Page 73 of Playing it Safe

I want to call my mother because I want to, not because she needs anything. I want to watch Puck judge the squirrels. I want to walk through a house I restored, enjoy my time there, and feel comfortable. Most of all, I want to bring BB there, with her sarcasm, affection, and all-around excellence.

My arm throbs. I don't mind. Some things should hurt when they become permanent.

I drive to Gianna’s afterward, knowing some of the guys will be around and craving their company. I'm three bites into a meatball when Spinner appears from the kitchen, looking shifty. He slides into the booth across from me without being invited, his signature move. "Mayhem."

"Spinner."

He looks at my arm. "What's that?"

"A tattoo."

"Of what?"

"A bridge."

He stares at me. "You got a tattoo today? You didn’t call us?”

I arch a brow. “Were you busy doing something else?” Spinner glances toward the kitchen, and I wonder what the heck he’s got going on, but not for long, because Howie materializes.

He has a reusable tote bag slung over one shoulder, making him look like a farmer's market enthusiast. "Scoot," he tells Spinner, who does. Howie sits. Looks at my arm. "Is that new ink?"

"Jesus, does everybody—" I exhale. "Yes. It's new. It's a bridge. On my arm. Can we move on?"

"Touchy," Spinner says.

"I had therapy and a tattoo today. That’s enough talking.”

Gianna brings a round of meatballs to the table. She gives me a look that says she knows something is up and that she will feed me until I confess or die. I appreciate the approach. I also catch Spinner checking out her ass as she walks back to the kitchen for more balls.

For a few minutes, we just eat. Finally, Howie dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “You good, Mayhem?”

"Getting there."

He nods. He tears a piece of bread in half, chews it, and I can see him deciding whether to say something. Howie has changed in the months since Ella. He's quieter, more deliberate. The party-boy energy is still there, but there's a steadiness beneath it that wasn't there before.

"Can I tell you something?" he says.

"You're going to whether I say yes or not."

He almost smiles. “You guys know my dad’s a huge douche, right?”

We all grunt. Howie’s father is legendary in the pros, but not in a good way. My friend twirls a fork on the table. “His latest thing is asking me to get him good tickets to other sporting events. Like I have access to some vending machine for 50-yard-line Minnesota football seats.” Howie shakes his head. “Anyway, I realized he’s never going to see me. Not really.”

I look at him. Howie doesn't talk about his father. None of us push on it.

"You know what Ella told me? She said I didn't have to earn my spot at his table. That I was already here." He gestures to the booth, to Gianna's, to the team. "She was right. And whatever's going on with you and Briar — you're here, Mayhem, and I see you."

Spinner, unable to sit with the serious weight of what Howie just shared, points a breadstick at me. "He's right. Also, you look like hammered shit."

"Thank you, Spinner. That's very helpful."

Gianna arrives with more meatballs, and I eat in silence. The guys return to their usual banter. Nobody tells me what to do about Briar. Nobody asks me to explain the tattoo. They just sit with me in a meatball restaurant in the late afternoon, make sure I eat, and I think this might be what Odin was talking about.

People want me here, not because I'm useful. Just because I'm here.

Chapter 30

Cameron