Page 70 of Playing it Safe
I sit there. My sister is hunched over her waterfall puzzle in her group home kitchen, and she just told me to go live my life. Not because she doesn't love me or doesn't want to spend time with me. Because she's a grown woman with her own routines, her own friends, and her own house where things are normal. And she can see what I apparently can't — that I'm the one who needs rescuing, not her.
I've spent years organizing my life around Deen's proximity. I chose my apartment based on its distance from this house. I let Christopher leave rather than consider any arrangement that would alter my life. I told myself the tether was for her, that she needed me close, that I was being a good sister.
But Deen has Dominique, Wendy, her housemates, and Gregory, the boring fish, whether I'm six blocks away or six hundred miles. She doesn't need me to hover. She never asked me to.
The fence I built isn't protecting her. It's protecting me. From the risk of wanting something beyond this radius. From the terrifying possibility that I could have a life, a career, and a man who makes me eggs, along with a sister who is fine — all at the same time.
I lean across the table and kiss Deen's forehead. "I love you."
"I love you too. You are in the way of my puzzle.” She holds up a piece I tried to force into the wrong spot. "This is for the sky."
I really laugh this time. "I'll keep my hands to myself.”
“Good. And say sorry to Cameron." She fits the sky piece into its place on the first try. "He's nice."
Puck is on the windowsill when I get home, watching the street. His tail sways slowly, like a pendulum measuring the hours since Cameron left.
I drop my bag by the door. The hook where Cameron's jacket used to hang is empty. The house smells like nothing. No slow cooker, no soap, no warm man who makes everything feel smaller and safer just by being in the same space.
I sit on the couch. I can see the shape of his body in the furniture. In the fridge, stocked with the food he chose. In the bathroom, which smells like his shampoo. In the guest room, where we touched ourselves side by side and he told me I was perfect and I believed him.
I pull out my phone, scroll to Odin Stag's name, and press the call button before I can talk myself out of it.
"Briar. What's going on?"
"I need to see you," I say. "Before the game. I need to talk about my game."
There's a pause. "I've got time tomorrow morning," he says. "Eight o'clock?"
"I'll be there."
I hang up and lie back on the couch. Puck jumps down from the windowsill, crosses the room, and curls up on my chest in a warm orange circle. He presses his nose against my collarbone and purrs.
"I know," I tell him. "I'm going to fix it."
He closes his eyes like he doesn’t trust me this time.
Chapter 29
Cameron
I’m supposed to be paying attention to Odin, but I’m distracted by the sparseness in his office. All that’s in here is two chairs and a desk with nothing on it except a laptop and a framed picture of a woman I assume is his wife.
The walls display a few diplomas and a single painting of a rowing crew on a river.
“Did you hear me?” His voice cuts through my distraction.
“Sorry.” I settle into the chair, once again, not built for a man my size. My knees are practically at my chin. I look like a dad at a kindergarten open house.
Odin sits across from me. He's big, too — a former college football star, as large as his brothers. I wonder why he puts up with uncomfortable furniture at work. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, and I know he knows I’m not locked in to this session.
I let out a breath. “I was wondering why you tolerate these chairs. How can you sit here all day?”
He laughs and stretches his back. “I’m not actually in this room much, if you can believe it. Tell me what you’d do if you were asked to sit in discomfort and it got in the way of your work…”
I stare at him. This smug motherfucker.
"Let's try something," Odin says. "Tell me what your summer looks like. Walk me through the next month. You're done with hockey. The season's over. What are you doing?"
