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  Text Copyright ©2014, by Lila Felix and Rebel Writer Productions, LLC. The Second Jam (The Love and Skate Series), the characters, names, and related indicia are trademarked and © by Lila Felix/

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  Cover design by Bailey Ardisone

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  The Second Jam

  A Love and Skate Novel

  To my husband, who I love miles and miles.

  The Second Jam

  A Love and Skate novel

  Chapter One

  Beatriz

  “Don’t, Bea, don’t! You’re going to regret it! ”

  The hairdresser behind me plugged her ears with shears in one hand and a black comb in the other as she waited for the incessant wailing to stop.

  “Will you shut up? Get a magazine or text your novio. You’re good at that.”

  Her middle finger told me what she thought of that.

  “Come on, girl. Cut it all off.”

  My parents had preferred me with long hair and were vocal about it. They were vocal about everything.

  Katie, the girl behind me, fluffed my waist length hair in a bid of farewell.

  “Are you sure?” She met my eyes in the mirror. “It’s so pretty.”

  “It’s not pretty when I’m pulling it out of my scalp trying to detangle it after stuffing it into a derby helmet. Cut the shit off—please.”

  Funneling most of my hair into a ponytail at the nape of my neck, she hesitated three or four times before making the first cut. As the weight was lifted from my scalp, I noticed an audience of hairdressers had gathered in reverence. They looked as if they were seeing a body in a coffin one last time.

  So I clapped and cheered—flailed my arms until shock plastered the faces of the people around and behind me.

  It was just hair.

  Even after graduating college, getting a job and living on my own for five years, this was the first time I really felt like an adult. No, it wasn’t just hair—it was freedom.

  With the mourning finally breaking up, Katie took one long drag of a breath and went to work on the rest of my hair looking like the Mad Hatter shearing seamlessly through silk for the Red Queen’s bonnets.

  When she powered up the clippers, Zuri began crossing herself and praying about not cutting off my ears.

  She was ridiculous dramatic. In the next half hour, the style took shape, looking more and more like the picture I’d brought in on my phone. I was like a little Latina roller derby queen.

  I shut my eyes while Katie blow dried the stray blonde hairs from my neck. A gasp rang out from my right and I knew that Zuri was next to me freaking the F out.

  “It doesn’t look that bad.”

  I didn’t even want to see the shock on her face. I kept my eyes closed while Katie’s skilled fingers worked whatever product through my hair—conveniently the same product she was going to try to sell me on my way out. Too bad that on my professor’s wage I wouldn’t be able to afford it.

  “It looks hot.” I opened my eyes to see a woman with a pink streak of hair coming out of a blue braid. This was no ordinary woman. To anyone else, she would look like some middle-aged female who was living in the past by continuing to keep her hair like a teenager.

  “Good to see you Ms. Reed.”

  Quickly, I looked around the place. How did these people not know this woman? She was the new matriarch of a roller derby empire.

  The Black Family to roller derby was like The Sopranos to the mafia.

  Reed Black was one of their feared leaders—no, more like loved.

  Her husband, Falcon, was hot as…

  “You too, babe. Really, the hair looks amazing.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am.”

  Katie was still primping as Reed took a seat in the waiting area which was really six cheap looking chairs, some hair magazines and a dollar store bucket with McDonald’s toys. Why Reed Black got her hair cut in a cheap ass place like this was beyond me.

  “There you go, Hot Shot. Pay the lady and let’s get out of here. Mama needs a torta.”

  It seemed like we were constantly at the mercy of Zuri’s demanding hunger.

  Chapter Two

  Cyrus

  Three, two, one…

  “It’s just not going to work, Cyrus. I’m sorry.” His fingers, bony as hell, were playing bass on a stack of pamphlets. I couldn’t believe this big-balled asshole. He was really going to fire me and play the sympathy card at the same time. I’d bet four large that he was going to offer me a job at another time if only I’d just take care of that little problem that seemed to plague my every breath.

  I’m calling bullshit. I’m not even giving him the opportunity. Anyway, I’m tired of smelling like deep fried clowns.

  “I get it. You need somebody smarter. It’s cool.” I rose from my seat to shake hands with the bastard, firmly ending the conversation and cutting off the rope to the lifeline he was so desperate to extend to me in the form of those programs. They always knew how to word those pamphlets to make it sound like I was an alcoholic instead of—instead of me.

  “It’s not an issue of intelligence, Cyrus.”

  Perfect. He’d already dug face first into the pamphlets, even took the time to memorize the most chastising line from them.

  “Look, there’s nothing in those brochures that I haven’t heard before. I’m not sure if you’re looking to meet some community service requirement or if the feather of good karma has tickled your ass, but I’m fired. I understand. Last time I checked, your job didn’t require an out-of-office pity party. Don’t do me any favors. And if you need some good vibes, take some of the leftover burgers to the bus station. There’s a bunch of homeless people there that need your help a whole hell of a lot more than I do.”

  I swore as the door shut behind me. The guy didn’t deserve the spiel I’d just vomited all over him and I was sure that his intentions were good. But like Mama Sylvia used to say, ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions’.

  Clocking out for the last time, I didn’t even bother with small talk as I left the shift early. There were only two reasons that people who flipped burgers for a living skipped out early on a shift—sick or fired. Hell, they couldn’t afford to leave a shift if they could help it. Walking out to my ride, I shucked
the grease infused shirt and tossed it in the trash can with the used wrappers and gallons of discarded soda.

  “Come on baby, be nice to me.” I coaxed my beat-up truck in the parking lot. Something had to give. After a few tries, the engine revving up overthrew her choking. “That’s my girl. Let’s get you back to New Orleans. At this rate, we can make it to the bout right on time and punish ourselves—make the whole day an effing disaster.”

  I drove the forty five minutes to my hometown denying the sinking feeling that seemed to grow by the day. Something had to give in this half-life I was living.

  My stomach turned as I pulled into the skating rink parking lot. It was selfish of me, this constant checking in on her. She deserved my absence. She was my best friend and just because I couldn’t man up, she’d felt like she had to constantly babysit my stupid ass.

  I’d never known a bigger screw up than the man who looked at me in the rear-view mirror.

  After scanning the parking lot for cars I knew, the parking lot across the street became my destination. Of course, my whole family was in there. There couldn’t just be one bout where the clan wasn’t present.

  I breathed out, hoping to rid myself of some of the constant disdain. “But that’s why you love them, Cyrus.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I slept until my alarm went off at eight. That should’ve given the Blacks time to congregate around the players and give me the perfect opportunity to slink in the back and check on Scout without anyone knowing.

  I paid my ticket at the entrance and a girl with neon green hair stamped my hand. She opened her mouth with wide eyes, but I stopped her before she could rat me out.

  “It’s a surprise. Shhh…”

  With a grin that would kill baby lions, she nodded and let me have my fun. She thought it was fun. What it actually was—some kind of self-inflicted torture meant to string out my pain.

  I snuck in past the snack bar, still in my uniform fast food pants, but thankfully I’d changed my shirt. It didn’t stop me from smelling like French fries. There was no missing Scout. Her bright red hair and fairy voice could be seen and heard over and through it all. She intimidated most people. Hell, I’d been scared to death of her until I was about seven. That was when I beat the snot out of a kid that looked like a come to life Chucky doll for calling her names and pulling her red braids. Uncle Nixon never made her go to another school or pushed her to go to an advanced grade. He wanted her to be as normal as possible.

  After that, she and I saved each other.

  Well, I clocked her haters at recess and she—in hindsight, she did the best she could. Any kid with a heart would, I guess. Hers always was smooshier than the rest of the world. A brain to rival Einstein’s and a heart of a lamb.

  And I ruined her.

  I allowed her to ruin herself.

  “Trixy Vixen and Naughty Girl Scout, your teams are waiting for you!” The announcement was made over the loud speaker.

  Despite her petite stature and tendency to cry at everything, Scout had named herself Naughty Girl Scout. Uncle Nixon nearly shit his pants when he heard that one. Aunt Journey, on the other hand, gave her a high five.

  I didn’t know why they were calling her, she was right there on the sidelines talking to two other girls, one with black hair longer than I’d ever seen and another with one side of her head shaved and the other side just as long as her friend’s. Their attentions received, they skated to the center of the rink and Scout straightened her pads while she half-ass listened to my Mom’s coaching. Yes, my mom was the coach. Roller derby was part of our family. In our house, if you were of the male persuasion, you either became a zebra, or the manliest damned cheerleader ever to grace the rink. It was just expected.

  Anyway, you couldn’t help but be supportive. The Black family women were tougher than sixteen G.I. Janes put together—all with the love of Mother Theresa.

  I watched her skate and knew that she was okay, just by the way she was playing. When she was down, it showed in her gait, the way her back leg didn’t have a lot of vigor as she turned the curves. When she was pissed, the other team took the brunt of her anger. When she was happy, she interacted with the crowd.

  Tonight was one of those nights. As soon as she called the jam off, she skated into the crowd and let them float her all around. She loved the attention. She told me once that on the rink she wasn’t a brain—she couldn’t intimidate anyone with her smarts or her constant blurting of useless facts—she was just a girl on wheels.

  Another hour and the bout was over. Too busy focusing on my long lost friend, I missed my chance to slip out before the crowd and soon found myself cowering in the corner like the pathetic lizard I was.

  I had to stay there, watching the poor girl behind the snack bar scrape and peel congealed nacho cheese from the heating element. Once the crowd had filed out and I’d seen most of the members of my family long gone, I crept out of the building to find the parking lot mostly empty—mostly.

  Chapter Three

  Beatriz

  I kicked the tire of my car and then mentally kicked myself for doing it. It hurt like a mutha. This car was nothing but a royal pain in my ass. The only reason I kept it was because I couldn’t afford a new one and this was the car that my dad and mom used to cruise in back when cruising qualified as a proper date.

  It was like having them together again.

  At times like this, where the piece of shit wouldn’t start, I began to regret my decision to keep it. It ran fine, but it took constant maintenance—and time that I didn’t have. The throb in my backside and down my thigh didn’t like it one bit either. It wanted to go home and soak itself in ice and aspirin and not worry about a car and why in the holy hell it wouldn’t start. After moving a long blonde hair out of my mouth, I leaned back against the car, mentally begging it to do something—anything but sit there not working.

  “That’s a nice car.” A bass voice scared me. Somehow, I managed not to pee in my booty shorts. My breath seized in my throat. The skating rink wasn’t in the best part of town and as far as I could tell, I was the last one out of there. Usually, one of the girls stuck around to make sure no one was alone, but I’d shooed them off—so intelligent.

  “Thanks.” I didn’t bother looking at who was talking to me. My main objective in that moment was to pretend to be not panicked about being stuck in a parking lot alone. The thing was, I wasn’t really good at the nonchalant thing.

  I was more of a Nervous Nellie. That was my secret. No one knew and I hid it well.

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone at night. It’s not the best part of the city.” A shiver bristled my spine. That was the exact same thing that a creeper would say right before he tried to shove me into the trunk.

  “You should mind your own business.”

  The pain was making me snarkier than usual. That was a lie; I was always snarky, rain or shine.

  “You’re right. So, you have someone coming or are you going to let me jump you off?”

  I turned around so fast that my hurting hip clipped on the side mirror. It hurt so much that I thought I saw stars.

  “What the shit did you just say to me?” As my claws came out, so did my eyes bug out of my head. He looked like a caveman, or possibly a transient. A full beard the color of a lion covered his face and my nose crinkled as I realized he had one of those man buns.

  I had previously thought they were the product of someone who didn’t care for their hygiene, but this specimen was enough to prove me wrong. Mint green eyes stood out against the lion’s mane and if I wasn’t mistaken, a glint of mischief danced in them. I shook myself of the notion—he was still a beefy guy in a parking lot in the middle of the night. Panicked or not, I needed to be smart about this whole scenario.

  “Your battery, that clicking when you try to start it, your battery is dead.”

  My head canted to the side. He thought he was talking to a moron.

  “I’m well aware, jackhole. But as you can se
e there’s no magic battery charger around here.”

  With his right hand, he smoothed his beard down to a point and then let go. “I have a truck over there. I can jump you off—like I said before.”

  His tone carried a tinge of annoyance and I now knew why. I’d been so busy being tough that I’d missed him being kind. I did that sort of thing all the time. It didn’t come from some displaced childhood trauma, I was just defensive. The way some people had a resting bitch face—I was just a resting bitch—period. One side of his mouth was turned up like it wanted to smile, but clearly he knew better. This kid was smart.

  I should’ve been nice back.

  “Yes please.” I nodded. I watched as he walked across the street and started up a truck that made my ride look like a Lamborghini. People didn’t get my car. They thought I should have something more sensible or less of a gas guzzler. Usually the day before payday, I did too.

  People didn’t get sentimental about things anymore.

  At least the people I was around.

  I got sentimental about everything—another secret.

  When he came back, his attitude had changed to all business. “Can you pop the hood?”

  “Sure.” I answered. Before I could stop myself, I barreled in with another charade of my self-reliance. “I can connect the cables, you know.”

  Tipping his head to the right, a heart-stopping smile caught my breath. “I know you can. I got this.”

  All of his complacency was really twerking my nerves. He tethered the two vehicles to each other and did some circle motion with his pointer finger that I translated to start my car up. Of course, he was right, the damned thing just started right up.

  The stranger closed both hoods and came toward me, cables in hand. “Here, you might want to take these in case you need them again—unless you have your own?”

  I scoffed. The daughter of a mechanic always had cables in her trunk along with a bag of tools. The thing was—this daughter of a mechanic had forgotten to put the bag of said items back in her trunk after she cleaned out her car the other day.