Page 6 of Slap Shot Daddies

I spent the night at his place.

And, based on the unruffled state of my dress, absent of any telltale creases from intimacy, it’s clear he didn’t cross any boundaries after the Jeep.

I groan softly. I need to get out of here. Fast.

But as I reach the door, he appears in the hallway, a steaming mug of tea cradled in one hand, the other raking through his tousled, sleep-mussed hair.

His presence is unexpected, yet somehow fitting in the soft, muted glow of dawn.

“You’re up early,” he remarks, his voice a gravelly whisper wrapped in the remnants of sleep.

“I, uh, yeah. I should go,” I stammer, inching toward the door, my heart skipping a beat as I catch a fleeting glimpse of pain in his golden-hazel eyes.

“You don’t have to bolt,” he says, his gaze steady, observing me with an intensity that makes the air between us feel charged.

I muster a tight smile, trying to ignore the strange, twisting pang in my chest. “Nah, I gotta go. Can I get my keys?”

Thankfully he drove us back to his place in my Jeep. It made leaving a little more convenient.

Despite the silent plea in his eyes as he passes me my keys, I turn away, stepping into the cool, uncertain morning beyond.

“Sorry, work calls.” I sigh with a smile before leaving.

The second I walk into the clinic, the familiar mix of smells hits—that warm, lived-in animal scent that never really goes away.

The lights buzz overhead, flickering like they do every morning, and I make a mental note (again) to call the damn electrician.

I let out a slow breath.

Last night still lingers, but it’s quieter now.

This place might be in need of some TLC, but it’s mine.

It’s my happy place even as I remain submerged in the overwhelming tide of vet school debt.

I make my way to the back room, where the animals staying overnight are housed. An older tabby cat named Jasper peers at me through sleepy eyes from his cozy kennel, while a pair of rescue rabbits, their noses twitching inquisitively, observe my every move with delicate curiosity.

"Good morning, everyone," I whisper softly, reaching for my clipboard to begin the day’s duties.

A quick glance at my inventory sheet sends a wave of anxiety washing over me. Supplies are alarmingly low, medications, basic medical necessities, and even the most mundane items like paper towels are nearly depleted.

I press a weary hand to my forehead, feeling the frustration simmering. For weeks, I've been scraping by, just managing to keep this place afloat with the bare minimum. But the reality looms large, if something doesn’t change soon, I’ll be forced to take out another loan. A loan I simply can’t afford.

I let out a heavy sigh and affectionately rub Jasper’s soft head before moving on to check the others.

Today, at least one thing is going my way. I don’t have to go to the rink. This means I can avoid seeing him.

The enigmatic hockey hookup.

I didn't even bother to catch his name, a detail that now feels like a chasm of missed opportunities.

It's well past midnight, and exhaustion clings to me like a heavy cloak as I get home.

My bones feel weary from a day spent on my feet at the clinic. It doesn’t help that my mind was swirling relentlessly with a storm of financial stress, business worries, and the new ever-present thoughts ofhim.

As I step inside, I kick off my shoes with a dull thud against the wall. My keys clatter onto the kitchen counter and I make my way directly to my bedroom.

The air in my apartment is stagnant, a stale reminder of my absence. It's as if the walls themselves have held their breath, waiting for my return.

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