Page 73 of Grizz

He steps forward and grips my shoulder.“Travel safe,” he says.“Call me if you need anything.”

For the first time since I’ve been running from the memories of my father, it simply isn’t an option.And somehow, that scares me less than it used to.I know, with a clarity that feels almost calm, that I’m not going home to see my dad.I’m going home because my sister is drowning, and she’s been treading water alone for too long.

This isn’t a goodbye tour.It isn’t some cinematic reckoning where I stand at the foot of a hospital bed and make peace with the past.I’m not flying back to Saskatchewan to confront the man who broke me or to mourn a relationship that’s been slipping away for years.I’m going because Eliza needs help carrying this responsibility she never should have been expected to hold by herself.

I head straight for my car, parked on the street by the dealership, and pull my phone out as I buckle my seat belt.The timing is brutal but workable—we’ve got two days between games before the next road stretch, just enough of a window to slip in and out without blowing up the schedule entirely.Julian will hate it.The team will manage, but Eliza can’t.

I call Daisy because it feels like the right thing to do.

She answers on the second ring.“Hey—”

“I need to cancel tomorrow’s promo,” I say.“I’ve got to make a quick trip home.Family thing.”

“Okay,” she says immediately.“Where are you right now?”

“In my car.”

“Good.Don’t hang up.”I can practically hear her standing up.“When do you need to leave?”

“Tonight, if possible.Early tomorrow morning at the latest.”

“All right,” she says briskly.“We can make that work.”

I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face.“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Then don’t,” she says.“Let me handle everything.”

She starts firing questions—nearest airport, preferred airline, direct versus fastest connection—and I answer on autopilot, letting her take over because my brain is still stuck on my sister’s voice, brittle and breaking.

“I’ll get you the quickest route,” Daisy says.“Even if it means a connection.You’ll be there by midmorning.”

“Thank you,” I mutter.

“Of course.”Then, softer, “What can I do when you get there?”

I hesitate because I don’t have a script for this part.“I don’t know,” I admit.“I’ve never… done this before.”

“That’s okay,” she says, then with almost renewed energy, she adds, “You don’t have to.I’ll come with you.”

My first instinct is to argue.Natural reflex.Old habit.Protect the perimeter.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.“It’s a mess.And it’s family.And—”

“I know,” she interrupts, not unkindly.“That’s exactly why I want to.”

I open my mouth to push back again, but the words stall.Because the truth is that part of me wants her there more than I want to admit.I want her steady presence, her competence and the way she makes chaos feel navigable.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone either,” she continues.“And I’m not asking.I’mtellingyou I’m coming.”

I let out a slow breath, staring at the busy city road ahead.“I’m not good at needing help,” I say finally.

“I’ve noticed,” she replies, a hint of warmth beneath the seriousness.“Lucky for you, I’m excellent at offering it anyway.”

“Okay,” I say.“Okay.”

“Good,” she says.“I’ll book everything and send you the details.”

We hang up and I sit there for a moment, engine idling, the city moving around me, oblivious to the looming trouble waiting for me thousands of miles away.But this time it’s different.