Page 97 of Grizz
Daisy
I’mlyingonmycouch staring at the ceiling.Maybe it might offer answers if I give it enough time.
It doesn’t.
I toss and turn, tugging the throw blanket up and then quickly pushing it back down.Restlessness gnaws at me, and there’s an ache beneath my ribs that has nothing to do with illness and everything to do with unfinished conversations.
“Where is he?”I mutter to the empty apartment.
I check my watch for the third time in under a minute.Elias was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.
It’s been three days since the blowup with Grizz on the bench.Three days since the stick, the words, the way he looked at me with condemnation because I’d reached somewhere raw and dangerous without permission.Three days of silence between us and I can’t stand how things are unresolved.
I sit up just as the doorbell rings and my pulse spikes.I’m off the couch and halfway to the door before I remind myself to breathe.When I open it, there he is… Elias.
He looks me up and down, one brow lifting as if he’s already clocked the tension vibrating off me.His hands are full—two bottles of wine tucked under one arm, a pint of ice cream balanced precariously in his one palm, and a crinkling bag of chips clenched in his free hand.
“I come bearing provisions,” he announces.“For whatever emotional apocalypse we’re dealing with tonight.”
Relief hits me so hard my knees almost buckle.
“Thank God,” I say, stepping aside to let him in.“And thank you for coming last minute.I’m a wreck.”
Elias kicks the door shut behind him and lays everything onto the counter, setting up camp.“I figured.You’ve been giving off ‘spiraling but pretending I’m fine’ energy for days.”
I huff out a hollow laugh.“I’m not pretending.”
“That’s the pretending part,” he says gently.
He looks around my apartment, then back at me, his expression softening.“Okay,” he says.“I’m ready for anything and everything.”
Elias pauses in front of the counter, one hand braced on the marble, the other hovering over the spread like he’s weighing a life-or-death decision.“You get to choose.Wine first?Ice cream?Chips?Or are we doing the whole kit and caboodle?”
I don’t even hesitate.“I need everything.”
He nods slowly, solemn.“Got it.Serious.”
Elias pours the wine without commentary, hands me the glass.I sip on it as he grabs spoons for the ice cream like a man executing a well-rehearsed emergency protocol.“So, what’s going on with you?I feel there’s probably a long story and I’m in the dark… and you know I don’t enjoy being in the dark.”
“There’s a story all right,” I mutter and take a larger sip of my wine.I tell Elias about what happened, laying out for him in excruciating detail every word that was said, every expression I observed, anything I can remember, so he can help me figure out how to fix it.
“It’s been three days,” I tell him upon conclusion.“And Grizz and I haven’t spoken once.I think it’s over between us.Completely done.”
“Have you tried to call him?”he asks.
“Once, and I sent a text.He hasn’t responded and I got a message from the front office that I wasn’t needed on this away trip they’re on.I know Grizz put that into motion.Elias, I don’t even know if I have a job anymore.”
“This is bad,” he says quietly.
“It’s beyond complicated,” I reply, which is the most dishonest word in my vocabulary.
We take everything to the couch—wine, ice cream, spoons, chips—and settle in.Elias leans back, one ankle crossed over his knee, posture relaxed but attentive.I curl into the corner, the weight of the last few days pressing down now that I’ve stopped moving.
I stare at the wall for a moment before I start talking.“I didn’t mean to do it,” I say finally.“I never meant to stir that up for him.”
“I know you didn’t,” he says automatically.“You don’t have that in you.”
“I was just trying to do my job,” I continue, voice tight.“The interview, the fallout, the league—he crossed a line on live TV.I had to step in.I had to say something.And when I said, ‘It’s about more than you,’ I had no idea it would trigger all these horrible childhood memories with him.”
