Page 55 of Playing it Safe

“I told them I have a plus one. They're going to be happy to meet you."

Deen processes this. She tugs at one of her braids — I notice, but her face is more excited than stressed. "Okay," she says. "This is fun. You need a jersey, though.”

I spend the rest of the drive explaining that I was in a hurry to grab her, but my friend Spinner promised he’d have fan gear waiting for me at our seats.

The Furnace is already buzzing when we arrive. The parking deck has dried after the floods, but the lower level still bears water stains on the concrete. I find a spot on the upper level and help Deen out of the car. She puts her headphones on immediately as we walk through the concourse — the noise is building, music pumping from the speakers, fans in Uprising black and gold flowing toward their seats.

I text Spinner to find out which section we’re in and tell him to be cool with Briar’s sister.

His reply is instant:

WHAT.

I am the epitome of cool.

I pocket the phone and guide Deen to the section behind the Uprising bench. The Fury have claimed a block of seats — I can see them from the concourse, a cluster of very large men in Uprising jerseys, conspicuous even in a full arena. Someone — Spinner, probably — has made a banner that reads UPRISING FOREVER in what I hope is finger paint.

Rookie spots us first. He stands and waves, and I see him register Deen beside me. To his credit, his face shifts from surprise to warmth in a beat. "Hey! You must be little Beckett.”

"I am the older sister. You can call me DD.” She looks up at Rookie, then past him toward the row of hockey players. "Are these all Fury players?"

"Every one of us." Rookie gestures down the row. "That's Spinner, that's Howie, that's Ella — she's not a player, but she's cooler than all of us — and the Stag boys are at the end."

A hand lands on my shoulder. I turn to see Ty Stag — Odin, Gunnar, Alder, and Tucker’s dad. Of course—he’s a part owner of the Uprising. Ty is silver at the temples, still built like the defenseman he was. He retired before my time, but everyone in this arena knows who he is, and not because his sons now play for the team. I wonder why he’s down here with the riffraff when he could be up in the owner’s suite.

“Mayhem.” Ty shakes my hand. "Good to see you. Who's your friend?"

"This is Delphine. Briar Beckett's sister."

Ty crouches to Deen's level — not condescendingly, just to be face-to-face. "Delphine. Great to meet you. I'm Ty. I help run the team your sister plays for." He tilts his head. "I like your sparkles."

Deen touches her cheekbones. "Thank you. They're face gems. Cameron bought them for me."

"Is that right?" Ty’s face softens to a warm smile, like I imagine he looks around his grandkids. "Very thoughtful."

"I have more." Deen opens her purse and pulls out the second packet, apparently brought as backup. Before anyone can react, she peels a gold dot from the sheet and reaches toward Ty's face. "Hold still."

Ty does as he’s told. Deen places the gem on his cheekbone, tilts her head to assess, then adds a silver one beside it. "There," she says. "Now you look fancy.”

Ty Stag, former all-star and current gazillionaire, flashes a genuine smile. "I love it. Thank you, Delphine."

She turns to me. "Your turn."

I sit down and lower my head. Deen places gems on both my cheekbones, taking her time, pressing each into place with her thumb. Spinner watches from two seats over, silent. Rookie sits with his hands in his lap. Howie catches my eye and nods once, small and serious.

Nobody gives me crap. Nobody makes a joke.

When Deen finishes, she steps back to evaluate her work. "Good," she says. "Very handsome."

"Thank you, DD.”

She sits in the seat beside me, headphones on, purse in her lap, legs swinging because her feet don't quite touch the ground. She looks out at the ice, being resurfaced for warm-ups, and her face reminds me so much of Briar. Something twists in my chest.

The Uprising takes the ice for warm-ups, and the crowd noise swells. Deen adjusts her headphones but keeps them on, watching through the glass. I find number twenty-one immediately — Briar, stick on the ice, skating easy laps with Ducky.

She passes our section. Her eyes sweep the crowd behind the bench — looking for something, looking for someone — and then find us.

I see it happen. I see her body register that Deen is here, that Deen is in her seat, that Deen is wearing face gems, and sitting beside me with the Fury guys around her. I see the tension leave Briar's shoulders. Her spine straightens, but her jaw unclenches and she takes a breath.