Chapter 3 #2
The crowd was a living, breathing organism.
It was messy, loud, and glorious. Teenagers in ripped jeans and bright hair sat beside middle-aged moms waving handmade signs.
A couple in matching Grim Reapers shirts clanged cowbells in rhythm.
A dad with a baby strapped to his chest shouted encouragement like it was the playoffs.
No one looked the same, but somehow everyone fit.
There were tattoos, piercings, stretch marks, bellies, biceps, bodies that didn’t apologize for existing.
Women leaning into each other, laughing.
Men in eyeliner and glitter were cheering louder than anyone.
A group of older women in cardigans at the front row waved hand-painted fans with the players’ names on them, cackling like a coven.
And not one person looked out of place.
It was chaos, yes, but it was joyful chaos, loud and imperfect and real. The air buzzed with it.
Back home, everything was quiet, ordered, symmetrical. Every pillow in its place, every smile rehearsed. Even laughter there felt like it had to be earned.
Here, it was given freely.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn’t trying to make myself smaller. No one cared if I clapped too loudly or if my laugh cracked halfway through.
This world didn’t ask for permission. It just was.
When Belle took another lap, her teammates reaching out for high fives as they passed, I felt my chest tighten with something that wasn’t envy this time.
It was longing.
Not just for what she had, but for what all of them did.
A place to belong without having to bend yourself into something else first.
And for a brief, perfect moment, I let myself imagine what it might feel like to be one of them, fierce, laughing, unstoppable. I wanted it so badly it almost hurt.
And then, through the swirl of lights and laughter, I saw them.
A man stood near the edge of the track, his son perched on the bleachers next to him, the little boy wearing a rainbow tutu and a set of bright blue headphones that made him look like a tiny DJ in training.
They fit here, like they were made for this place.
The dad was tall, broad across the shoulders, with a scruffy beard and a smile that reached all the way to his eyes.
He wasn’t cheering the loudest or standing in the front, but somehow he still drew my attention.
Maybe it was the way his whole body softened when he looked up at his son, steadying him with one hand while pointing out to the track with the other.
The boy was vibrating with happiness, bouncing in time to the music, a flag clutched in one small fist. The joy coming off him was bright enough to light the whole room.
No one looked twice at them.
No one whispered.
No one made that sharp little face people make when the world doesn’t line up with their rules.
They just were.
And that . . . that stopped me.
Because in my mother’s world, a little boy in a rainbow tutu would’ve been a scandal or a project to fix. But here? He was celebrated. Loved. Entirely himself.
And his father, whoever he was, didn’t just allow it. He honored it. He looked proud.
I longed for Ava to be that free.
For me to be that unguarded.
The crowd cheered as the Reapers scored again, cowbells clanging, popcorn flying. The little boy threw his arms up in triumph, and his dad laughed, full and unrestrained, the sound carrying over the noise.
I found myself smiling, too, without meaning to.
I didn’t know them, but somehow, just watching them felt like a glimpse into the kind of world I wanted to live in. One that was loud and loving and full of color.
A world where everyone could belong, exactly as they were.
I stayed a little longer.
Long enough to watch Belle’s team win.
Long enough to see the women on the track hug and laugh and collapse into each other like family.
Long enough to feel something loosening deep inside me that I hadn’t realized was still clenched.
And then there was him, that man with the kind eyes and the rainbow boy.
I tried not to look again, but I did. I couldn’t help it.
He was laughing, giving his son a high five as the crowd cheered. The sight hit me like a spark under my skin. It was a warmth I wasn’t ready for. One I didn’t know I could still feel.
For the first time since Ethan, I was attracted to someone.
Not because I was supposed to be. Not because I was lonely.
Because something about him, that open joy, that steady gentleness, made me want to be near it.
The realization scared me almost as much as it thrilled me.
So when the crowd roared again, when Belle’s team skated off the track to a wave of applause, I slipped out before the lights came back up.
Outside, the cool night wrapped around me, quiet after all that beautiful chaos. I pulled in a shaky breath and felt tears sting behind my eyes, not grief this time, not exactly. Just too many emotions in a body that had gone too long without feeling them.
By the time I got home, the house was dim and still. My mother sat in the living room, book in her lap, expression expectant.
“Well?” she asked. “How was your date?”
I stood in the doorway, derby wristband still on my arm, pulse still humming from the night. “Fine,” I said. “I’m just tired.”
Her eyes narrowed like she didn’t believe me, but she only nodded. “You look it. Go on to bed.”
“Goodnight, Mom.”
Upstairs, I barely made it to my room before the emotions hit, a swirl of grief and wonder and something like hope.
I crawled into bed, still half-dressed, and let the exhaustion pull at me.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Ava padded in, silent and small, and slipped into bed beside me like she always did.
I wrapped an arm around her, breathed in the scent of popcorn and shampoo, and pressed a kiss to her hair.
“Hey, kiddo,” I whispered.
She murmured something incoherent, already half-asleep, and snuggled closer.
I stared into the dark, my heart full and aching, unsure of where any of this would lead, only that for the first time in a long, long while, it felt like it might actually be somewhere.