to move one seat over so she was now next to Lock’s parents. “Hi, Lock.”

“Hi, Jess.”

“I’ll just lean on you like this.” She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around his neck, and rested her chin against his shoulder. “Then I can see everything.”

“Jessica Ann—”

“You started this, Smitty, and I’m comfortable.”

“Jessica, I’m not letting you—”

“Don’t make me upset!” Jess screamed in Smitty’s face, shocking everyone but her fellow Packmates, who had to quickly look away so they could laugh in peace. “I wanna rest on Lock!”

“Okay! Okay! Calm down!”

Brody watched Jess as if she were a coiled snake ready to strike, but Alla only rubbed her nose and looked off, a little snort slipping by. Jess returned to her spot on Lock’s shoulder, her cute face pressed against his. “I swear,” she whispered against his ear, “I’m going to stay pregnant all the time. I totally have control when I’m pregnant.”

“That innocent face attached to that ruthless heart.”

She snickered until the lights shut completely off and that rough female voice from the first derby bout Lock had gone to came over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’re about to experience a night you will always remember. A night of raw spectacle and unbridled brutality. Welcome, one and all…to the East Coast Roller Derby Finals!”

The crowd roared, but Gwen’s mother was the one who could be heard above everybody else.

“You’ve been waiting all year for it. And now it’s about to happen. Hold on to your seats and gird your loins for the battle of the century. The Staten Island Furriers versus The Assault and Battery Park Babes!”

More roaring, which could be barely heard above Gwen’s mother.

“Now get ready, because this is the time. This is the place. Because these tough bitches are going to leave the track soaked in the blood of their enemies!”

Lock and Jess looked at each other, Jess’s adorable face scrunched up in disgust. “What the hell kind of intro is that?”

“I bring you last year’s regional and national champions…The Staten Island Furriers!”

The spotlights hit the track and the Furriers were spread out, their heads down, each one wearing a fur hoodie.

“What do you wanna bet those jackets are made from the fur of animals they’ve skinned themselves?” Jess joked.

Lock snorted as music came up and the player at the very end rolled across the track, moving around her teammates, a spotlight on her as she picked up speed. The wild dogs groaned in disgust and Jess shook her head.

“What?”

“‘More Human Than Human’ by Rob Zombie for their introduction music? How clichéd.” And she sounded just like a 1980s Valley Girl when she said that, too.

When the music picked up, the lone skater passed the first player and the whole team took off, keeping time to the music and pulling the hoods of their jackets off as the announcer called out their team names. As before, they were perfectly in sync and did some very cool dance moves as they skated.

But apparently that wasn’t good enough for her Ladyship of the Wild Dogs.

“Unimpressed,” Jess muttered.

The Furriers finished their presentation, the crowd cheering wildly, especially the section directly across from where Lock and Gwen’s supporters were sitting. There he could see Sharyn McNelly. She raised her hand in the air and gave the finger most likely to Roxy, who responded by giving both fingers with her sisters joining in.

Yeah, it was going to be a long bout.

As the Furriers rolled to the infield to get ready, the lights were lowered again and the announcer came back on.

“They began as the new predators on the block, but they’ve clawed their way to the top. They’re tough, they’re brutal, but they’re always ladies. Let’s hear it for the one, the only…the Assault and Battery Park Babes!”

The announcer screamed, the crowd screamed, and a guitar riff Lock hadn’t heard in years blasted through the speakers. Joan Jett and the Blackheart’s “Bad Reputation” played and the Assault and Battery Park Babes tore out on the track. They came out screaming, pumping their fists, and getting the crowd ready. As they did, the announcer called out the derby name of each teammate and the corresponding female did some stunt to get the crowd wild, including leaps, splits, and flips. When they called out “Evie Viserate!” Blayne sped forward, turned, and backflipped, landing on both feet. Unlike during the Furriers presentation, the wild dogs were standing, Jess resting her knees on Lock’s shoulders and applauding like crazy.

But then the announcer called out Gwen.

“And new to the team tonight, let’s welcome Number Fifty-Nine, the classic Philly treat—TastySkate!”

If there had been screaming and cheering before, no one would ever know it. Not when everyone in their section got to their feet, stomping and cheering—even Lock. But hell! This was his woman!

And because his woman rocked the universe, Gwen did a forward flip, her hands bracing her on the track and flipping her body over. She landed easily, but she wasn’t done. Blayne caught hold of one of Gwen’s hands and flipped Gwen forward again, this time using only the momentum of their matched speed.

The crowd loved it and, Lock had to admit, so did he.

The song ended and the Babes rolled into the infield. A bony elbow slammed into Lock’s side and Roxy leaned over. “I taught my Gwenie that move.”

He smiled appropriately, nodded and when Roxy looked away, he glared over at Mitch and Brendon—who gave him the finger.

But she’s worth it, he reminded himself. Anybody who could look that good in those shorts was worth every second of this torture.

Gwen didn’t go out for the first jam. They sent Pom-Pom Killer out for that, which gave Gwen ample time to stand around being nervous.

Tragically, Pom-Pom ended up eating track thirty seconds in, taken down by one of the knuckle-dragger She-wolves of the Furriers, and although Pom-Pom got back up and kept going, she never could get through and past the pack to get even a chance to earn some points.

“You ready?” Cherry asked, shoving the black jammer helmet with big red stars on both sides at Gwen.

“Yeah,” she said with way more confidence than she could ever hope to feel. “I’m ready.”

“Good. Keep your eye on me and Blayne. And, Gwen,” she motioned to the blockers and pivots who’d already moved out on the track for the next Jam, “she’s out there. Be ready for her.”

“I know.”

“And don’t forget the rules, because that’s where she’s gonna fuck with you. She’s gonna push you to lose it. But remember, no claws, no fangs.”

Gwen nodded and rolled out on the track, the crowd suddenly getting louder and she knew that was because of her family and friends.

Ignore them. Ignore them.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she looked up at Blayne. Even with that muzzle on her face, Blayne was obviously smiling. Gwen could see it by the way her eyes crinkled in the corners.

“Watch me, babe. Don’t let anything stop you.”

Again, Gwen nodded and moved over to stand by the Furriers’ jammer. With her hands balled into fists and her arms bent at the elbow, Gwen crouched down, ready to take off.

The first whistle sounded and the pack took off, already jostling for position. She waited, holding her breath, and then she heard it; the second whistle sounded, and Gwen shot off, using the natural power of her legs to propel her forward. The crowd noise got louder, but she couldn’t focus on any of it as her gaze sought out either Blayne or Cherry in the mass of pushing and shoving bodies ahead of her.

She saw Blayne first and Gwen picked up speed, heading for her and the hand that would grab hold of her and launch her through the pack. Her mind was so focused on reaching that gloved hand, she didn’t see anything else. But she heard the scream of warning from the other Babes watching from the infield.

She looked in time to see McNelly coming right for her. Gwen jerked her body around, but for her size, McNelly was faster than Gwen realized, catching hold of Gwen around the waist and lifting her off the track. The She-wolf spun and used the momentum to launch Gwen right over the railing.

Gwen’s small body slammed into the protective glass that was up between the track and the bleachers.

The entire section reared back—except Lock and the wild dogs who’d already been through this with Blayne—the cheers and clapping fading out as they sat there.

Brody tapped his finger against his chin, analytical as always. “Is that why there’s protective glass? Because of all the body tossing they do during the bout?”

“And for the blood. See?” Jess pointed to several cute but young girls standing around with buckets, watching the action from the walkway between the track and the stands. “They’re cleaners. You’ll see them occasionally come by and clean the glass or track of blood or whatever.”

Wincing, Lock rubbed his forehead. “Or whatever?” he asked Jess.

He felt her small body shrug against his. It seemed she still had no intention of moving away from his shoulders.

Next to Lock, Gwen’s mother was craning her neck, trying to see what happened to her daughter as the Jam continued without her.

“Ma, look!” Mitch said, pointing halfway down the walkway that encircled the track. None had even seen Gwen move from where she’d landed.

But she’d dragged herself to her feet, and now she was moving, faster and faster.

“Uh-oh.”

Lock didn’t even look at Roxy. “Uh-oh? What uh-oh?”

“When it comes to business, baby-boy, my Gwenie takes after me. It’s all about the ducats. But when it comes to suppressed rage that explodes when least expected, she definitely takes after her daddy.” Wringing her hands as they watched Gwen pick up speed from outside the track, she added, “I just hope she doesn’t get kicked from the game.”

Yeah, he was afraid to know the answer, but he still had to ask the question. “How does one get kicked out of a game where rules seem to be few?”

“For my cousin Maureen, she had to snap a hyena’s spine clean in half—of course, she did it on purpose. And if we hadn’t pulled her off when we did, she would have ripped that spine right out along with that hyena’s head.”

“She’s going!” Mitch warned and he was right.

“She’s got her daddy’s legs, too,” Roxy added right as her daughter went airborne, the power of her legs taking her up and over the railing and into Donna McNelly. She hit her with such force, the two slammed into the ground and then kept rolling until they were deep in the infield. The referees and the two teams surged on them, trying to separate them, but even in that pile, Lock could still see Gwen’s fist as it rose up again and again before slamming into whatever part of McNelly she had a hold of.

Sure, the Gwen cheering section went wild behind and around him—especially Alla, who seemed to be enjoying her first bout immensely—but then so did everyone else except for the growing-smaller-by-the-second Furrier fans across from them.

In that moment, TastySkate was the darling of most of the audience. And she probably didn’t even know it.

It took most of her team to pull Gwen off McNelly, and most of the Furriers to hold McNelly back. But once they were separated, the referees put Gwen in the penalty box—actually a bench in the infield, but whatever—and only the Furriers’ jammer on the track for the next jam. In other words, the jammer wouldn’t have to worry about anything but getting through the pack and getting points in the next two minutes, because the Babes wouldn’t have their own jammer out there.

Panting, Gwen sat on the bench and kept her head down, completely embarrassed. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking.

Blayne dropped down next to her.

“What are you doing here?” Gwen asked.

“They suggested I may have slammed the Furriers’ pivot in the back of the head with my knee—repeatedly—until I got to you. But I don’t agree!” she yelled over at the refs, who ignored her.

Gwen bumped her forearm into Blayne’s. “I’m sorry, Blaynie. I fucked up.”

“Getting thrown out of the game would be fucked up. Mostly because you kind of have to kill somebody.”

“Nice.”

“I like the precise rules we have.” She unhooked the right side of her muzzle.

“I let you guys down. I let her piss me off.”

“Gwen…listen to the crowd.”

“I hear them. It’s Ma and Mitch and those insane wild dogs.”

“No, sweetie. It’s not just them.”

Gwen finally lifted her head and looked around. Blayne was right. The entire crowd was chanting her name and screaming for her to be back on the track.

“Bitch, they love you.”

“I don’t…” Gwen shook her head. “I…I…”

Blayne put her hand on her knee. “All I want you to do, Gwen, is when you get back out there—you be the most diabolical, calculating, plotting bitch that you are in everyday life. You don’t let anything get in your way. You don’t let anything stop you.”

“That’s an interesting pep talk.”

Blayne gave the grin. “You can thank Daddy.”

Gwen glanced at the scoreboard. “We’re already six points behind.”

“So? This championship is still ours to take.”

Gwen rested her arm against her knee and wiped blood from the open wound on her forehead. “You know, it was this sort of attitude that nearly got us expelled from St. Mary’s of Perpetual Sorrow.”

“I still say it was a fair question to ask.”

“Not when the Pope is coming to visit.”

Blayne held her hand out—after flicking the blood off—and Gwen clasped it with her own.

“Let’s win this, Gwenie.”

Gwen smiled. “You’re on.”

“Five bucks, though, you crack a nail.”

Gwen glanced down at her hands while Blayne hooked her muzzle back on. “You are so on.”

“I have to be honest,” Ric admitted, looking away from Gwen and Blayne in the infield and at Lock. “I’ve never found a handshake so frightening before.”

“I can’t argue that observation.”

“I do have a question for you.”

“Sure.”

“Why is my family name on the Babes’ asses?”

“Because apparently you’re a sponsor.”

Ric let out a sigh. “I was afraid you were going to say something like that.”

Gwen rolled out on the track, Blayne beside her. When they separated, they tapped fists and got into position. McNelly rolled by Gwen, winking at her. Lifting both hands, Gwen gave her the finger—twice.

The two teams laughed, as did the audience. But Gwen wasn’t laughing and neither was McNelly.

As she’d done before, Gwen crouched and waited for the second whistle that would be her signal. The Furriers’ jammer stood next to her. She remembered this one from Blayne’s first bout. A superfast cheetah with a mean streak named Pussy-N-Boots.

“You sure you’re up for this, Fresh Meat?” she asked, grinning at her.

Gwen shrugged shyly. “I hope so,” she replied in a small voice.

She saw the cheetah’s grin get wider. “You’ll be fine, kid,” she said.

The first whistle blew and the pack took off. A moment later, the second whistle. Pussy-N-Boots shot forward and Gwen came up after her…behind her. Reaching down, she caught hold of one of those long cheetah legs and gripped it with both her hands. Spinning around and using the upper-body strength she’d inherited from her mother, Gwen lifted the Furriers’ jammer up and flung her out and over the railing. Without waiting to see where the female landed or if she’d cleared the railing, Gwen spun completely around and took off after the pack.

As she moved in closer, she saw McNelly waiting for her even as the She-wolf kept skating forward. So focused on Gwen and her desire to take her out, she didn’t see the wolf-coyote, Lethal Lacey, until she’d slammed into her, forcing McNelly into the railing. At that point, Gwen picked up speed and took hold of the gloved hand held out for her. Blayne’s fingers closed over Gwen’s and she said, “Hold on, Gwenie!”

Gwen did, waiting as Blayne grabbed the neck of one of the Furrier blockers right in front of her and shoved her aside. Once she’d cleared the way, Blayne whipped Gwen through the cleared path through the pack.

Knowing she was the lead jammer, Gwen ripped around the track, passing the Furriers’ jammer as she was climbing back over the railing. Gwen ignored her and kept going until she reached the pack again. The team needed the points, so Gwen pushed her way through the pack, unable to use Blayne this time since she was having a bit of a scuffle with two Furriers. That meant she had to get through on her own and McNelly was back and tearing across the track right for her. She kept going, hoping to pass one more Furrier before she stopped the jam or McNelly dropped her.

But she’d forgotten something important. For once, Gwen and Blayne weren’t on their own. For once, they had someone else watching their backs.

McNelly was inches from her, snarling, her fangs beginning to show when a busty liger crashed into McNelly and dropped her right there on the track. Gwen passed the Furriers’ other blockers and pivot for three more points and then quickly brought her hands to her hips twice to call off the jam.

Gwen rolled into the infield, Blayne coming up beside her. She threw her arm around Gwen’s shoulders and said cheerily, “That went well, huh?”

“Yeah.” Gwen glanced at her as they stopped. “Sweetie, what’s wrong with your finger?”

Blayne shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “Nothing.”

“Your forefinger always points back at you that way?”

“It does now.”

Gwen held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“Gwen—”

“Give it.”

Growling, Blayne held her hand out. Gwen took hold, felt around a bit, and said, “Blayne, look. Mr. Squirrel.”

Blayne looked across the track. “Where?”

Lock heard that bone snap back into place from where he was sitting and it took everything in him not to just get up and leave.

Jess barked out, “Holy shit!” before burying her face against Lock’s neck while Ric dropped his face in his hands and visibly shuddered.

“War wounds!” Roxy cheered, her sisters laughing and clapping along with her.

When Roxy realized Lock was gawking at her, she patted his knee and promised, “She’ll be fine, baby-boy.”

“When you say ‘fine’ do you mean she’ll be unharmed when this is all over, or do you mean that she bounces back really well from life-threatening injuries?” When Roxy opened her mouth to speak, Lock quickly added, “If you’re not going to say something that will make me feel better, please don’t say anything at all.”

Roxy’s mouth slowly closed and she looked back out over the track. “Oh, look, baby-boy. Next jam’s starting. Why don’t we watch?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, trying not to panic. “Why don’t we?”