23. Rachel
23
RACHEL
M y phone pinged for the umpteenth time. The incessant buzzing made me want to fling it out of the fancy arched windows of the loft. I didn't even have to glance at the screen to know it was my mother.
"If you're not answering those texts, can you put it on silent?" Eva yelled from the kitchen.
When I left my place, I’d gone to Eva's and hadn't been back to my apartment all week. My mom was not happy with me, but ignoring her and almost everyone else in my life was working just fine for me.
I snatched my phone from beside me and clicked it to silent but not before I saw a message from Derrick.
Are you okay? You were expected at work on Tuesday but I haven’t heard from you. Please check in.
I sat up straighter, my fingers hovering over the message.
"Who was it from?" Eva asked from the kitchen.
"Derrick."
My mind raced with what to say. It was the first communication we'd had since the holiday weekend. It wasn't that I didn't want to talk to him. I did. But every time I picked up the phone, my mind short-circuited. I didn't know what to say to him.
I was still unsettled about last weekend. His words rang in my head like an out of tune bell. All of them. The story he shared with me about the genesis of Dreamary and the disparaging comments on the dock.
Normally I didn't care what people thought of me, so why had his opinion sent me into a mild depression? My head fell back on the plush cushion, and I stared at the high ceiling, trying to make sense of the mess my life had become.
There was the weirdness with Derrick. Then, there was all this stuff with my grandfather and my mom being in on all of it without telling me.
It was like someone had taken the life I knew, turned it upside down, and distorted it with a funhouse mirror.
My phone buzzed again, and my stomach clenched. I looked at it, but it wasn't Derrick. It was from one of my derby teammates.
I closed my eyes tightly. It wasn't just my mom I'd been avoiding. My work colleagues, especially Lexi, had been pinging me all week. I had stopped checking Slack and my work emails days ago. Gianna had been calling too, and my Roller Derby teammates.
I'd been MIA from practice all week, and I knew they were worried. Hell, I was worried. I wasn't like this. I didn't hide from my responsibilities. But I felt crippled right now.
Another message popped up on the screen, and I reached to turn off my phone and be in peace, but the last message caught my eye.
I bolted upright.
"Oh shit," I said, rereading the message.
Eva rushed into the room. "What?"
"There's a bout tonight. I totally forgot. Shit, shit, shit."
It was one thing to miss practice, but I couldn't leave them hanging during a bout. I turned in circles, looking for my derby gear, but, of course, it wasn't here. It was at my apartment.
"You're gonna play tonight?" Eva asked, surprised.
"It'll feel good to get on the rink and push some bitches around," I said, adrenaline weaving through my veins. It was the first rush of purpose I'd felt all week. But then I remembered.
"Crap," I groaned. "My derby stuff's at the office."
"So go get it. I know the door code."
I hesitated. What if Derrick was there?
"It's Saturday night," Eva said, reading my worries. "No one will be there. Slip in, grab your stuff, and go."
I checked the clock on my phone. She was right. It was late. After six on the weekend. No one would be there.
I grabbed the canvas shopping bag I was using as a purse and checked the contents. There were hair ties and my makeup bag. I could put my rainbow-colored hair in messy side braids and do some colorful makeup on the subway. My uniform was in my bag, and I could change when I got to the rink.
Dressing up for Roller Derby felt more like cosplay with the wacky outfits and colorful makeup. Unlike my current state. I was wearing a dingy T-shirt and black bike shorts with no makeup. Normally, I'd never step out in anything this vanilla, but I didn't care. It wasn't like anyone was going to see me.
* * *
The office was dark, the hum of the air-conditioning the only sound when I stepped off the elevator. Still, I treaded softly around the work desks, looking for my bag.
I ducked my head into Derrick's office and then down to the podcast studios, but there was no sports bag. I turned in circles, trying to think where else it would be.
Sometimes lost items got dumped in the supply closet at the back of the office. I walked down the hallway and reached for the handle when a deep, familiar voice on the other side stopped me.
Derrick.
His voice was low and intent, and I wondered who he was talking to in there. I debated leaving, but I needed my stuff.
I pressed my ear to the door, straining to make out the words.
"Come on, big guy. You gotta go down. I can't do this now. Not here. Fuck!" He banged something, and metal rattled. "Damn it. Come on, dude."
I chewed my lip, trying to make sense of it. Was he on the phone? He sounded kinda desperate. Whatever. I needed my bag. I was gonna be late as it was.
I yanked the door open and halted. Derrick stood with his back to me, looking down at something. Next to his right foot was my athletic bag. I itched to grab it but there was something off about Derrick being in this closet. He wasn’t holding his phone.
"God damn it." He groaned again.
His hands tensed in and out of fists at his sides, and that's when I saw his pants and boxer briefs were around his knees, the back of his bare thighs facing me, his gray T-shirt covering his ass.
Holy shit. I smacked my hand over my mouth, muffling my gasp, when I realized who—or what—he was talking to. Derrick, the man who was always in control, was having a pep talk with his dick.
With measured steps, I creeped backwards and began to close the door. The hinge squeaked and I held my breath, but it was too late. Derrick whipped his head around, his eyes wide with horrified shock when he spotted me.
"Uh, hi, Boss."