Page 75 of Playing it Safe

I pinch my nose. “I am, too, Ma. I’m going to tell him to look for a meeting, and you can encourage him to go, too.”

“Mm.” I hear her walking around, always moving. “Maybe Father O’Connor will talk to him.”

“That sounds perfect, Ma.” Literally the man’s job to tend his flock. Not that I’ve been inside a church in a decade, but I assume the role hasn’t changed. I promise my mother I’ll come for a weekend soon and tell her to look at some dates for when she’d like to visit. When we hang up, I know she heard me.

I just hope it sticks.

Dominique answers the door at the group home with a look on her face that tells me Deen has been struggling.

"She's ready," Dominique says, stepping aside to let me in. "She's been sitting in the front room with her purse since lunch."

"I'm sorry I didn't call earlier. I wasn't sure I was⁠—"

"Cameron." Dominique touches my arm. "She's been asking about you since Briar came by. She thought you weren't coming."

My chest tightens. The hallway smells like dinner, and I hear the TV from the living room and the familiar rhythm of the house. I think about what Odin said: what does Cameron want to do? This. This is something I want to do. Not because Briar needs me to, not because I'm performing the good boyfriend. Because Deen asked me to take her to a game, and I told her I would. I don't break promises to people I care about.

Deen appears, decked out and ready to go. Her face goes through a rapid sequence of emotions ranging from relief to frustration.

"You're late," she says.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I already picked my outfit."

"I can see that. You look great."

She studies the bandage on my arm, visible beneath my shirt sleeve. "What happened to your arm?"

"I got a tattoo."

"Of what?"

"A bridge. For Pittsburgh."

Deen considers it. "Briar will like that. She likes bridges. We drive over them all the time."

I don't know what to say, so I just nod. Deen reaches into her purse, and pulls out her packet of face gems. "Hold still."

I crouch so she can reach. She places gems on both my cheekbones, pressing each into place with her thumb and tilting her head to assess.

"There," Deen says. "Now we match."

“We sure do.”

"Let's go. I want to see warm-ups."

In the car, Deen sits in the back, her headphones around her neck and her purse in her lap. She's quiet for the first few minutes, watching the streets go by.

"Cameron?"

"Yeah."

"Did you say sorry to Briar?"

I look at her in the rearview. "Not yet."

"You should. That's how sorry works." She adjusts her purse strap. "I already told her that."