Page 101 of Grizz

“Sir,” the driver says, slowing to the curb.“We’re here.”

I blink, pull myself upright, and nod.“Yeah.Thanks.”

I pay, step out into the cold, and grab my suitcase from the trunk.The door thuds shut behind me and the cab pulls away, its taillights disappearing down the block.

My building looms in front of me, dark and familiar.

And then I see her.

Daisy’s standing off to the side, half in shadow, hands tucked into the sleeves of her coat like she’s been there long enough to get cold.The streetlight catches the edge of her hair, the curve of her cheek, and for a second my brain refuses to process it.

We just stand there for a moment, the two of us facing each other under the streetlight.

“Hey,” I say finally.

“Hey,” she replies.

That’s it.That’s all we’ve got.

It’s strange after the way things ended the last time we were together.After the heat and the certainty and the feeling that something had been broken for good, this quiet feels wrong.Like we’re both afraid the smallest movement will set off trouble.

“You… uh.How was the flight?”she asks.

“Fine,” I say.“Uneventful.”

“Good,” she says, nodding.“That’s… good.I’m sorry about the losses.”

“Yeah, well… that’s the game, right?”

Another pause.I shift my grip on the suitcase handle, suddenly very aware of how stupid I probably look standing there in team sweats at midnight, staring at the woman I walked away from.I’ve not talked to her since my blowup and I have no clue what to say now.But clearly, she’s here to talk and I know it’s only fair to give her that opportunity.

“Want to come up?It’s cold out here.”

She hesitates long enough for me to notice, then nods.“Okay.”

We walk toward the door side by side, close but not touching.The elevator ride up is worse—too quiet, too enclosed, every floor number lighting up.

Daisy clears her throat.“I watched the games.Both of them.”

I’m not surprised.I know she’s become a fan of the sport and the Vipers.“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she continues carefully.“You had some really good chances.That one in the second period against Carolina—short side—if the puck didn’t bounce—”

“I didn’t finish,” I cut in.“That’s the only part that matters.”

She looks at me, then nods.“I know.”

“I just didn’t get the job done,” I say, staring straight ahead at the glowing numbers above the doors.“That’s on me.I’ve got to figure out how to get back on track so I can actually help this team win.”

The elevator hums.The doors slide open on my floor.

“So,” I say as we step out, my voice quieter now, more honest.“I know you didn’t just come here to tell me how to finish my scoring chances.”

She gives a small, almost sad smile.“No.”

We walk down the hall, my footsteps heavier than hers, until I unlock the door and step aside to let her in.The apartment feels the same—and completely different—with her standing in it again.

She doesn’t take off her coat but stands there, hands still tucked into her sleeves, eyes moving over the space like she’s grounding herself.