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She emerges a few minutes later in leggings and an oversized Uprising hoodie, hair piled on her head, her face still creased from the pillow. Puck follows her to the kitchen like a bodyguard. She pours coffee, leans against the counter across from me, and we drink in the kind of silence that's either very comfortable or very loaded. I think it might be both.

"I have practice at ten," she says. "Film session afterward. I probably won't be home until three or four."

"That's fine. I have a few calls to make about the house." I set my mug down. "I'll do some shopping while you're out. What do you need?"

"You don't have to do that."

"I'm going to be here eating quite a bit." I keep it practical. "Give me a list, or I'll just get what makes sense."

She studies me for a moment. “I can always use eggs.”

I arch a brow at her and open the fridge, making a mental note to get cheese, salmon, and spinach so my trainer doesn’t murder me, and then probably cold cuts. I make a note on my phone of the brand of yogurt she likes. She probably likes dark chocolate, even though I don’t see any. Ma and Nicky have taught me that all women like dark chocolate for emergencies.

I close the fridge and turn toward her. “Anything I should grab for Deen while I'm out?"

She looks up from her coffee. "What?"

"For your sister. If I'm already at the store."

"No, she's —" Briar shakes her head. "The house handles all of that. You don't need to worry about Deen."

"Okay." She watches me like she's trying to figure out what just happened, and then she takes her coffee upstairs and I hear the shower start.

I spend the morning on the phone. My agent has the insurance claim moving forward. The contractors I want are booked — everyone is — and half the city has water damage, but I get on a waitlist for a restoration crew.

Not renovation. Restoration. I want the plaster matched, the hardwood refinished, and the original trim preserved. The house was built in 1920, and it deserves better than fast-fashion construction.

The foreman asks about upgrades. I concede to radiant heat under the floors and a tankless water heater. But I can’t bring myself to agree to flashy shit. I wouldn’t feel at home in a house that would look great on TV. I’m not keeping the place long-term, anyway. The plan has always been to move back to Boston when I retire.

Back to my family.

Except… I sit on Briar's couch with Puck in my lap, looking at pictures the insurance guy sent of the wreckage. I think about the fancy combination steamroom-shower the contractor suggested, which I immediately shut down. But there’s probably room in my bathroom for a second sink.

A double vanity. His and hers. That will be good when I sell the house. With a pang, I realize I’m not necessarily excited to leave Pittsburgh. I always assumed my life was mapped out. Back to Boston after hockey. Keep a closer eye on Pop.

But now I’m sitting here looking up mudrooms with shelves for helmets and racks for hockey sticks. Maybe lockers or something for the smelly gear.

For the first time in my life, I open a Pinterest account, and I’m deep into staring at storage benches when a call interrupts my insanity. It’s Odin Stag.

“Hey,” I answer. “Did I miss an appointment?” I sweat a little at the thought of being a no-show, but his voice comes in quick and reassuring.

“No, no. I heard about the house. I wanted to check how you’re doing.”

“Oh.” I shift on the couch. “I’m fine. Staying at Briar’s.”

"And how does that feel?"

My instinct is to grunt or stay silent. That’s how I’d respond to one of the guys trying to mind my business. But this is literally Odin’s job, and I don’t know how to answer him. “I don’t know,” I tell him.

Odin is quiet for a moment, which means he's about to say something I won't enjoy. “If I had to guess, you’re already unpacked, making lists, and planning to cook and clean. How am I doing?”

How in the hell does this guy know all that? I glance around, checking Briar’s living room for cameras. I growl in response to his question.

“I’m getting the sense I’m right.” His smile is audible. "Cameron, what are you doing at Briar's place?"

"Staying. Temporarily. Until the house is fixed."

"And what role have you assumed there?"