Chapter 7
BELLE
There is nothing like a Bout night. The air at the Grimm Reapers rink buzzed like live wires. The bleachers were packed. Hand-painted signs waved. Someone had brought a fog machine that absolutely violated several safety codes.
“Columbus Cataclysm!” the announcer boomed. “Versus your own Briar Glen Grimm Reapers!”
The crowd roared as I adjusted my helmet and rolled my shoulders back. This was mine. Not invoices. Not basements. Not men who thought Derby was chaos. This.
Mel bumped her shoulder into mine. “Ready to break some hearts?”
“Only structurally,” I said.
Robin skated past, grinning. “Bells, you look feral.”
“Hydrated and vengeful,” I shot back at her.
I looked over at Eleanor. This was only her third Bout. She still had the green panic. “You ready to knock’em all down, Slayerella?”
She adjusted her helmet and bit down on her mouth guard before a fist bump. “Let’s do this.”
The whistle blew, and we took the track. The first jam hit fast and brutal. Cataclysm’s jammer was quick. She was small, slippery, and aggressive on the inside line. I dropped low, braced, and took the impact square through my hips.
The collision sang up my spine. Good.
I pivoted, catching her again, driving her toward the outside boundary where Sonia finished the job.
The whistle blew, and points were divvied. The crowd erupted.
I grinned despite myself. This was structured. This was teamwork and controlled impact. No matter what the Beast himself thought about derby, this is the chaos that quieted my mind.
Time for the second jam. I held the line with Robin, shoulders locked, skates digging into polished concrete. Cataclysm tried a whip maneuver. I anticipated it and shifted just enough to collapse their opening.
“Wall!” I shouted.
“Wall!” they echoed.
The jammer slammed into me full force. For a split second, the world narrowed to muscle and force and balance. She bounced. I held. The whistle shrieked.
We rolled off the track, breathing hard.
“That’s my blocker!” Mel yelled.
I saluted her.
By halftime, we were up by twenty.
Sweat dripped down my spine. My thighs burned. My lungs felt scraped raw.
I loved it.
The second half blurred into motion and noise. Cataclysm came back hard in the final quarter. Aggressive pushes. Desperate attempts to crack our formation.
I saw it before it happened. Their jammer cut inside unexpectedly. Robin pivoted late. I lunged to compensate. My left skate clipped at the wrong angle.
My knee twisted under the weight of impact. There was a sharp, bright pop. Then white. I hit the floor hard. The sound of the crowd distorted. The world tilted sideways. For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
“Belle!” Mel’s voice cut through the noise.
I tried to sit up, but regretted it immediately. Pain shot up from my knee like a live wire.
“I’m fine,” I gasped automatically.
I was not fine.
The ref skated over, hand raised. The whistle blew again.
Eleanor crouched beside me. “Don’t move.”
“I wasn’t planning on cartwheels.”
Mel pressed a hand to my shoulder. “Can you put weight on it?”
“I—” I tried to get up. The moment I shifted, the joint buckled. Stars burst behind my eyes. “Okay,” I breathed. “Maybe not.”
The crowd had gone quieter now. Concern replacing cheers.
“I’ve got you,” Mel said, helping me up.
Between her and Robin, they helped me to the edge of the track.
Every step felt unstable. Wrong. I hated that feeling more than the pain.
On the bench, I gripped the edge of the seat and forced my breathing steady. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s—
Mel crouched in front of me. “Talk to me.”
“Twisted,” I said. “I think.”
“You hear anything?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “A pop.”
She swore softly. The game continued without me. We still won. I heard the final whistle through a haze of ice packs and adrenaline.
Cataclysm 146. Grim Reapers 168. Victory.
I clapped from the bench, smiling through it, because we won. That is what mattered. I refused to let this steal the night. But when I tried to stand after the celebration, my knee gave out completely. And this time I couldn’t pretend.
There was chaos after a win.
Sweaty hugs. Glitter everywhere. Someone was blasting music while others sang along off-key and aggressively.
“Reapers!” Sonia screamed, launching herself at me carefully. “We destroyed them!”
“God, I love this sport!” I grinned from the bench, an ice pack balanced against my knee.
“You okay?” Robin asked as she took off her helmet and slicked back her hair.
“Absolutely,” I said. “It’s just a little twist.”
Mel gave me a look.
“I just need some ice and rest, and I’ll be good as new,” I amended.
They wanted to celebrate. I didn’t want to be the mood shift, but Mel’s questioning gaze never left me.
“I just twisted it,” I insisted. “I’ve done worse walking down stairs.”
“You heard a pop,” Mel said flatly.
“Pops are subjective.”
She stared at me. “Belle.”
“I’m fine,” I said it until I almost believed it.
Eventually, the crowd thinned. The music cut. The adrenaline that had been holding everything together began to ebb.
I limped toward the locker room, stubborn and determined to prove a point no one had asked me to make.
Inside, it was quieter. Just a few girls changing, laughing softly.
I sat carefully on the bench and peeled off my knee pad.
The fabric stuck slightly to damp skin. When I pulled it away, I froze.
My knee was already swelling, and the joint looked wrong.
The skin was tight and shiny. I pressed lightly around the kneecap.
Pain shot up my thigh so fast it made my vision blur.
“Oh,” I whispered.
Not good. The adrenaline was almost completely gone now. What remained was sharp and specific.
I tried to stand, but my leg buckled immediately. I grabbed the bench to steady myself.
“Okay,” I muttered.
Mel appeared in the doorway like she’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Tell me the truth.”
I didn’t answer.
She stepped closer, looked down at my knee, and swore. “That’s not a little twist.”
“I know,” I admitted begrudgingly.
“You need to go to urgent care.”
The words hit harder than the pain. Urgent care meant forms. Insurance. Copays. Lots of expensive words I could not afford.
“I’ll ice it,” I said quickly. “It’s just some inflammation.”
“Belle,” Mel said carefully, not buying it for a minute.
“I’ll rest it,” I said, trying to get her off my back. I know she means well, but a medical bill is out of the question right now.
“You couldn’t put weight on it.”
“I can hop.”
She crouched in front of me.
“This is what player insurance is for?” she said quietly.
I looked at the lockers behind her, anywhere but her eyes. Yes, this is what the player’s insurance was for . . . the player’s insurance I had let lapse three months ago. So, technically, I should not even have been playing tonight, as the league would be no help.
“I forgot to renew it.” The word felt smaller than I wanted it to.
She closed her eyes briefly.
“Okay,” she said carefully. “We’ll figure it out.”
Figure it out. I hated that phrase. It meant money. And money was already spoken for. Monday was in two days, and I was just about ready to have enough to pay the past due bill for my father’s care before he went into step-up care. And now this.
I leaned back against the lockers and let my head fall back.
“I can’t afford a hospital bill,” I said quietly.
Mel didn’t sugarcoat it. “You also can’t afford permanent damage.”
The silence that followed was heavy.
My phone buzzed in my bag, but I ignored it.
And I was sitting here calculating the cost of standing.
Mel stayed crouched in front of me, steady as ever.
“You’re coming home with me,” she said. Not a suggestion.
“I’m not.”
“You can’t drive like that.”
“I can absolutely drive like this. It’s not my driving leg.”
“Belle.”
“I’m not moving into your spare room every time my life hiccups.”
“This isn’t a hiccup.”
I pushed up from the bench too fast. Pain detonated through my knee.
“See?” I snapped. “I’m fine.”
Mel stood slowly, giving me space instead of pushing back.
“All I’m offering is a bed and ice packs.”
“I don’t need rescuing.”
“I didn’t say you did.”
I hated that my eyes stung. I hated that the locker room suddenly felt too small.
“I just—” I stopped.
The words were tangled up with invoices, Monday, the cramped van, and a basement that paid double.
“I’ve got it,” I said finally.
Mel held my gaze.
“Okay,” she said with a reluctant nod. “Door’s open. Always.”
The simplicity of it almost broke me. “Thank you,” I muttered.
She squeezed my shoulder once.
“Text me when you get . . . wherever you’re going.”
“Obviously.”
She didn’t ask where that was. That was worse.
Getting to the van was humbling. I could put weight on it, technically, even if each step felt unstable. By the time I lowered myself into the driver’s seat, sweat beaded along my hairline again from the exertion of the small trip.
I sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel.
“Not ideal,” I murmured.
The drive was short. Every stoplight felt longer.
Every press of the brake reminded me that knees are deeply involved in existing.
I parked in my usual corner of the gym. I had a couple of places where I felt safe to park.
I rotated them so no one would complain if I parked in one place too long.
Tonight, the closest spot to the gym would mean less walking in the morning.
I cut the engine and climbed carefully into the back of the van and lowered myself onto the mattress with a hiss. The ice pack had melted into a sad, lukewarm blob. I rewrapped it around my knee anyway. The swelling looked worse now.
I leaned back against the wall and stared at the ceiling.
Okay.
Options.
Urgent care — no insurance.
Hospital — absolutely not.
Ignore it — risky.
Rest — maybe.
Work in the basement Monday — yes.
Double time — yes.
Money — needed.
My phone lay beside me. I picked it up. Opened the banking app. Closed it again. I pressed my palms over my eyes.
Think.
Think.
Maybe it’s just a sprain. Maybe swelling looks worse than it is. Maybe if I stay off it for a few days. Maybe I’ll wake up in the morning, and it will be all better. Nothing a good night's sleep couldn’t fix, right?
My brain kept circling the same useless loop. I had to work tomorrow regardless of the state of my knee. There was no other option. Nothing that didn’t involve debt collectors or moving my father or asking for something I couldn’t repay.
I stared at the little string of fairy lights along the ceiling.
They flickered faintly as the battery dipped.
I shifted carefully, trying to find a position that didn’t pull at the joint, but nothing worked. The pain still throbbed steadily.
Outside, a car drove past. Life continued. No matter how hard and unfair it all seemed.