Page 277 of Wild Card 13

She held up the glasses. “High stakes.”

Hadley headed toward the coaches’ offices, and Dottie watched her go with mild betrayal, as if she could not understand why every nice person did not immediately move into my office and devote themselves to her.

By ten, my inbox had become an avalanche of offseason tasks. Exit physical documentation. Player travel schedules. Summer contact updates. Housing transitions. Equipment return confirmations. Media availability adjustments. Staff calendar shifts. The entire machinery of a professional hockey team changing gears with no mercy for feelings.

I worked because work was easier than waiting.

I answered emails. Updated spreadsheets. Made calls. Approved a revised offseason access schedule. Sent three reminders about returning team-issued tablets that would absolutely be ignored by at least two grown men who could hit a moving puck at ninety miles per hour but could not locate a charging cord if their lives depended on it.

Every so often, Dottie lifted her head toward the hallway.

Every so often, I did not look.

At ten forty-seven, I heard footsteps stop outside my door.

Dottie was on her feet before I could breathe. Her whole bodychanged. Not the general interest she gave anyone who might have hands or snacks. This was recognition. Pure, immediate, silly joy. Her tail started wagging so hard her back end went with it.

My heart did one humiliating, painful thing against my ribs.

Then Ty appeared in my doorway.

He wore a suit. Not a game-day suit with the bright focus of a man heading into noise. Not the polished, easy armor he wore when cameras were part of the job. This suit was dark navy, slightly rumpled at the elbows, his tie pulled loose enough to show the top button of his white shirt open at his throat. His hair looked like he had dragged his fingers through it too many times. His eyes were tired.

In one hand, he held my coffee. In the other, he held Dottie’s pup cup.

He looked like warmed-over shit on toast.

Dottie made a noise I had never heard from her before, somewhere between a sob and a celebration, and launched herself toward him.

Ty’s face changed when he looked down at her. “Hey, girl,” he said quietly, lowering the pup cup before she lost her entire mind. “Yeah. I know. I’m late.”

I stood behind my desk, one hand braced on the edge, every word I knew suddenly somewhere else.

He crouched carefully, suit pants pulling at his knees, and let Dottie press her face into the cup. His hand settled between her shoulders, broad and gentle.

“I told you,” I sighed to my dog, because apparently my mouth had decided to function without supervision, “that he wasn’t coming.”

Ty looked up at me. There were shadows under his eyes. “Sorry to make you a liar.”

“You had an exit meeting?” I asked.

“Not until noon.”

My fingers tightened on the desk. “You came early.”

“Yeah.”

“For this?”

He stood, slower than usual, and held the coffee out to me. I crossed the room to take it. The cup was warm against my palm.Paper Lantern. My usual order. The same little sticker Naomi used when she was feeling smug, a tiny gold star pressed near the lid.

“I figured the morning after a bad night still counted as a morning,” he muttered.

My throat tightened.

Outside my office, someone shut a locker-room door hard enough for the sound to carry.

Ty flinched almost imperceptibly.