Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
A soft sound comes from the hallway.
“Daisy?”
I freeze for half a second before my mom appears in the doorway, wrapped in a pale blue nightgown, hair loose around her shoulders, eyes blinking as they adjust to the light. She takes in the scene—the hour, the dog on the rug, me on the couch in my robe—and then her gaze lands on Grizz.
There’s no alarm in her expression. Only calm curiosity. “Oh,” she says gently.
Grizz is on his feet instantly. “I’m so sorry, ma’am,” he says, his voice respectful. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I—”
She lifts a hand, stopping him before he can spiral. “You must be Grizz,” she says, offering a small, warm smile. “I’ve heard about you.”
She looks between us once, taking in more than she lets on, then nods like she’s reached a conclusion she doesn’t need to announce.
“Well,” she says, matter-of-factly, “it looks like this might be a long night.” She gestures toward the kitchen. “I’m going to put on a pot of coffee. Let’s let your father sleep and we can fill in whatever details he misses in the morning.”
Relief floods Grizz’s face so fast it’s almost painful to witness. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
She smiles again. “You’re welcome.” Then, to me, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything, sweetheart.”
She disappears down the hall, leaving the room warmer than she found it.
I look at Grizz—rumpled, exhausted, eyes shadowed, very much here—and shake my head. “How did you even get here?”
He exhales, collapsing back onto the couch like his body is only now realizing it can stop moving. “Train.” He sighs, rubbing his neck. “Got me as far as Philly. Service got interrupted.” I blink. “So I took a cab,” he continues. “Made it to Delaware before we blew a tire.”
“You’re making this up. No cab driver is going to drive you from Delaware to DC.”
“You’d be surprised at what a cab driver would do for the right price. At any rate, the genius’s spare tire was flat, so we had to call a tow truck. Waited around forever. Nothing.”
“Jesus, Grizz. Then what?” I prompt.
“And then,” he says, “I hitchhiked.”
I stare at him. “You hitchhiked?” I repeat.
“Yeah.”
“Grizz,” I say, “you’re a professional hockey player. You know that, right?”
“Got that part,” he mutters. “But it’s the holidays and every other method of transportation was either booked or took way too much time to coordinate. You know that’s not my strong suit.”
“People get killed when they hitchhike,” I feel compelled to point out.
“Yeah, but that’s usually the actual hitchhiker who does the killing. I mean, what are the chances I’d be picked up by a serial killer?” He gives a faint, tired shrug. “Truck driver picked me up. He was nice, used to play hockey when he was younger. Big, stay-at-home defenseman apparently.”
It’s insane. Completely insane. And yet looking at him, sitting on my parents’ couch at two in the morning after crossing multiple states by sheer stubborn will—I know it’s true.
“Seems you went through an awful lot of trouble to get here,” I say incredulously. “Why did you do this?” I sit there in the dim light of my childhood living room, knees pulled close, robe wrapped tight around me, watching him intently.
Grizz doesn’t meet my eyes at first. He leans forward, elbows braced on his thighs, hands clasped tight. He looks wrecked. Spent. Like he ran here on more than adrenaline.
“Hockey was my whole life,” he says. “It was my escape. My way out. My salvation.” His voice roughens. “Where I grew up, hockey was the only thing that made sense. The only thing that gave me permission to leave. To survive.”
I nod, my heart squeezing so hard, it hurts to breathe.
“Hockey got me out of Saskatchewan,” he says.
“Got you away from your dad,” I whisper.
“It gave me a new life. A new name. A chance to become someone else.” He exhales, rubbing at his cheek. “Most importantly, it gave me a chance to be someone better.”
I shift, resisting the urge to hug him. “Grizz—”
“Just… stay with me,” he says. “One minute.”
So I do.
“I thought hockey was everything,” he goes on. “Goals. Wins. Banners. Validation. Proof that the pain was worth something.” He swallows hard. “I thought if I kept winning, I’d shed my past.”
My throat burns and my eyes sting. I know what this is costing him to unveil the truth of his feelings. Grizz and vulnerability don’t go hand in hand.
“But here’s the truth,” he says, lifting his eyes to mine now, raw and unprotected. “None of it matters if I don’t have someone to share it with.”
My breath catches. Is he saying…?
“Hockey will leave me one day,” he says, angling toward me. “It always does. Bodies fail. Careers end. The lights shut off.” His voice cracks. “And when that happens, if I’m alone… then everything I’ve been running from will still be waiting for me.”