Chapter 4
BELLE
“Love that for me,” I muttered, peeling myself off the mattress.
I cracked the back doors just enough for airflow, staying low so no one could see inside.
I sat there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft tick of the metal expanding in the heat.
My Saturday held derby practice at noon. Which meant I had to kill five hours without melting.
I reached for my phone. No new messages from Geoffrey. Just the invoice reminder from Long Creek.
I flipped the phone face down.
Nope. Not before coffee.
The gym was already crowded when I got there.
I showered quickly, letting the water cool by the end just to try and trick my nervous system into thinking I was refreshed. After dressing in shorts and a loose tank, I twisted my damp hair into a bun.
I studied myself in the mirror. “You look fine,” I told the woman staring back. She looked tired, but fine.
I made my way across town to visit my dad. Long Creek sat quiet under the morning sun. I parked and took a steadying breath.
Good day or bad day, you don’t know until you walk in.
Inside, the air conditioning hit like a cool, refreshing wall. I hadn’t even signed in yet when the receptionist gave me a tight smile.
“Hi, Belle, Nancy would like to see you before you go back?”
“Of course,” I said lightly. “I love administrative surprises.”
The office felt smaller today. Hotter. Even with the air on.
“Belle,” she said gently, gesturing for me to sit. “We’ve sent two reminders regarding the outstanding balance.”
I folded my hands in my lap.
“Yes.”
“The current account is thirty days past due. And with the recommended transition to step-up care—”
“I know, I’m working on it,” I said softly.
She wasn’t unkind. That almost made it worse.
“We need a payment plan in place,” she continued. “Otherwise, we may need to reassess placement.”
Reassess placement, which meant moving him. Which meant disorienting him further. But where would he even go? Her van?
Why was this system so broken?
“I just need a little time,” I said, keeping my voice steady.
“How much time?”
I swallowed.
“Soon.”
Not a real answer. But the only one I had.
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Please let us know by Monday.”
Monday. That was two days. Maybe I could get Mr Renault to pay me for the basement work I did. That would at least pay for some of it.
“Thank you,” I said.
I wound through the corridor until I came to my dad’s room. His room door was half open. I could hear him before I saw him. He was angry.
“You don’t get to tell me where to sit!” he barked.
My stomach dropped. Bad day. I stepped inside. He was standing near the window, hands clenched at his sides. An orderly hovered a few feet away, cautious but patient.
“Hey,” I said softly.
His head snapped toward me. For a second, there was no recognition, just confusion. Then “Belle?”
“I’m here.”
He pointed toward the hallway. “They keep moving my things.”
“They’re just cleaning, Dad.”
“I know what they’re doing,” he snapped. “They think I don’t.”
The orderly gave me a small, helpless look.
“I’ve got it,” I mouthed.
She slipped out quietly.
I approached him slowly, like you would a spooked animal.
“You want to sit?” I asked gently.
“I don’t need to sit,” he said, pacing instead. “I need them to stop taking my things.”
“What are you looking for? I’ll help you find it,” I said firmly.
His hands trembled. “They moved the chair.”
It wasn’t about the chair. It was about everything shifting, about not recognizing his own reflection. Losing ground in his own mind had to be a terrible feeling.
I stepped closer.
“Okay,” I said. “Then we’ll move it back.”
He paused.
“You can’t,” he said.
“Watch me.”
I crossed the room and dragged the chair back to where it had originally been, at least where he remembered it.
“There,” I said.
He stared at it. Breathing hard. Slowly, he sat. His shoulders sagged. I crouched in front of him, hands resting lightly on his knees.
“You’re safe,” I said quietly.
His eyes filled with a small modicum of recognition.
“I hate this,” he whispered.
I swallowed. “I know.”
He reached out and gripped my hand, hard.
“You won’t let them take me away?”
The question cut to the quick.
“No, I won’t,” I said.
I wasn’t sure what that was about, but it really didn’t matter. All that mattered was calming his emotional state.
He nodded, exhausted now. The storm had passed. But the air still felt charged.
I stayed with him until his breathing evened out, until he drifted into that fragile mid-morning calm.
When I finally stepped back into the hallway, my legs felt unsteady.
Monday was two days.
I leaned against the wall briefly and closed my eyes.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Derby practice in an hour. Smile. Block. Hit. Laugh. Pretend you are not calculating everything in pennies. Pretend you are not running out of time.
I pushed off the wall and headed for the exit.
Saturday wasn’t even halfway done.
By the time I got back to the van, the sun was fully committed to violence. I climbed into the driver’s seat and shut the door, letting the air sit heavy around me.
For a second, I just held the steering wheel.
Life shouldn’t be this hard. It shouldn’t require this much math, this much bracing, this much smiling through it.
It shouldn’t be invoices and ultimatums and your father recognizing you one day and treating you like a stranger the next.
It shouldn’t be Monday looming like a cliff.
I closed my eyes. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
Not my life, but the constant fight. The fact that being good and trying and working didn’t automatically equal stability. It was unfair. The words pulsed through me. Hard and unfair.
I could sit here and list every injustice. Every system that felt tilted against everyday people.
But that wasn’t helpful. And I was not built to wallow. I exhaled slowly.
“Okay,” I said to the windshield.
I reached for my phone and pulled up an audiobook. I pushed play on the romance I’d been listening to. It was something dramatic and low stakes and wildly unrealistic . . . escapism with kissing.
I rolled the windows down. At least there was a breeze today. It moved through the van in warm waves, carrying the faint scent of asphalt and grass. I leaned the seat back slightly, letting the narrator’s voice fill the small space.
Heroines in ballgowns had simpler problems. Princes didn’t worry about payment plans. My body loosened slowly, inch by inch. The breeze moved across my skin.
Just ten minutes. That was all I needed. Just ten minutes of not calculating. My thoughts blurred at the edges. The audiobook drifted into a dream.
A sharp knock jolted me upright. I sucked in a breath, heart hammering. Someone was at the window. I blinked hard, disoriented. Mel’s face peered in through the window, eyebrows raised.
Mel was the fearless leader of the Grimm Reapers and the best jammer out there. She had also been one of my closest friends for years and saw straight through my bullshit, even when I wished she didn’t.
She tapped again. “Belle!”
I yanked my earbuds out.
“You look like a startled raccoon,” she said.
I scrubbed a hand over my face.
“What are you doing sleeping in the parking lot?” she asked, glancing around.
I stretched, trying to shake off the haze.
“Killing time.”
“In a sauna?”’
“It’s breezy.”
She leaned back slightly, scanning the inside of the van. Her gaze lingered on the folded blankets. The storage bins. The little fairy lights.
“I really wish you weren’t sleeping in here,” she said.
I hesitated. “It’s fun. I have everything I need.”
Mel’s jaw tightened. “Belle.”
“It’s fine,” I said quickly. “I like small spaces. Very hobbit-core.”
She did not laugh. “You can—.”
I cut her off because I was not having this conversation with her again.“Don’t say it. I will not take your couch again. I’m not a stray.”
“No. You’re not a stray,” she shot back.
The look on her face was too much to bear. I looked away, staring at the steering wheel.
“I’ve got it,” I said quietly.
Mel studied me for a long second. “You look wrecked,” she said.
“Bad morning with dad.”
She didn’t press.
“Practice starts in forty-five,” she said instead. “You coming in or are you planning to nap until scrimmage?”
I inhaled deeply. Time for derby. Blessedly, time to turn my brain off.
“I’m coming,” I said.
Mel stepped back from the window.
“Good. Because if you hit like you look, someone’s going through a wall.”
That almost made me smile. I grabbed my water bottle and shoved my feet into my sneakers.
I followed Mel inside like I hadn’t just been caught napping in a rolling greenhouse. The rink doors opened to blessed air conditioning. My nervous system relaxed half a notch on impact.
Mel didn’t slow down as we crossed the lobby. “You know,” she said casually, “my spare room is still empty.”
“You got the whole wife and kid thing,” I replied.
“I do. And Becca and Leo love you as much as I do.”
I opened my mouth hoping some smart retort would come out . . . but nothing.
She shot me a look.
“You don’t have to pretend with me.”
“I’m not pretending.” I protested.
She stopped walking. I had no choice but to stop too. Her eyes were steady. Not accusing. Just . . . there.
“You’re not ‘choosing minimalism,’” she said. “You’re exhausted.”
So I tried a different tactic.
“I’m resilient,” I said.
“I know, but you don’t have to be,” she replied.
I huffed a small laugh despite myself. “I like my van,” I insisted weakly. “It’s cozy. It has ambiance.”
“It has condensation,” she said flatly.
“Only in the mornings.”
She shook her head, then grabbed my shoulders briefly and squeezed.
“You can stay with me anytime,” she said. “No pride tax. No explanation required.”
The offer settled somewhere warm and uncomfortable in my chest.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
She held my gaze another second, then let it go.
“Did I just walk into a therapy session?” Robin’s voice called from behind us. Robin was another teammate, and one who was just as observant as Mel. Where was Zella? She was blissfully naive and never asked questions I didn’t want to answer.
“Absolutely not,” I said. “We were discussing the interior design trends of my van.”
Robin rolled up beside us, helmet tucked under her arm. “Ah, yes. The ‘sweaty hatchback chic’ movement.”
“It’s minimalist,” I said defensively.
Mel snorted.
Robin bumped her shoulder lightly into mine. “You good?” she asked.
“Glorious,” I said. “Radiant. Possibly delusional.”
“Perfect,” she replied. “Then you’re ready to block.”
One by one, the rest of the team filtered in.
Zella sat on the floor braiding her long blonde hair while arguing about playlist rights.
Eleanor pretended to listen but just played her punk playlist. While Sonia dramatically reenacted something that had definitely not happened the way she was telling it.
Laughter bounced off the walls as the space filled with all the comforting sights and sounds of my roller derby life.
I laced up my skates and felt something settle into place.
Here, I didn’t have to be calculating or strategic or even diplomatic.
Here I could just be solid.
“Warm-up laps!” Mel barked.
We took the track. The first push forward sent that familiar rush through my veins, my wheels gripping, my body aligned, momentum building.
This made sense.
On the track, there was impact, recovery, and control.
Mel skated up beside me. “Try not to murder anyone,” she said.
“No promises,” I replied.
The whistle blew.
I drove into the first drill like I had something to prove. Because maybe I did. Or maybe it was just nice to feel something besides tired.