Page 22 of Shift Change

Dog let out a shaky breath, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than I’d ever heard it. “You shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. Maybe I’m overstepping, and I’m sorry if I am, but it doesn’t sound like you owe him anything. He wasn’t much of a dad.”

A strangled chuckle escaped me. “You can say that again.”

We were quiet after that. TheFast & Furiousmovie had ended, and my streaming queue had moved on to something I didn’t recognize. After the second explosion went by in eerie silence, I looked at Dog. “In June, when I swore off dating so I could get my sorry ass together, I started going to therapy. It’s helped, but I’m not there yet.”

“You’re still going, then?”

“Every week. I go to her office when we’re in town, and we meet online when the team’s on the road.”

He patted my shoulder. “It takes guts to face things.”

“She says we’re making progress, but it won’t be a straight line. I feel better than I did, so that’s something. My goal is that when I meet the right person, I’ll let myself count on them. At least be open to something long-term if the opportunity comes.”

“To be able to trust?”

Our gazes met again, and something about Dog’s eyes calmed me. That had to be a sign we were meant to be good friends. “Yeah,” I said. “To be able and willing to trust. Or at least try.”

Dog held out his arms. “Come here, you big oaf. I’m a hugger, and you need one.”

I hesitated, but when I leaned in, he opened his arms and pulled me close. At first, I was all tension, with locked shoulders, a rigid spine, and every instinct screaming to pull away. But he kept holding me, leaving room for me to be exactly as I was.

Gradually, the fight in my muscles drained away, and I let myself sink into him. As a strange, foreign feeling settled in my chest, I tried to decide what it was. It hit me like a punch: I felt safe and secure for the first time in years.

My eyes snapped open. I turned it over in my mind, searching for another explanation, but there was none. It had been so damn long since I hadn’t felt the need to guard every cell in my body like I was bracing for something.

Dog had given me this moment by sitting there and holding me, not expecting me to explain myself or pretend. He didn’t try to talk, just allowed me to be.

We might’ve stayed there all night if the doorbell hadn’t rung. The pizza had arrived.

8

holky

I hadto go into Dog’s room and jump all over the bed again to get him past “Ng,” “Ah,” and “Ten more minutes.”

“No more fucking minutes,” I said once his eyes were open. “Morning skate’s in less than two hours, and if we’re late to anything on game day, Criswell benches us.”

“Sounds like fucking college,” Dog grumbled.

“What can I say? He’s old school, and he took the Warriors from the basement to the Cup.” I slapped Dog’s ass through the comforter. “Now get the hell up. We’re missing breakfast at the barn, so I’ll go fry some eggs.”

We barely made it in time to change into practice gear and hit the ice. Criswell always kept morning skate light on game days, so we did a long stretch and warm-up, followed by a few easier drills—double pass transitions, inside-outside gaps, and pass shooting.

Dog and I took quick showers and stopped by Scionti’s for our pregame meal. We ordered the same thing, unsurprising since half the league probably ate pasta, chicken, and veggies on game days.

After sharing our stories last night, we ate pizza and watched a few episodes ofThe Simpsons, a favorite for both of us. We laughed more than I expected and ended the night with another quiet hug before heading to bed. This morning, neither of us brought up what we’d talked about, and that was okay. We weren’t each other’s therapists; what we needed was someone who knew the truth and could have our backs.

“Ready for a pregame nap?” I asked as soon as we got home.

Dog chuckled. “You probably figured out by now that I’m always up for a nap. What time do we have to be at the barn?”

“Four-thirty. Game’s at eight.” I glanced at my watch. “It’s one-thirty now, so unless you’re one of those weirdos who likes to shower before a game, we can sleep for two hours.”

“Perfect. I’mdefinitelynot one of those.”

We stopped in the hall outside our rooms, and I gave him a serious look. “You’re really hard to get out of bed. If we wake up at three-thirty, you’ll need to be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. Will that work?”

“My suit’s in the closet, and I know where everything else is, so fifteen minutes should be fine.” He flicked an imaginary speck of lint off his sweater and shot me a sideways grin. “Lunch was great. I like Scionti’s.”

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