Page 52 of Playing it Safe

"I did not —" I give up. I focus on my hamstring and let the warmth in my chest do whatever it wants.

I woke up this morning with Cameron's arm across my waist and Puck at my feet. For the first time in my professional career, I considered being late to a game-day skate because the man beside me was warm, solid, and breathing slowly against my neck, and I wanted to stay in that bed forever.

I was extremely responsible, though. I got up, made coffee, kissed his sleeping mouth, and drove to the Furnace with my legs still shaking from last night.

Three times. My body, which I spent years believing was defective, came three times in one night. The man who did that to me is at my house right now, feeding his cat and making my sheets smell amazing.

So yeah, I don’t really care if my teammates are razzing me about it. My life is pretty great right now.

The team meeting is in the big conference room. Coach Digano stands at the whiteboard, gnawing gum, very obviously a man who has waited his entire career to coach a playoff game.

The room is quiet. Every chair is filled.

"Ladies." Coach looks at each of us. "Tonight is historic. First playoff game in Uprising franchise history. First women's professional hockey playoff game in this arena." He pauses, like this is new information to us. "The Furnace is going to be full. Every seat. And you know the men’s team is coming in solidarity. This whole damn city is coming to watch you do what you've been doing all season."

A murmur ripples through the room. Joey sits up straighter. Ashley adjusts her hair tie. Ducky cracks her knuckles.

"I don't need to tell you what this means," Coach says. "You already know. You've been proving it all year. Now, here’s the plan.”

I feel the electricity, the focus, the collective inhale of twenty women who have fought for everything and are about to fight one more time. My body is ready. My game plan is locked. Cameron's film notes live in my head now, the half-step correction, the delayed read. I've never felt more prepared for a hockey game.

We break from the meeting, and I'm heading to the trainer's room for a final tape job when my phone buzzes with a call.

It's Dominique. From Deen's house. I freeze, a ball of ice lodged in my gut.

"Hey, Briar. I'm really sorry to call on game day. We've got a situation."

I grip the wall. "Is Deen okay?"

"She's fine, she's fine. She's just — the aide who was going to bring her to tonight's game had a family emergency. She had to leave. The backup aide isn't available either. We're short-staffed because of the flu going around, and I just can't spare anyone to take her."

I lean against the wall. "So she can't come."

"I'm so sorry. I know how much this meant to her. She's been planning her outfit for days. The face gems are out, and she braided her hair —" Dominique's voice catches. "She's putting on a brave face, but she's pretty upset."

The hallway tilts. I press my back against the concrete, feel its cold through my shirt, and something inside me crumbles.

Deen has been counting down the days. She made a poster. She practiced the Rise Up chant with Wendy. She laid out her jersey and her face gems, did her braids herself, and now she's sitting in that house, pretending she's fine, while the thing she's been waiting for slips away because there aren't enough helpers.

There are never enough people. Why the hell did I think I could start even a fake relationship with Cameron, let alone have anything real? There's always something that falls through, and it always falls on me to fix, and I can't fix this because I have to be on the ice in two hours and I can't be in two places at once and I can't —

A sound comes out of me that I don't recognize. A ragged, wet, horrible sound. I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the concrete floor of the hallway, crying. My whole body convulses, I can't breathe, my face is a mess, and for once I don't care who sees.

"Briar?" Ducky appears around the corner. She drops to her knees beside me. "BB, what's wrong? What happened?"

I can't get the words out. I fold in on myself and press my hands over my face. Ducky puts her arm around me and says, "Okay, okay, I've got you." Then Tate is there too, crouching on my other side, her hand on my back.

"Deen's aide canceled," I manage between sobs. I think I just hung up on Dominique. I don’t even know. "She can't come to the game. She was so excited, but they don't have anyone to bring her, and she's sitting there in her jersey —"

My voice breaks. Tate and Ducky exchange a look over my head. Ducky rubs my shoulder. "We'll figure it out. We'll find someone."

"There's no one. They're short-staffed." I choke. "I can't do everything. I can't play this game, take care of her, and I can't —"

"Stay here," Tate says, and she's gone. Down the hallway, sneakers squeaking on concrete, moving fast.

Ducky holds me. She doesn't say it's okay because she knows better. She just holds me and lets me cry on the floor of the Furnace like the mess I am.

I don't know how many minutes pass. Enough for my breathing to slow, for the sobs to thin into hiccups. I'm wiping my face with my jersey sleeve when I hear footsteps. Heavy ones that belong to a man who takes up most of a hallway.