Page 2 of Perfect Playbook

My heart hammers. I can’t even fucking imagine losing one of my brothers or my sister.So young. His brother was only a few years older than I am.I try not to think about what he just said too deeply, but his pain emanates right across the circle and lands on my lap like a roasting coal. It’s hot as hell in here. Couldn’t Fiona have cracked a window?

Casey manages to tell us how long ago it happened and how he’s not been able to concentrate on his exams.

I get it, Casey. I feel you.

My mystery woman listens respectfully, and even though she does, and maybe I’m projecting, I suspect she’s thinking about how she’s next in the circle.

I feel my own turn coming on like a final countdown.

Just her left to talk.

Then me.

She heaves a silent sigh, perhaps trying to steady herself, keep herself from passing out in this inferno. Her chest moves up and down. Inhale, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three. It’s like she’s doing box breathing like Coach taught us when I was a freshman. Watching her breathe lowers my heart rate and reminds me to do the same.

I glance back down at my legs and am surprised to find them bouncing up and down. I’m usually so composed, but a self-conscious panic consumes me.

I raise my gaze just enough for it to rest on her lap where the woman nervously runs her index finger underthe band of a bracelet. A bracelet I recognize. It’s the graduation bracelet all seniors get from Starlight Canyon High School.

Casey finishes his confession, and Fiona thanks him for his words.

Mystery woman is next.The bracelet.Now that it’s her turn to speak, it’s more appropriate for me to take a better peek. Is she the girl who always headed up the bake sale fundraisers?

Her voice is mellow and mature, on the low side compared with the voice I’d have expected from a woman I can only describe as some sort of pixie. She has light-brown glass skin, her black bob is so carefree compared with her serious features. She’s a tiny thing, and her voice is much more womanly than her face.

She continues to run her finger under the bracelet as she talks. “I lost my mom. It just happened two weeks ago so it’s still fresh.” Her eyes dart to mine but not long enough to see if I’m looking back. “Cancer.” Her throat dips and she stares into the distance at nothing in particular but then briefly to me.

She pauses, and the room is silent. You could hear a pin drop. Nobody is eager to push in.

“To be honest, I don’t feel ready to talk about it. I mostly feel numb right now. But I promised my dad and brothers I’d come here.”

She wrings her hands for a moment and seems to focus on nothing in particular across the room, but her dark eyes flick to me.

Brothers. Mom. Cancer… Shay Mendez? Shay’s hair was long in high school, and she’s lost some weight, revealing cheekbones I don’t remember her having. But it’s her all right.

Shay. She was the cake-baking phenomenon who raised tons of money for sports at our school. Shay and I never ran in the same circles. She’s a year younger for one, and unlike me, into artsy stuff and, of course, baking. And some baking it was. We all lined up for a taste of her cupcakes and a lick of that icing that was not too sweet, not too buttery. It was perfect. I can still taste it now if I think about it hard enough. Vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting. Classic perfection.

Last time I was home for a night Colt spoke about lending Luis Mendez some ranch hands so he could be with his wife during her treatment and recovery.

That stone gathers weight in my throat.She didn’t make it.

Why didn’t Mom or Colt, or anyone really, tell me Carmen died? I guess it was very recent. I suppose they’ll mention it next time I go home. Maybe they figured I’d had enough bad news; they know I’ve been having trouble performing already. Some of the hockey games are televised, and I choked on national TV more than once. Maybe they were protecting me from hearing any more about death.

Shay shrugs like she’s finished and turns her head to the right where her gaze, and everyone else’s, lands on me.

It’s showtime. My body is a furnace. I’m used to being stared at. I’m used to people watching my every move. Sometimes on the ice. Sometimes fans or puck bunnies. I’m used to attention. It’s often unwanted, but it doesn’t usually make the hair on my arms rise. But this sends me into a spiral. My mouth goes dry, and I’m dizzy as if dehydrated.

So I anchor myself. Shay, like all the others, waits patiently for me to speak, and I look her straight in her eyes. I connect with the familiar memory of sliding coins into herhand in high school and picking up one of her cupcakes to devour immediately then choosing a few other treats to take home. Dad liked her brownies best.

“Take your time, Logan,” Fiona encourages me.

I don’t want to take any more time. I just want to get this part over and done with.

“My dad died a couple months ago. He had a heart condition for years. We all knew about it but thought he managed it all right. Then, one day he had a heart attack. It was hardest on my brother, who found him.”

Still now, months later, I wish it was me instead of Dash who dragged Dad out of Mustang Valley. Dash has always been closed and guarded; this trauma will certainly make a hermit out of him. I feel for the kid. He’s still so young. I don’t know how he did what he had to do. It’s painful on a mythical level.

“I… Dad was a real rock for me and for everyone in the family really.” My lips form a tight line.

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