Page 113 of Grizz

Roscoe barks again, tail thumping against the wall, but I barely hear it.I open the front door slowly, careful not to let it creak.

Roscoe bolts past me the second the door opens, barking like the apocalypse just arrived.He barrels straight for Grizz, circling him, barking inches from his face, tail wagging violently like he can’t decide whether this is a threat or the best thing that’s ever happened.

“Roscoe!”I hiss, mortified.“Oh my God—Roscoe, stop!”

Grizz jolts awake, disoriented, blinking hard, surfacing from his slumber.He pushes himself upright just as Roscoe jumps on his hind legs, paws landing square on his chest.

“Whoa—hey—” Grizz mutters, half laughing, half defensive, hands coming up instinctively.“Jesus.”

“Down,” I whisper-shout, grabbing Roscoe by the collar.“Down, you menace.”

Roscoe ignores me completely, barking louder now that he’s confirmed this is, in fact, a human.Porch lights flick on across the street.Then a neighbor’s door opens.Great.

Grizz rubs a hand over his face, groggy and apologetic all at once.“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are youdoinghere?”I ask stunned.

“I got in just after midnight,” he says.“Didn’t want to knock.Didn’t want to… make a scene.Figured I’d wait until morning.”

I stare at him incredulous, Roscoe still barking.

“Well,” I say, “mission accomplished.No scene at all.”

Roscoe barks again and another light flips on two houses down.

I grab Grizz’s sleeve.“Come inside,” I say.“Now.Before the entire neighborhood thinks we’re being robbed.”

I drag Roscoe back in with one hand and usher Grizz through the door with the other, closing it softly behind us.The house settles around us again, quiet returning in waves.

We sit in the living room, the lamplight low, Roscoe finally appeased and sprawled out on the rug.I’m on one end of the couch, Grizz on the opposite.

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 muchhere—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.”