Page 72 of In My Hockey Era
“You better,” she warns, but there’s warmth under it.“She seems like a good one.”
“She is,” I say quietly, eyes on the floor.
And I know I can’t keep putting this off.
28
SOUP AND SOMETHING MORE
Lucy
Today was brutal.
Back-to-back calls, an apartment fire that left half my uniform reeking of smoke, an elderly patient who coded in the back of the rig but thankfully got a pulse back before we reached the ER.And other things I’ve already forgotten—or more likely, blocked out due to the strain and trauma of it.
My body aches, my brain is fried, and by the time I finally clock out, I’m convinced I might actually collapse in the parking lot.
It’s one of those shifts that make me question everything—how much longer I can do this, how many more nights I can go without real sleep, how many more times I can push my body past exhaustion and pretend I’m fine.
I drive home on autopilot, not even bothering to turn on the radio.I just need silence right now.I’m already looking forward to crawling into bed.Actually, shower then bed.I stink.
I have unread texts from Mia and probably Bennett on my phone, but I don’t have the energy to talk to anyone tonight.I consider running through a drive-thru on my way, but decide to skip it.Too tired… I just need to make it home.Max is waiting for me.Poor buddy.
I maneuver my car into the parking lot and release a slow breath.
I’m fine.
Or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself as I shove my key into my apartment door, twisting it with hands that shake from pure exhaustion.My entire body feels like lead, my brain buzzing from lack of sleep, too much caffeine, and an ever-growing to-do list.
I push inside, dropping my bag by the door, already dreaming of collapsing onto my bed.But as soon as I take a step toward my bedroom, a knock sounds behind me.
I blink, slow to register it.Then another knock.
Max bounds over to the door, tail wagging.
I sigh, dragging my feet back toward the door, already preparing to tell whoever it is to go away.But when I swing it open, I’m met with broad shoulders, messy dark hair, and the unmistakable sight ofBennett Wilderstanding in my hallway, holding a grocery bag in each arm.
I squint.“Are you a hallucination?”
His lips twitch.“Nope.Real.And pissed that you didn’t answer my texts.”
I blink again, my brain sluggish.“Texts?”
He exhales through his nose and shifts the bags in his arms.“Come on, Quinn.”He takes a step forward, nudging me back into my apartment with his sheer size alone.“You look like you’re about to pass out.”
I roll my eyes—or at least, I think I do.It might just be my eyelids trying to close on their own.“I’mfine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”He walks straight to my kitchen like he owns the place, setting the bags down on the counter.
Last night, we talked about my schedule—how I had to pull a double shift today, how exhausted I already felt just thinking about it.I remember Bennett grumbling, telling me I was doing too much, that I needed to slow down.
“You can’t keep running on empty.”
“Yeah, well, my job doesn’t wait for me to be well-rested,”I’d shot back, half-joking, half-defensive.
He hadn’t pushed, but I could tell he wanted to.And now, standing in my kitchen with groceries he definitely didn’t have time to buy, looking at me like I’m seconds from crumpling to the floor—I realize heheardme.And more than that, he actuallydid somethingabout it.
“I need to take Max out,” I say, grabbing the leash.
