Page 31 of Well That Happened

She shrugs. “Just saying. Maybe the universe stuck you in that house because it’s time to stop carrying everything by yourself. Let people in. Even if it’s messy.”

I look away. “It’s definitely messy.”

“But it could also be good,” she says gently. “And you deservegood, Ri.”

I swallow hard.

Because that?

That’s the part I still don’t know how to believe.

* * *

By the time I get back to the house, the sun’s dipping low and the living room’s empty—just a trail of empty water bottles and someone’s backpack on the far end of the couch.

I drop my bag and head toward the kitchen in search of caffeine or carbs—whichever I can grab faster.

That’s when I hear it.

A low voice. Steady, calm. Talking on the phone.

I slow at the edge of the hallway, not trying to eavesdrop—exactly—but also not announcing myself either.

“Yeah,” Grayson says. “Same time next week’s fine. I’ll bring the gear.”

A pause.

Then, “No, it’s fine. I’ve got it covered. Really. Yeah. I’ll send over the waiver.”

Another pause.

Then a soft, genuine, “Thanks. Appreciate you.”

He hangs up, turns—and jumps slightly when he sees me.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” I say, stepping into the doorway.

Grayson shrugs. “It’s all good.”

I smile. “So… what was that all about?”

He pauses, then nods. “I volunteer. At the rec center downtown. Adaptive skating.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

He rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the attention. “Just once a week. Helps kids with mobility issues get out on the ice. We rig custom sleds or support bars—depends on the need.”

“That’s… incredible.”

He shrugs again, but there’s a quiet pride in his eyes. “It helps. Keeps my head on straight.”

I watch him a second longer, and suddenly I’m seeing him differently.

Not just the broody goalie who communicates in nods and microexpressions.

But someone who carries things quietly.

And probably always has.

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