Page 42 of Playing it Safe

I press my lips together. I really don’t want to bring someone into her life who she will have to lose. I recall the family activity Wendy told me about and the absence of photos in Deen’s scrapbook. “I’m not sure. What if he doesn’t stick around, you know?”

Her gaze is direct and uncluttered and this has always been her gift — the ability to see something clearly and say it without hedging. “I think he’s stuck with you.”

I think about Cameron’s texts to me about landing safely and how we commiserated about the time change. And about his cat, who sleeps on my pillow every night and purrs me to sleep.

I don’t know if Cameron Miller feels stuck with me, but I very much worry about my own attachment to him.

Chapter 18

Briar

Cameron left for Chicago yesterday, and I'm already pathetic about it.

I stand in the Furnace parking lot, staring at my phone, having typed and deleted three separate texts to him in the last ten minutes. The first was about Puck. The second was about the weather. The third was just hey, which I deleted it because I'm a grown-ass woman and I refuse to send a man a one-word text like a teenager in a food court.

My phone buzzes.

Ducky

Where are you? They're setting up lights.

Right. The photo shoot. The reason I'm here on my day off, wearing actual mascara.

The other day, my agent forwarded an email from Thigh Five — the anti-chafe gel company — asking whether any Uprising players were interested in an endorsement deal. Like Ducky said, the company is small and women-owned, and it is looking for female athletes with "strong legs and a strong following" for their spring campaign.

I ignored it for days. Then Tate cornered me in the training room and asked why I hadn't responded. I mumbled something really dumb. She stared at me like I’d said hockey was mid. "You said Thigh Five saved your gams. You told the entire locker room about it. You made Joey buy six tubes."

"That's just talking about a product I like."

"That's literally what an endorsement is, Briar."

I emailed back. They offered more money than I expected — not Cameron money, not even close, but enough to buy fancy sheets and still have some left over. Enough for my accountant to notice.

The shoot is at the training facility — not the main arena. They want action and beauty shots, and they want the ice. At least it’s not just me alone. Some of the other Uprising players are included in the project.

I push through the doors and find the practice rink transformed. A photographer is adjusting the lights near the bench. A woman with a clipboard introduces herself as Margeaux from Thigh Five's marketing team. She brings Tate-level enthusiasm to her own job and it sets me at ease.

"Briar!" Ducky waves from the bench, where she sits with Tate and Joey. "Get over here. You need to change."

I drop my bag. "I wore what they told me to wear." Black leggings, Uprising jersey, and sneakers. I squint at the racks of clothing propped against the boards.

"For the first setup," Margeaux says. "But we've got three looks planned."

"Three looks," I repeat.

"One in gear. One in the leggings. And one in —" Margeaux pulls a garment from the rack. A black, stretchy, mid-thigh skirt. Almost identical to the one I borrowed from Ducky at the college hockey event.

Ducky grins at me from the bench. “Better grease those stems, girl.”

Joey whistles through her teeth. "You should see the campaign brief. It says, 'athletic power meets everyday confidence.' They want the quads front and center."

"My quads," I say flatly.

"Your quads are a national treasure," Tate says. "We've discussed it."

Margeaux hands me the skirt and a fitted black tank top. "First look is the jersey on the ice. We'll start there and work toward the beauty shots. Take your time getting into gear."

I carry the clothes to the locker room and, on autopilot, change into my practice gear — base layer, breezers, socks, skates. The familiar weight settles on my shoulders, and I feel like myself. I grab my stick and head for the ice. I can do this.