Page 77 of Playing it Safe

"Nachos," Deen says. "And a lemonade."

"Done." Ty catches my eye as he moves toward the door. I follow him into the hallway.

"She's got sensory sensitivities," I say. "The arena is too loud for her. Last time, we sat in the regular seats, and it was fine, but tonight⁠—"

"I get it." Ty's voice is quiet. Serious. "My son Odin had a rough time with crowd noise when he was little. If you can believe he ever was. Different situation, same need." He looks back at the booth door. "We've talked about building something like this permanently. A sensory-friendly space. Somewhere families like hers can watch games without being overwhelmed."

"That should exist," I say.

"I agree."

"I'd like to fund it."

Ty looks at me. Really looks, the way his son does — full attention, measuring. "That's a significant offer."

"I have the resources. And it matters."

He puts his hand on my shoulder. "Let's talk after the game. Right now, go watch your girl play hockey."

I walk back into the booth. Deen has found the broadcast controls and is pressing buttons out of curiosity. I sit beside her and gently redirect her hands away from what I think is the emergency broadcast switch.

"The game is starting soon," I tell her.

"I know. I can see. The ice looks very shiny from up here." She leans forward, her nose close to the glass. "Where's Briar?"

"She'll be out for warm-ups in a minute."

We sit in the quiet booth above the ice and wait. I text the guys to say I’m watching from somewhere else. Deen watches the pre-game light show, her hands folded in her lap, calm and focused, and I think about what Ty said.

A room like this should exist. Not because I need to build it to prove anything to Briar. It should exist because Deen is sitting here, comfortable and happy, watching her sister's team through soundproof glass, and she should be able to do so every game. Every season.

There are many problems I can’t solve and shouldn’t have to. But this is one I can fix with a little money and attention to people’s needs. And I want to. This feels good to think about, instead of draining.

The Uprising takes the ice for warm-ups. I find Briar immediately, skating easy laps with Ducky. She passes the section where the Fury guys are sitting. I watch her scan the seats. I see her spot Spinner, Howie, Rookie, and Ella. I see her look for me.

I'm not there.

She doesn't know I'm up here. She doesn't know Deen is beside me with nachos on the way. She doesn't know about the tattoo, the phone call to my mother, or the conversation with Ty in the hallway. She scans the section, her jaw tightens, she takes a breath, and she skates another lap. I want to press my hand against the glass and tell her I'm here, I'm right here, I never stopped being here.

But she can't see me. So she skates. And the game begins.

Deen and I watch from the booth. She cheers when the Uprising scores, pressing her face to the glass. She eats her nachos methodically, and offers me exactly one chip, which I accept with the gravity it deserves.

And I feel so damn happy watching Briar succeed. She is every bit a champion. An Olympian. The American dream, right there in hockey pads. I love her so fucking much I don’t even have words.

The Uprising win 2-1. Deen stands on her chair, clapping.

"Can we go see Briar?" she asks.

"Yeah." I stand, feeling the tattoo throb beneath its bandage. "Let's go see Briar."

Chapter 31

Briar

The locker room sounds like the inside of a blender, and I feel caught in the blades.

Ducky finally has permission to spray proper alcohol on all of us, and she hollers at everyone to put on goggles while she stands on a bench and pops corks. Tate is scream-crying lyrics… I think of “We Are the Champions.”