Page 66 of Playing it Safe

"Stop."

The word is a wall.

The room is silent. The radiator ticks. Outside, a car passes on the wet street.

"You think I'm a martyr," he says. His voice is flat. Empty. The Boston accent gone, replaced by something clipped and careful. "You think my family is a burden I'm too stupid to put down."

"That's not —"

"That's exactly what you said." He picks up his jacket from the back of the chair. “Talk about being like your ex? How about you sound just like Lisa Marie.” My stomach drops when I see the pain in his eyes. Hurt. The deep, old, calcified ache of a man who was told his love was too much. "I thought you were different."

"Cameron —"

"I need to go."

"It's midnight. Where are you going?"

"I don't know." He picks up his keys from the hook by the door. The hook that was his. "I need to not be here right now."

"Cameron, please. I didn't mean —"

"You meant it." He turns to look at me, and his face is the saddest thing I've ever seen. Sadder than his empty locker room. Sadder than Puck on the refrigerator. "Goodnight, Briar."

The door closes. The lock clicks. I hear his footsteps on the porch, his car start, and the engine pull away.

I stand in my dark hallway. Puck creeps down the stairs and meows once, confused. I look at the empty hook by the door, and I sink to the floor, press my back against the wall, and wrap my arms around my knees.

We're both right. We're both wrong. And the thing that breaks us isn't a lie or a betrayal. It's the truth — spoken too sharply, received too deeply, and landing on wounds that were already open.

Pittsburgh or Boston. DD or the Millers. Two people who would do anything for the people they love, except let go.

I let my face drop against my knees and cry.

Chapter 27

Cameron

I drive to Rookie's building because I can't think of anywhere else to go.

It's past midnight, and the streets are wet from earlier rain. The wipers squeak against the windshield, but I’m too distracted to adjust the intermittent speed. My cat is back with the woman who wasn’t supposed to be my girlfriend but who says she loves me.

And that’s impossible.

I park at the Heinz Lofts and sit for a minute with the engine running, trying to organize my thoughts like a grocery list. Except there's no system for this. No app sorts heartbreak by aisle.

I text Rookie.

You up?

The dots appear fast.

Yeah. What's up?

Me

I need a couch.

A pause. Longer than it should be for a guy who's always awake at midnight, snacking on jerky and watching classic Pittsburgh games.