3. Rachel
3
RACHEL
T he Roller Derby rink was a battleground, and I was in the thick of it. The roar of the crowd was deafening, the shouts blending with the rumble of wheels against the slanted track. Roller Derby wasn’t for the fainthearted; it had been called UFC on wheels for a reason. Bodies slammed into each other, blockers trying to plow through, hip check, sweep—anything to throw off the jammer. That was me, the jammer, the one who scored for my team. I was the target, and I thrived on it. The adrenaline coursed through my veins, setting me on fire. Out there with the Brooklyn Bashers, I felt invincible.
But that night, something was off. It had been a week since I reported the stalker, and while there had been no sign of him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every time I circled the track, I scanned the crowd, half-expecting to see that familiar figure. It was maddening, this constant edge, this sense of danger lurking in the shadows.
“Beat her to a pulp!” a fan screamed as I dodged another hit, my skates slicing through the air as I passed the blockers and scored. The jam ended, and I rolled over to the bench, my breath coming fast. The team was buzzing around me, but their voices were distant, muffled by the unease gnawing at me.
Last week’s game had been a disaster. My head had been so full of the interview with the cop, replaying it over and over, that I could barely focus. I felt like I was being paranoid, like I was overreacting. But tonight, the sensation was stronger, more real. I kept glancing at the stands, scanning for any sign of that man in the green cap. I hated that he had this power over me, that he had wormed his way into my thoughts.
“Rach, you’re up!”
I snapped back to the present, pushing myself onto the track. I tried to push the fear away, to concentrate on the game, but it clung to me like a second skin. My performance suffered, and we barely scraped by with a win. By the time the game ended, I was drained, both physically and mentally.
Afterward, I headed to the storage room, searching for a first aid kit. My thigh was throbbing where I had crashed into the side during the final jam. I found a battered red kit in the ticket office, tucked behind some old flyers. It was scuffed and worn, but it would do. I cleaned the scrape, wincing as the alcohol swab stung against the raw skin.
The locker room was empty by the time I got there. A quick text revealed that my teammates had already gone to the bar for the post-game celebration. I was about to join them when something grabbed my attention—a movement in the stands. My heart skipped a beat, tightening in my chest as I spotted a figure hidden in the darkness, wearing a green cap.
My pulse spiked. “Stay back. I…I’m armed,” I shouted, the words tumbling out in a rush. But I wasn’t armed, and he probably knew that. Panic set in, and I skated hard toward the exit, only to slam into the wall. The impact knocked the wind out of me, leaving me gasping. I made a break for the doors, but they were locked. I bolted back to the locker room, my heart hammering in my ears.
I am safe. I am protected. I am a badass.
The mantra barely steadied me as I barricaded myself inside one of the tall lockers, pressing my back against the cool metal. My hands trembled, debating if I should contact the police again. Instead, I texted Derrick. He was the only person I knew that would help me and not get on my ass if this turned out to be a nothing burger. I’d call Eva, but she was still gone.
The message sent, I huddled inside my steel cage, praying the stranger couldn’t get in.
Thirty minutes passed, each one stretching longer than the last, before I heard the door rattle again.
“Rachel, are you in there?” Derrick’s voice was a lifeline, pulling me out of the depths of my panic.
I pushed out of the locker, flinging the door open. My eyes darted around the empty room, searching for any trace of the stalker. “Did you see him? Is he still here?”
Derrick’s expression was grim. “The place is deserted.”
I tried to make light of it, needing to break the tension. “Are you sure your ancient eyes didn’t miss anything? Night vision’s the first to go, you know.”
“There’s no one here but me and you.” His tone was serious with an undercurrent of concern that made my shoulders tense. If he thought it was strange that he was the person I called to rescue me, he didn’t show it.
“I saw him,” I insisted. “I’m not imagining this.”
Derrick’s gaze softened. “I believe you.”
Relief washed over me, and I reached into my backpack, pulling out a pair of navy joggers and a cropped T-shirt. I stripped off my jersey and sports bra, replacing them with a lace bralette and the shirt.
“Shit, Rachel,” Derrick muttered, quickly turning his back.
“Are you offended by my boobs?” I teased, slipping into the joggers.
“No,” he said curtly, walking out of the room without another word.
“Prude!” I called after him, but there was no bite in it.
A few minutes later, we were walking down the quiet street, the night air warm against my skin. The silence between us was thick.
“You need to relax,” I said, trying to ease the tension.
Derrick glanced at me, but his expression was unreadable. At the subway entrance, he stopped, but I kept walking toward the bar.
“Rachel?” he called out.
“I’m going to the Bluebird to meet the team,” I tossed over my shoulder.
“Is this gonna take long?” he asked, catching up to me. “I have a flight to catch tomorrow.”
“Go home,” I told him. “I don’t need a nanny.”
But as I turned to go, his hand wrapped around my arm, gentle but firm. “You called me.”
“I know, but I’m good now,” I replied, though the words felt hollow. I didn’t want to burden him with my fears, didn’t want to drag him into this mess any more than I already had.
Derrick’s eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought he was going to push the issue. But then he stepped back, letting me go.
“Fine. It’s your life,” he said, his tone flat. “But promise you’ll come by the office this Wednesday when I’m back.” He turned to head up the subway steps.
“And, Rach,” he added, pausing. “Keep your damn clothes on around men you don’t know.”
“I know you,” I shot back, bristling.
“No, you don’t.” His words hung in the air as he disappeared up the steps, leaving me standing on the sidewalk.
The bar was just across the street, and I jogged over, eager to rejoin my teammates. But as I reached the door, something—someone—caught my eye. I whipped around, scanning the sidewalk, but there was no one there.
I shook my head, telling myself it was nothing. But the apprehension lingered as I stepped inside, my gaze sweeping the bar, searching for the familiar faces of my team. They were gathered at a long table, laughing and drinking, but I still felt like someone was watching me, waiting. And for a second, I wished Derrick was there.
It was a strange thought because I’d never wanted a man in my life for more than a night, never wanted someone to protect me. But this…this felt different. This threat could be real, and Derrick Jacques was the one person who made me feel safe. I might not have known him, not really, but I knew enough to trust that he’d do whatever it took to protect me.
And right then, that was enough.