Page 114 of Grizz

“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.”

He stands then.My eyes track him as he approaches me.

“I spent my entire life terrified of becoming my father,” he says.“Terrified that I’d hurt the people I loved.Fearing that I’d destroy anything good.”His voice drops.“But I finally realized something.”He stops in front of me.“Running isn’t how you break free.You don’t escape the past by being alone.”

He reaches for my hands, pulls me up from the couch so I’m standing in front of him.

“You build a future that’s stronger than your past.”

His thumb brushes my knuckles.