Page 78 of Grizz

Sometimes it’s my place, sometimes it’s hers, and sometimes there’s no conversation at all—we just end up together, shoes kicked off wherever, bodies finding each other like they’re meant to even when everything else feels uncertain.I don’t talk about it.I just register the warmth of her next to me, the way she breathes when she sleeps, the instinctive curl of her body toward mine.

Now I’m standing in my bedroom, duffel bag spread open across the bed, staring down at it with the strange sense that’s gnawing at me.

We have a road game in Pittsburgh and it’s time to pack.

This should be automatic by now.Jam clothes in suitcase, zip, leave, repeat.I’ve done this hundreds of times without thinking, but tonight my hands slow when I reach for a clean T-shirt, because my brain gets stuck on a detail so stupid and small—Daisy folding it last night without a word, smoothing the fabric, setting it on top of my bag like it mattered.

I drop the shirt into the bag and zip it closed.

Daisy’s at her place tonight and I told myself it was fine, that space is healthy, that it doesn’t mean anything beyond two people needing their own beds once in a while.I want to believe that logic but fuck if I don’t miss her.

I pick up the phone and shoot her a text.You still awake?

The reply comes seconds later.Barely.Packing-induced existential dread?

I smile and respond.Pretty much.

I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on my knees, phone warm in my hands, aware of how different the room feels without her in it.

And that’s when the realization lands.This is what I do now.When something’s off, when I can’t sleep, when a game doesn’t sit right in my bones, when my dad’s name creeps into my head without warning, when I can’t tell whether I’m losing my edge or finding something else, I don’t grind it out alone anymore.I don’t drown it in noise or muscle through it out of habit.

I reach for Daisy instinctively, like my brain already decided she’s the place where things settle and make sense.The fact that I don’t question it is what scares me.

Comfort was never a certainty I trusted growing up.It was conditional, only ever earned, and just as easily revoked.You didn’t go looking for reassurance but rather you handled it.You swallowed it.You got tougher and quieter and learned how not to need anyone.

And now here I am, built like a wrecking ball and paid millions to be unshakeable, unraveling slightly because I want to hear her voice before I get on a plane.

I text her again.I keep thinking I forgot something.

The three dots appear, disappear, then come back.You packed everything, even the stuff you usually forget.I watched you do it.Supervised packing serves you well, Grizz.

A quiet laugh slips out before I can stop it, the sound foreign in the stillness.I meant… something else.

This time she takes longer.Emotional or logistical?

I stare at the screen.Both.

Another pause.You want me to come over?

The offer sits there, simple and unforced, and that’s exactly why it rattles me.She never pushes, never demands more than I can give, never pretends she doesn’t see the edges I keep hidden.

I picture her here without effort—hair still damp from the shower, one of my hoodies hanging off her shoulder—and I know she’d be here in twenty minutes if I said the word.

I also know how badly I want that.

Too badly.

No,I type finally.I just needed to check in.

Her response comes softer, even through text.I’m here anyway.You know that.

I do know that and I don’t know what to do with it.

I finish packing on autopilot, letting routine anchor me while my thoughts drift where I don’t want to follow.This trip is supposed to be simple and short.The normal roadie.One game then back home.

But all I can think about is how wrong it feels to leave her behind, how strange it is that being away from the rink doesn’t unsettle me nearly as much as being away from Daisy does.

I can’t hold it in any longer.I text her again.Want to come hang for a bit before I leave?