Page 100 of Perfect Playbook

Rio’s identical copy, Enzo, still gazes at me from behind his twin’s back. He wraps his black skull lips around the neck of his beer and doesn’t take his death stare off me when he drinks. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I even know what that brother’s voice sounds like.

Santi lifts his wrist, revealing his own bling, giving me a break. “It’s a reliable place to store cash. Independent of inflation or deflation.”

I got mine because I thought it looked good, but he’s not wrong. Luxury watches hold their worth. But him having his own makes me wonder.

How did these guys manage to live in one of the most expensive small towns in California, invest in their tech for years? The few times I’ve seen one of them around, their shoes always appeared to be luxurious Italian leather and their suits tailored to their every angle. Once I saw Santi at a rodeo when I was out with Dash, andSanti had on crocodile skin boots. I swear he was wearing a Stetson, those cowboy hats cost at least five grand. They had impeccable style whether in jeans or the tuxes they wear now, and I bet the G Wagon in the drive is theirs, too.

Where did they get their money? Like Santi says, it must be all locked up in goods, because if they had cash flow, there’s no way Shay would have taken my offer in Vegas. I don’t think she would have felt any shame asking her brothers to help with Antonio’s school. She wouldn’t have to ask. Once they knew the situation, they would have paid.

But for some reason they can’t. Or couldn’t. Or like me, she has subconscious ulterior motives.

Santi lowers his arm and tucks his watch back up into his black shirtsleeve, and finally, I think I get a friendly smile, but it’s hard to read what kind it is because each one of these men is painted with dark lips, eyes, and cheekbones of the underworld.

I’m standing with a group of ironically muscly skeletons, dark eyes threatening a showdown and working to make sure I know I’m not in their inner circle.

But I will be. Maybe not today, but at some point it will happen, because this is it for me.

Just then, Nino rushes into our space, and the little ghoul grabs my hand. “Mom told me to come and get you. She wrote you acalaveritain the book Papa Luis bought.”

“What’s a cala…?”

Rio explains. “A funny epitaph for someone who’s still alive. Funny or… a chance to display cutting truths.”

I don’t really understand, but probably will soon enough, because Nino tugs at my hand.

I don’t miss eight eyes dropping to where Antonio holdsme, and when the dark eyes rise again, the mood of aggression fades a decibel.

“I’ll be there in one minute, Nino. I just have one more thing to say to your uncles.”

“Okay. Hurry!” He puts his hands on his hips. “And wear your mask!” He spins and runs off toward his mom, bumping into a few people along the way.

I missed Nino and am heading out for a string of away games. So if I can’t make headway quickly tonight with these guys, I want to spend the time with him and Shay.

But not before I give them something to think about.

I rub my hands together. “Should we just finish this brilliant conversation off, gentleman?”

Black painted eyebrows rise.

“Listen, I know it’s hard to accept one day Shay is single and then the next, she’s married to me. But she is. Shay is my wife.” I lift my left hand in the air. “I’m taking this ring six feet under; that choice has been made. But when it comes to us.” I flick my finger between me and the wall of skeletons. “I can be Shay’s husband. Or I can be your brother. I’ll leave that up to you.”

They say nothing. I didn’t expect them to. You don’t convince a man like a Mendez to trust you overnight, especially when Shay explained they found out about my publicity stunts and considered me a liar because of it. I never thought of it that way exactly, but I guess they’re right on some level. I did lie to the public about who I was. Maybe that makes me one to watch. All I can do now is slowly bleed out their suspicion by treating Shay and Nino the way they deserve.

We’ll get there. One day.

I put on my mask and make my way to the kitchen where I find my woman bent over the pine table,writing in some kind of book. Her ass stretches the beautiful pattern of her vintage Mexican dress, and her waist nips in, revealing a perfect spot for my hands. God, I want to take her again. No doubt our time in the broom closet will be added to my spank bank when I’m away. Which is all too soon.

The first time I left for the road when I knew Shay and I were actually doing this, it didn’t sit right. Now, thinking of leaving tomorrow when I’ve hardly been with her this week makes my stomach brittle. Ready to shatter. I’ve never wanted to skip hockey. Even when Shay and I were in college, I wanted to play; of course, then I didn’t know the pros would be our demise. I wanted it then, because I wanted the dream. It created financial stability doing the thing I love most.

But now? I have the money. I have the lower back pain and nightly shoulder ache to go along with years of playing the game. And for the first time in my life, I just want to stay home because I actually have one.

I slip my hand around Shay’s lower back and tug her in. Nino is on her other side, looking at what she’s writing.

“This is thecalaveritabook my dad got a few years back,” she says, finishing with a blunt-dotted period. “People are invited to write in it every year. It’s just for fun.”

“Great mask!” Antonio slides the book toward him. “I want to find you a really good one.” He sticks his pink tongue through his black lipstick and thumbs through the book. “Here’s the one someone wrote about Mom.”

On the page is an outline of a tombstone, black-inked flowers and grass along the bottom. The tombstone is left blank for people to write. On the gravestone, someone has written Shay’s fake obituary.

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