Lights Out Lucy_Roller Derby 101 Read online

  Lights Out Lucy

  A Music City Rollers Novel

  Elicia Hyder

  Copyright © 2018 Elicia Hyder

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental, except where acknowledged in the credits.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-945775-10-9

  Inkwell & Quill, LLC

  Cover Illustrations by John Woolley

  www.derbygirlart.com

  For More Information:

  www.eliciahyder.com

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  A Note from Elicia

  Lights Out Lucy

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Get the Epilogue

  Thank You

  HYDERNATION

  Live Events

  Show Your Team Spirit

  The Soul Summoner Series

  The Bed She Made

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Special Thanks to everyone who made this book possible:

  First, to my Fresh Meat sisters who kept me alive through Derby 101: Chelsea, Amy, Cindy, Becci, Leigh, and Angela. I love you guys so much it hurt (past tense because we don’t play anymore.)

  To the Nashville Rollergirls. Without you and all you taught me, this book would not be possible. Thanks specifically to current and former skaters/staff for volunteering your names and likenesses for this book: Lady Fury, Electra Cal, Demoness, 5 Scar Jeneral, Bad News Baroness, Rocksee Rolls, Slugs Bunny, Susan, and Daddy Ho’maker!

  To Chuck for introducing me to this crazy sport and for being the best surrogate brother (and fake husband) a girl could ask for.

  To Taylor for being the inspiration behind Olivia. You are the most perfect model for a selfless best friend.

  To author T. Torrest for allowing me to borrow Trip Wiley, the swoon-worthy movie star from her Remember When series. If you’re into laugh-out-loud books, don’t miss it!

  To Susan Arrington—one of the most badass chicks to ever play the sport. Thank you for the wealth of wisdom you were in writing this. You’ll always be my hero.

  To Steve and everyone at Asphalt Beach in Nashville, TN—where I really did buy all my derby gear. Thanks for not laughing at me. You guys rock!

  To Frogmouth Clothing for the Music City Rollers’ awesome jerseys. They are a skater-owned and operated company that designs, cuts, dyes, and sews their jerseys. You guys were a pleasure to work with!

  To Lady Fury for all your enthusiasm, energy, and hard work. Thanks for jumping in the trenches with me on this one.

  To my kids who spent many nights with grandparents while I pursued this crazy sport, and many more nights while I wrote about it.

  To grandparents. (See above.)

  To Mom and Dad for everything. Always.

  To Taffy for being the first to cheer for this book.

  To Barbara Vey for constantly pushing me to be better.

  To Nicole Ayers, my amazing editor. I dare not write a word without you.

  To Chris. As always, thanks for being the inspiration for all my heroes. I love you and couldn’t do this without your endless love and support.

  TO MY AWESOME LAUNCH TEAM, THE BOOK SUMMONERS. I would be nowhere without you!

  To my new Fan Club members, HYDERNATION, you guys are going to make this year SOOOO interesting!

  And as always…thanks to all my readers who allow me to daydream and keep food on the table.

  A Note from Elicia

  In 2008, my first husband was one of the first recorded deaths resulting from texting and driving in the state of Tennessee. He was 25 years old. At the time we had two children. Canaan was four. Will was two.

  In the aftermath of that awful year, my good friend, Chuck, introduced me to the wild and wonderful sport of women’s flat track roller derby. On a dare, I joined Fresh Meat (Roller Derby 101) with the Nashville Rollergirls, and “eL’s Bells” (my derby name) was born.

  Truth be told: I SUCKED AT ROLLER DERBY. I hung up my skates after my 2nd serious knee injury before I ever even skated in my first official bout…BUT new lifelong friendships were forged, my body became a formidable machine, and through the bruises, torn ligaments, and pulled muscles—my heart finally healed.

  Fast forward to 2015 when I was diagnosed with cancer. My daughter—who was counting the days until she could play junior roller derby—was faced with the possibility of losing another parent. Unlike her brother, who only remembered their dad in pictures, Canaan knew the pain that seemed to lurk in our future.

  As I planned my funeral (yes, that’s dramatic, but I think every cancer patient considers it), I wondered if Canaan, too, would find her healing on a pair of quad skates.

  And thus, the idea for this novel, Lights Out Lucy, was sparked.

  I published my first book with chemotherapy burning through my veins. And while the doctors and nurses (hi, Rena) saved my life, I can honestly say that writing saved my sanity.

  Three years later, I’m cancer free and Lights Out Lucy is my 9th published novel. It’s also my favorite. In these pages, I hope you’ll experience the power of friendship and determination. I hope you’ll laugh, fall in love, and see the very best in yourself through our unwitting heroine.

  There are thousands of roller derby teams worldwide. Just go to your favorite search engine and type: roller derby insert your city here to find a team near you. A lot of them are non-profits that support local charities, so bring the whole family to a bout and have fun for a good cause!

  And if you ever toy with the idea of joining Fresh Meat to FIND OUT WHAT YOU’RE MADE OF…

  I dare you.

  For Canaan.

  You taught me what kind of woman I want to be.

  I couldn’t be more proud of you.

  Love, Mom.

  P.S. Please skip over the sexy parts while reading.

  Lights Out Lucy

  “It’s not a matter of if you get hurt, but of how bad and when.”

  I can’t say they didn’t warn me.

  Right now, I realize: I probably should have listened.

  Because if there’s anyone who has no business playing a sport that requires a helmet, pads, and a liability waiver, it’s this girl. The same girl who once knocked herself out during a game of backyard baseball. I stepped up to the plate, pulled the bat back a little too far to swing, and clocked myself in the back of the skull. Boom. Lights Out Lucy.

  That’s how I got my roller derby name.

  So yeah. Maybe I should have known better.

  But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? That’s the whole reason I laced up a pair of skates to begin with. Well, that and this other little confession I need to make. Amidst all the estrogen and girl power that fuels the world of women’s roller derby, this insanity may have started because
of a guy.

  Eyeroll, I know.

  Sadly, today on the oval track, it’s about to come to a very bloody end. And all this slow-motion introspection might be part of my life flashing before my eyes.

  I’m going down hard and fast, with a set of Atomic Turquoise wheels aimed right at my face.

  Lights Out Lucy, indeed.

  One

  Only I could pull off a car accident sitting still at a red light.

  For a second after the impact, I forgot about the wasp in my car. Then it descended slowly in front of my eyes again, a sinister buzz rippling the small space between my nose and its stinger. I slammed the gearshift into park and forced open the driver-side door with a loud creak! As I tumbled to the asphalt, the door caught sharply on its hinges, bounced back, and slammed against my leg. I landed hard on my hip, and my elbow almost unearthed the center line dividing the two westbound lanes of Old Hickory Boulevard.

  But I was safe from the buzzing bringer of death, even if I was sprawled across the highway during rush-hour traffic. A few feet away, the driver of the large black truck—under which my coupe was wedged—slid out of his cab.

  “Are you crazy?” he shouted as he rushed toward me, closing my car door as he ran.

  All around us, car horns crescendoed in an urban symphony. Wasn’t it a known fact that people don’t honk in the South? Weren’t we supposed to be the land of “bless your hearts”s and deep-fried hospitality? I guess not.

  The man grabbed my arm and hoisted me to my feet, spinning me around and pushing my back against the side of my car. Traffic in the lane next to us started rolling again, right over the spot where my head had landed on the road between the front grill of a garbage truck and the backside of a school bus.

  The neck of my savior/victim was inches from my face as he yelled to cars honking behind mine, “Go around!” He smelled like cedar and sunshine.

  Stars twinkled in my vision as I stared at the perfect angle of his jaw.

  Maybe I hit my head.

  “Are you OK?” He took a half step back and studied my face.

  God, he was handsome. Tall. Thick, broad shoulders. Dirty blond hair that couldn’t pick a single direction to grow. The turquoise in my dress reflected in his chocolate-brown eyes. His lips were full—and kissable.

  Yes. I definitely hit my head.

  Gingerly touching my fingers to my hairline, where I was fairly certain my forehead had smacked the steering wheel, I blinked to try and reset my thoughts. There wasn’t any blood. Miraculously. “I—I’m so sorry.”

  “Are you all right?” He bent at the knees so he was eye level with me. “What happened?”

  “There was a bee.”

  His head snapped back. “A bee?”

  Oh hell. Kill me now. Heat bloomed in my cheeks, compounding my mortification. I hid my face behind my hands. “A wasp, actually. I freaked out, and my foot slipped off the brake.”

  He was silent.

  Peeking through my fingers, I saw him biting down on the insides of his lips. Probably to keep from laughing. I dropped my hands. “It’s not funny!”

  “You’re right. It’s not funny.” He chuckled anyway. “Are you hurt?”

  I shook my head despite the stars still twinkling in my vision. “I hit my head on the steering wheel, but I think I’m OK.”

  “Should we go to the hospital? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  “No, no. I’m all right.” I hoped I was correct.

  He examined my arm. “Your elbow is messed up.”

  “It hurts.”

  “Come on. I have a first-aid kit in the truck.”

  With his arm curled around my waist, he helped me to the sidewalk. Pain burned through my hip and down my leg as I stood by the back door of his truck. He pulled a small white box from the floorboard and balanced it on the rim of his truck bed.

  “Let me see it,” he said, gently taking hold of my wrist.

  I winced as he pulled my arm up and across my body.

  “There’s a lot of gravel in the wound. I need to wash it out.” He stepped to the front door, opened it, and leaned inside. A second later, he returned with a bottle of water. I tensed just looking at it.

  He grimaced. “It’s gonna sting.”

  I took a deep breath and held it. “Just do it.”

  Cool water splashed over my elbow.

  “Sweet mother!” I twisted and arched my spine as the water burned my shredded skin.

  The man studied me carefully, perhaps afraid I might scream or pass out. “You OK?”

  I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut.

  “Breathe,” he said.

  I inhaled. “I’m OK.”

  He tore open a packet of antibiotic ointment and smeared it over the bloody hole, instantly dulling the blinding pain. I fully exhaled for the first time since the crash. Then he opened a large bandage and covered the area.

  “Thank you.” I gave him a thorough once over, checking him for injuries, of course. “I didn’t even ask. Are you all right?”

  He smiled. “Honestly, the truck didn’t even lurch enough to make my seat belt catch. You sort of slid right under it.” He nodded toward his truck. Its size made my car look like it could be remote controlled. “I think you owe me a new bumper.”

  The front end of my car was wearing his chrome bumper like a tiara. My head fell forward in shame. “I just paid off the car loan.”

  “That’s the way it usually goes.” He closed the first-aid kit and put it back in his truck. “Can you manage to stay out of oncoming traffic long enough for me to dislodge your car from my rear end?”

  My eyes doubled in size.

  So did his. “That came out all wrong!”

  I burst out laughing and clapped my hand over my mouth. “Yes, it did.”

  He shook his head and jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. “I’m going to move my truck.”

  Still grinning behind my hand, I nodded. “OK.”

  The scraping metal against metal as he slowly pulled forward off my car made me cringe and plug my ears. My nose wrinkled as I stepped forward to inspect the damage. His bumper had settled at a slant below the tailgate, but other than that, his truck didn’t have a scratch. I couldn’t say as much for my car.

  He pulled into the parking lot of the gas station next to the intersection, then parked and rejoined me in front of my car. “Well, unfortunately, I don’t think it’s drivable.” He bent over my hood, which was stripped down to the base metal and crumpled like a sheet of discarded notebook paper. “Looks like my hitch tore a hole in the radiator.”

  Curse words drifted through my mind, but I would never say them out loud. Instead, I stepped toward the passenger’s side. “I’ll get my insurance information.”

  He grabbed my hand to stop me. “Is the bee still in there?”

  I froze. “Oh! I don’t know.”

  With a slight bow, he put his hand over his heart. “Let me.”

  This man. I wasn’t aware guys like him existed in my generation. I stayed behind as he walked around the car. “Be careful. It’s mean.”

  It took a few yanks, but he finally managed to wrench the door open with a labored creak from the mangled metal. “Whoa!” He ducked out of the wasp’s way as it zinged past his head. “That sucker was huge!”

  I tossed my hands up, then winced from the pain in my arm. “I know!”

  He motioned me over. “Come on. The coast is clear.”

  In my glove box, all pertinent roadside necessities were neatly arranged. The paperwork was filed away in a black case behind a first-aid kit, a tire-pressure gauge, an ice scraper, and a flashlight. As I sat in the seat, carefully removing the items, he looked over my shoulder. “You’re so well prepared, I’m surprised there’s no bee spray in there.”

  I might have laughed had I not been trying so hard to fight back tears. I quickly found my insurance card and handed it to him. “Here. Take a picture of it with your phone.”

  “Good thinking. Have yo
u done this a lot?” he asked.

  I sighed as I got out of the car. “Don’t ask.”

  With the camera on his smartphone, he snapped a picture of my insurance information. “Lucille Cooper?” He grinned and began humming the hit by Kenny Rogers, “You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille.”

  Rolling my eyes, I tucked the card back into the case and stepped out beside him. “Boy, I’ve never heard that before. It’s Lucy, actually.”

  He offered his hand. “I’m West Adler.”

  My brow crinkled. “West? As in north, south, east”—I pointed at him—“and you?”

  He folded his arms over his chest, straining his short sleeves against his biceps. “That’s a funny joke coming from a girl named Lucille.”

  I playfully shoved him in the shoulder, then noticed the embroidered logo on his chest. “Adler Construction. Family business?”

  “You could say that.”

  The shrill wail of a police siren echoed through the jammed intersection. My heart sank.

  “Uh-oh,” West said with a grin. “Looks like someone called the fuzz.”

  My day kept getting better and better.

  A white-and-blue Nashville Metro police cruiser, with red-and-blue lights flashing, inched its way across the busy road until it pulled to a stop behind my car. The officer, an older man with white hair and a matching mustache, angled out from behind the wheel and tugged his belt up over his belly as he sauntered toward us.

  “It’s your lucky day,” West said quietly at my side.

  “Right,” I muttered.

  The cop pulled off his mirrored aviator sunglasses. “West Adler, is that you?”

  West met the cop halfway. I trailed behind him.

  “How’s it going, Danny?” West asked, stretching out his hand.

  Officer Danny accepted West’s hand with a hearty shake. “I’m having a better day than someone is having.” He pointed to my mangled car. “What happened?”

  “A killer wasp, I’m afraid.” West grinned down at me. “Fortunately, there were no casualties other than the car.”