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Joan Nguyen sweeps her notes into a tidy pile in two quick motions. She glances at the time on the clock in the far left corner, pushes back her shoulders and flashes a thumbs up in question to her co-host John Springer. When he returns the gesture and turns his attention to the screen, she leans into her microphone to begin:
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen! And welcome to the Men’s Solo Roller Races, 2013 Fall Championships Finale.”
John takes over to tack on:
“Today we have had one heart-stopping race after another, many close calls and even some near misses, but now it’s time for the final and most anticipated Race of the season. Our finale this year is between four-time gold and silver medalist, Neil Josten, and four-time silver, three-time gold medalist Andrew Minyard.”
Joan doesn’t bother consulting her notes before she begins prattling off:
“The Minyard-Josten Rivalry: The Fox Versus The Monster. The score is currently at 4:3 first to five. If The Monster can take a win today we will be in for an epic final showdown. As it is The Fox is at match point. If he can take home the win today he takes the whole thing. Fans are restless today—this could be the final edition to this ongoing saga.”
Continuing, they settle into their usual ping-pong commentary:
“Well, Joan. Personally, I’m hoping we can see this thing resolved today. I’m getting older, you know, and I don't know if my heart can take much more of this. It's been a tense few years watching these two duke it out.”
“Three years—can you believe it, John? No one seems to have been able to even come close to matching either of these two since Kevin Day retired. Seven championships over the last four years and we've yet to declare our new King.”
“Queen, Joan. Remember?”
“Right, of course. We've yet to declare our new Queen.”
“Speaking of Skating Royalty, look who’s just walked in.”
“Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. On the sidelines coaching for Neil Josten since Fall of 2009 we have the one and only Queen of the Rink, Kevin Day!”
“And the star of today’s race of course.”
“Potential star. I'm hoping to see a win for The Monster today. Andrew Minyard was an unexpected contender for the spot at the top. As you probably all know by now, he appeared on the scene in 2006 as a skater for the Palmetto State Derby team. And what an addition he was! Until the Queen stepped off the rink with that injury.”
“A terrible loss for the community that year.”
“Truly tragic. We really are so glad to have him back even as a coach.”
“Back to The Monster’s debut.”
“Right, of course. That same year we had Andrew transfer into our world of Roller Race and take it by storm!”
“Not only did he blast his way through the ranks but he also publicly challenged our then iconic silver medalist Neil Josten, The Fox, a fan favourite and long-time participant in the Roller Races. The pair have been competing against each other since.”
“We know some of you are probably sick of us yammering about them. But since catching wind of this rivalry we have been obsessed!”
“And we’re sure there are at least some of you right there with us.”
“We are finally reaching a conclusion four years in the making. So who are you rooting for: The Fox or The Monster?”
“Listen and listen closely because I will only say this once,” Kevin begins. “I don't care if it's Andrew out there, you will take this seriously. I swear, Neil, if you fall behind again in the last 15 laps because you are messing around out there, I will put an end to this little game of yours.”
Neil is sure that Kevin is serious about that but lets the warning fly right over his head anyway.
Usually, Kevin doesn’t think his opponents are enough of a threat to bother trying to quell Neil’s antics. The exception being any race against Andrew. For the last seven seasons, Neil has had to sit through similar scoldings before each final as Kevin considers Andrew a genuine threat to Neil’s victory. Kevin seems to believe that he isn't aware of the threat Andrew poses. He knows.
He also knows that Kevin coaching him is the result of pure vicarious intent, but he doesn't think it's worth starting that fight again, especially here. The last time he did, Kevin shoved him into a wall so hard that Neil can probably still feel it if he thinks about it hard enough. Technically the violence wasn't the consequence of him mentioning it but rather of having called Kevin a ‘deadweight has-been,’ and, well, everything else that came before that.
Regardless, the threat falls flat, seeing as this ‘little game of theirs’ has brought them unprecedented amounts of positive media attention.
“No you won’t,” Neil dismisses, unable to curb the attitude that seeps into it. “The fans would be furious and you care too much about what they have to say to cause that kind of upset.”
“Don’t yo—” Kevin starts, gearing up to tear into Neil for the defiance. He is quickly interrupted by the cheery overhead call for the competitors to, “Please make your way to your starting positions. The race will begin shortly.”
Neil smiles, smug, shoots Kevin an unbothered shrug and starts skating over to the gate. The last thing he hears is Kevin’s, “Do not disappoint me,” which he pointedly ignores. Kevin will find a way to be disappointed regardless of how well Neil performs today, that isn’t Neil's concern. Kevin will get over it. His only concern is beating Andrew and having a little fun along the way.
Neil rolls onto the rink, prompting the commentators overhead to introduce him to the audience and list off his statistics. Nothing they have to say about him he doesn't already know so he focuses his attention on locating his opponent instead.
He finds him heading towards the starting line—Andrew Minyard, fittingly dubbed ‘The Monster’ for his unshakeable defence and brutal offence back in his roller derby days. He looks as intimidating as one can at five feet tall plus the height of his roller skates. But between his all-black ensemble filled out with burly muscle and his generally threatening aura, he manages to quash any potential ridicule.
Neil watches him knock his toe stops against the floor, checking their security; a curious habit of his.
Andrew doesn’t spare him a glance as he arrives at his side, rather choosing to keep his focus forward as he always does before their races. Something about not letting Neil get in his head early. Whatever that means.
Neil contents himself to stretching one final time before the race, targeting his calves and hamstrings. After a race, they always hurt like a bitch. In the best way of course.
When the first buzzer goes off, Andrew finally looks at Neil, a pointed question in his gaze. Neil can feel his excitement spark, knowing they’re about to begin their game. He nods his confirmation to Andrew and delights in the ghost of a smile he receives in return. On the second buzzer, their attention is demanded by the track before them. They shift their stances and prepare to go. The third and final buzzer fires and they tear off down the court.
The first lap of twenty-seven is purely a race. They both keep in their lanes, so to speak, focused on trying to out-pace the other to begin with. This is how they always begin.
As soon as they hit their second lap, however, they begin their pre-established game of push and push.
Neil can feel the cold grin spread across his face. Beside him, Andrew rolls his shoulders back and readies himself for the clash.
Neil drops his weight and pushes off on a rushed beat, giving himself half a second’s lead on Andrew by breaking away from their rhythm. He utilizes the extra centimetres to throw a skate in Andrew’s path forcing him to shift his weight in order to lift his left skate and avoid collision.
Andrew grunts, a sound only Neil could catch. It makes his grin grow impossibly wider. He takes advantage of Andrew's loss of momentum and speeds ahead. It’s the kind of early lead that has been the decider in his past victories against Andrew.
He holds his lead for the next lap and a half or so before he is forced to return to his initial pace; a pace he can realistically sustain.
Over the course of the next couple laps, Andrew inches to close the gap. Eventually, he draws up behind Neil, riding his wake.
Neil can feel the moment Andrew sets his gaze on the back of his neck. The sensation accompanied by a rush of excitement.
Andrew doesn't try anything until they reach the corner where he uses the turn to cut across to the innermost edge of the track, cutting his turn time, and levelling him with Neil.
Neil makes an attempt to repeat his previous trick. Sensing the ruse, Andrew preemptively dodges away from Neil, avoiding a repeat of last time. Neil huffs in disappointment, a confirmation of his correct call.
Neil takes the next moment to recalibrate his play and Andrew uses the opening, shifting his weight entirely onto his right skate and skimming the wheels of his left against Neil’s skate. The friction stutters the movement of the front right wheel, throwing Neil off balance hard. It's a subtle trick, easily missable by the audience, but very effective. It has the same effect as if you were to run into a wall with a single skate.
It's a trick that Neil had used on Andrew. Twice. He does not appreciate the taste of his own medicine.
Neil lurches forward, latching onto a still-moving Andrew, and tries to pull him down with him. Half successful, Neil goes down but catches himself on one knee while Andrew is thrown for a literal loop but ultimately able to steady himself.
The crowd roars in excitement. Andrew catches Neil’s eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction before taking off again. Neil, never one to relent so easily, bounces back to his feet and sets off with new vigour, eager to pay Andrew back. He really does love this game.
The next time he catches up with Andrew he forgoes subtlety and decides to go for a tackle. He reaches Andrew on the corner of the 7th lap and rams into him like a freight train, driving them both into the rink wall. Andrew is quite literally struck breathless.
He rasps out a, “Fuck you,” that sounds more like a harsh exhale of air, to which Neil replies with an unsympathetic, “Sorry,” accompanied by a mocking pat to his cheek.
Neil shoves off of Andrew and from here things only get more heated. Each check gets harder, intending to wipe out the other. From here the attempts at provocation pick up too.
“You're getting slower, Andrew.” Neil punctuates that with an elbow to the ribs.
“Old trick, Josten. Do better,” Andrew taunts, backed by Neil being wiped clean off his feet.
The audience is absolutely eating it up as they always do. Spurred on by the violence, the adrenaline and the competitive drive of the skaters.
Neil loves the chase of this sport for the same reason that he knows Andrew loves the fight of it: because it's not for their lives, it's just for fun. At the end of the race, they will step off, alive and feeling like it. It's an easy source of adrenaline and is used for survival skills that they no longer need. This was why he fell in love with the sport—the speed and the roughness of it all.
Somewhere past the halfway mark, Andrew catches Neil by the belt loop of his jean shorts. He slips two fingers through the gap and, using all his strength, hurls Neil behind him. The move doesn't serve to topple Neil, but rather to propel Andrew forward and Neil in the opposite direction. It's ballsy enough that Neil doesn't consider the tactical consequences of pausing to yell, “Don’t break my shit, Andrew.”
Beside him, he hears a thump against the rink wall and the unmistakable timbre of Kevin's angry voice through the glass between them. An unfortunate spot for the scene to have unfolded. Kevin yells at him for being an idiot and urges (a kind word for it) him to get going, impressively managing to be heard over the other thousand-odd screaming voices in the room.
Neil, not for the first time in his career, weighs the pros and cons of firing Kevin as his coach. Recognising that this is not quite a good time to be considering this, Neil settles for flipping the bird over his shoulder, somewhere in Kevin's general direction, and recentering his focus on the race.
Roller derby tracks are repetitive. Sometimes it feels as though the amount of laps is never going to end. Because of this, it's easy to neglect a sense of urgency and forget how little time you have to catch up to and pass your opponent. As Neil passes the starting mark on his 20th lap he accepts that, just this once, Kevin had been right for bitching at him.
At this stage in the race, he only has seven laps to pass Andrew, who currently holds a dangerous few meters on him. The last time this happened, Andrew had smoked him and swept a third win out from under Neil’s feet.
Neil knows he needs to hurry, but his thighs are burning. He's drenched in sweat and can almost feel the way he’s lagging behind.
Watching Andrew up ahead, listening to the dragging sound of his skates on the linoleum floor and soaking up the gross humidity of the packed room, Neil feels just how badly he wants this despite his odds. He wants to win.
He wants the rush of victory, he wants to bask in the cheers of the crowd, and he wants the look of frustration on Andrew’s face that he knows the man will try to mask. He even wants the reluctant pride in Kevin’s eyes even with the scolding that will certainly accompany it. He wants to win this stupid championship and end this stupid rivalry between the two of them, and then he wants to kiss Andrew stupid.
And so despite what would be signs of certain defeat for anyone else, Neil decides that he will be taking this victory home. At the very least, he won't be going down without putting on one hell of a show.
Using every sliver of energy and drive he can muster he pushes forward to close the distance. From behind, he can see the way the lines of muscle in Andrew's legs are straining with exertion. The way they pull against the lining of his shorts with every push. Andrew is struggling. He is running out of stamina. That is what Neil is looking for. His chance, if he can stay focused.
Andrew, running on his last reserves, likely hoping they'll be enough, flashes a look over his shoulder, gauging the whereabouts of his opponent. When he catches sight of Neil a few paces behind, his eyes flash with the mockery he doesn't have the breath to throw. Run rabbit, run, Neil can practically hear him taunt.
A familiar line. Andrew’s favourite, Neil suspects. He thinks Andrew likes to remind him what he's capable of in moments when he isn't living up to just that. Run. Neil knows how to run. Run, escape, skate, whatever, so long as he's fast. Faster than Andrew. Faster than any of his tricks, faster than his smart saves and clever plays.
The Fox and The Monster. The quick versus the clever. The strong racing the unrelenting. Neil fucking loves this game.
At last, locking down all thought, Neil sets his sights on victory, on nothing but the burn in his legs, the finish line and the man standing between it and him. Riding elation and the roar of the crowd Neil finds his wall and bowls right through it.
Breaching a meter’s distance, Neil has almost caught up to Andrew as the final lap commences. He pushes to close the gap then he pushes for more.
At 20 meters left of the race, the commentaters get out of their seats and those in the audience not holding their breath cheer impossibly louder as Neil draws up beside Andrew.
At 15 meters Andrew lunges for Neil at his side, claws bared. Running on pure instinct Neil dodges, unhindered. That extra expense of effort on Andrews's part would be his final mistake.
At 10 meters, Neil pulls a hair ahead.
5 meters away from the end, Andrew makes one final desperate attempt at thwarting Neil, choosing fight as his last resort. Unfortunately for him, Neil is a runner, first and foremost. He ducks out of Andrew’s reach, dodging and driving himself forward and right over the finish line.
The crowd erupts.
Neil skids to a stop, veins still buzzing with adrenaline. He turns to watch as Andrew draws up next to him, huffing. The two of them take a moment to catch their breaths and process the results in silence, allowing the commentators and audience to celebrate around them (or grieve if they were rooting for Andrew).
They open the gates to let the competitors out. At this point they are probably supposed to acknowledge each other, shake hands or something, seeing as this is the end of a years-long competition.
Andrew interrupts his own panting by drawing in a huge breath and blowing it out.
Neil tilts his head at him, amused.
Andrew tilts his head back, mocking.
Neil grins.
Andrew scoffs, fond, and flicks his eyes to the exit. “Smoke?” he asks.
“Bathroom?” Neil clarifies.
“10 minutes,” Andrew says in agreement, before adding the reminder of, “Interview.”
Neil considers this for a moment. “20 minutes. Interview, then Kevin.”
Andrew nods, understanding, then gestures for Neil to precede him off the rink.
Neil pushes his way into the hall housing the fully enclosed accessible bathroom stalls. Each of the stalls stands vacant except for the one right at the end. He’s never known Andrew to be late so he trusts (really fucking hopes) that he’s claimed that one and makes his way down to it.
He raps on the wood and waits a moment for it to unlock and swing open before slipping inside.
“Took your sweet time,” Andrew says.
Neil breezes right past Andrew and that statement to where the pack of cigarettes and lighter lay on the edge of the sink. He snags two, lights them on the third try, hands one off to Andrew and lets the first drag kick in before answering.
“Kevin had a lot to say about the race.” Andrew doesn't need any more explanation than that, understanding their antics, but Neil still goes on to say, “I had a lot to say about what he had to say.”
“I’m sure,” Andrew drawls.
“And he wanted to know where I was going.”
Andrew rolls his eyes at this. Anytime Kevin had caught them smoking outside in the past, he had gone off about them destroying their futures and sabotaging their fitness, long enough for the rest of their cigarettes to burn out, wasted and unsmoked. Andrew is convinced it had been on purpose.
After wasting almost enough to fill an entire pack, they’d figured it was time to find somewhere else to smoke. Shortly thereafter, they discovered the non-athlete bathrooms on the opposite side of the building from the locker rooms where Kevin would never think to look for them.
Kevin could still smell the smoke on them when they returned, but this way they could at least tell him that he was making things up.
They smoke in comfortable silence, Neil enjoying the smell more than actually smoking. Andrew on the other hand doesn't waste time huffing through his cigarette. After flicking the butt out the window he goes for the half-full pack. Neil snatches it up first and slips it into his back pocket, out of Andrew’s reach.
“You know, you almost ripped my shorts with that stunt you pulled,” Neil says as he offers the remainder of his cigarette instead. Andrew accepts it without a word and mimicking Neil’s earlier action, waits until he's had his first drag to reply.
“Nicky says that these,” he starts, sliding a finger through the same loop as before, “need to be destroyed and or burned.”
Neil rolls his eyes. He’s heard enough from Nicky about the unacceptability of his ‘jorts’ and doesn't care anymore for the input now than he did then. He is, however, rethinking his involvement in this family—he hadn't realised that in meeting them, he was signing himself up to be criticized daily by a flock of fashionistas.
“I like them,” he says plainly and looks down to where Andrew still has a hold on the offending item. “And I think you might too.”
Andrew tugs on the loop and thumbs at where the thread has begun to pull but says nothing otherwise. So Neil continues, “Besides, Renee wears them. So does Coach.”
Andrew looks up at him with a faux bored expression. “You are not a lesbian or a 55-year-old divorcee.”
“Coach has never been divorced,” Neil dismisses, pettily glossing over everything else in favour of correcting the inaccuracy. “And I'm not—have not been divorced.”
“After today, that is yet to be decided.” Andrew takes the final drag of Neil’s cigarette and tosses it out the window, a touch more recklessly than the last. He brings the now free hand up to Neil’s waist and, along with the grip on Neil’s shorts, uses it to draw him closer.
Neil dismisses the threat as empty and says, “If you were going to sulk when you lost, you shouldn't have challenged me on live TV when you joined the league.”
“I did not challenge you. I said that their certainty of your rise to first place with Kevin out of the way was premature. Your misreading the timing of my comment as a challenge was the result of your innate need for conflict.”
“Whatever, it doesn't matter now. I won,” Neil says smugly. “You wouldn't divorce me anyway.”
“What makes you so sure?” Andrew asks, pulling him ever closer.
Neil feints contemplation,“‘Till death do us part,’ I seem to recall.”
“I could always kill you and be done with it,” Andrew says, now in Neil’s space.
“Or you could hurry up and kiss me,” Neil taunts, a breath away from Andrew’s lips.
Taking the suggestion as the permission he means it to be, Andrew finally closes the distance between them. Neil melts against his mouth immediately, greedily soaking up the warmth and kissing back with a triumph equal to that which he had been holding onto since the race.
A hand moves up to cradle the back of Neil’s neck, making him relax into the kiss further. He parts his lips to allow Andrew to slide his tongue into his mouth along with the familiar taste of smoked tobacco.
Sufficiently distracted, he barely notices when Andrew steals the cigarette pack out from where he had tucked it away in his back pocket. He manages to hide it away in his clothing before Neil even notices the trick.
Neil pulls back at the realisation to voice his indignation but is interrupted when his phone starts ringing. It blasts a cartoonishly sinister instrumental that he recognises as the ringtone Andrew set for Kevin.
Neil peels out of Andrew’s hold with a groan.
“I thought you dealt with that.” Andrew sounds unimpressed.
“I thought so too,” Neil grumbles in response.
“A shame,” Andrew says, pushing Neil all the way off and moving for the door. “Best not keep Her Majesty waiting.”
Neil follows him out of the bathroom disappointed, feeling robbed in more ways than one.
“Wait up for me? This shouldn't take long,” Neil asks, desperately hoping that it doesn’t.
“Left car park in 15,” Andrew agrees as they step out into the almost empty lobby. “Do not let him keep you longer, I will go home without you.”
Home sounds like heaven to Neil right about now so he grins, nods his understanding and takes off back toward the rink to face his final obstacle of the day, both feet on the ground and Andrew waiting at an end in sight.