Page 64 of Playing it Safe
"Great game, sweetheart.” I kiss her temple. "You were amazing tonight."
"Felt good." She leans into me briefly. "I'm ready to go home."
“Me too," I say. “I’ll head out first thing tomorrow. I want to get back to check on the house." I turn to Ma. “I’m heading home in the morning."
Ma tilts her head. "Back to Pittsburgh, you mean."
She says it lightly. Gently. A small correction — the kind a mother makes when her child uses the wrong word.
"Right," I say. "Back to Pittsburgh."
Briar tenses beside me. Not a reaction anyone else would notice. Just the way she goes still on the ice when she's reading a play, processing information, and calculating what comes next.
I look at her. Her face is composed. Pleasant. The performance still flawless.
But her eyes have gone somewhere I can't follow.
"It was so wonderful meeting you," Briar says to Ma, her voice perfectly warm. I always knew she was heading back with the team instead of with me, but this feels wrong. Like I’m fucking up something essential, but I don’t have a big brother to sort it all out for me.
Briar squeezes my mother’s arm. “Thank you for everything. The stocking is beautiful."
Ma beams. Pop waves. Nicky hugs Briar so hard she lifts her off the ground, which is an achievement given Briar's comparative size. And then Briar follows the team to their bus.
Something is wrong. I don't know what. But I can feel distance growing between the woman who said she loves me and me. Somewhere in the space between this city and our home, something has shifted that I can't see, can't name, and am already terrified of losing.
Chapter 26
Briar
Nobody on my team can understand my melancholy right now. The flight home was raucous—girls were dancing in the aisles and rocking out to Lizzo the entire hour we were in the air.
But I can’t stop thinking about my situation with Cameron. This was always meant to be temporary. He never misled me. Our ruse of a relationship was meant to be an easy cover, help us clear out that noise and focus on our game.
I got that, didn’t I? Here we are, rounding the corner toward a championship title. I wasn’t supposed to fuck it all up by falling in love with the guy.
I keep tracing the gold thread of my name on the stocking Cameron’s mom made for me. Her assumption, of course, was that it would hang in Boston. Because that was always where her son would return.
Wouldn’t my parents expect the same? Aren’t I living with the same assumption that I will always be here with my sister?
I sit in the dark in my house, wondering how I let myself lose my head. Was it the orgasm coaching? The way he stepped up to help my sister like it was normal as buying a stash of stamps for his kitchen drawer?
Who wouldn’t fall in love with Cameron Miller, come to think of it?
I know what I saw this weekend. I saw a man who belongs to his family. I saw a mother who needs him, a father whose body is failing, a brother who's drinking, a teenage sister who worships him. I saw six people whose plan for Cameron's future is specific, located, and not negotiable.
And I saw Cameron agree. Because Boston is home. Because the plan has always been the plan.
Headlights sweep across the front window. I hear an engine cut. The car door. Footsteps on the porch. The beep of the code. The door opens, and Cameron fills the doorway with Puck's carrier in one hand and his bag in the other.
"Hey." His voice is warm. Eager. He sets the carrier down, and Puck shoots out and disappears upstairs. "Hell of a game, sweetheart. Been thinking of you the whole drive and —"
He stops. He's seen me. Or rather, he's seen my shape in the dark living room, sitting on the couch, not moving toward him.
"Briar?" His face shifts from anticipation to concern in the space of a breath. "What's wrong?"
"We need to talk."
He sets his bag down slowly. He walks to the armchair across from me — not beside me on the couch, because he already feels the distance and respects it. He sits. He waits. His hands rest on his knees, palms down. Patient Cameron. Steady Mayhem. The man who holds still.
