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I know it’s a mistake to give my mother any information about this, but I also realize there’s a strong chance my team or Briar’s has already made this a thing on social media. If my family finds out thirdhand, I’ll get more than phone calls interrupting me at work.

“Her name is Briar,” I whisper. “She plays hockey.”

Another pause. Then my mother says, with a warmth so uncomplicated that it catches me completely off guard, "Briar. That's pretty."

"Yeah," I say. "It is."

Ian calls while I'm in the shower. I call him back in the parking lot, steam still rising off my shoulders in the cold air, and we talk through his tuition timelines and his fake gratitude before he brings up the BB situation.

“So,” he practically sings. “I saw your girlfriend online. Showed her to Ma.”

I stomp my foot. “Can you ease up? Don’t make me regret bailing your ass out with the bursar.”

Ian laughs. “Mayhem has a girlfriend,” he sings. “This is so great, bro. Absolutely nobody is hassling me right now. They’re doing recon on your lady friend.”

I usually feel overwhelmed by call waiting, but I’m relieved when my brother David beeps through Ian’s mockery. “Hey, I gotta go. Davey’s calling.” I hang up and abruptly switch lines. “D, do not quit this job. I stuck my neck out for you here.”

He groans. “Hello to you, too. Did I catch you on a date?”

“Just do what it takes and stick it out, okay? You got this.”

“Bro, they want me there at six in the fucking morning, slicing oranges and shit. I’m a grown-ass man.” I hear him slurping a beer at … I check my watch.

It’s barely eleven in the morning. “Dave, people like fresh-squeezed juice. It’s a fancy place. That’s why they pay so well.” I manage to convince him to give it two more weeks, and then I sink into the driver’s seat of my Volvo, utterly exhausted, even though I’ve only done my first workout of the day.

Does supervising my family from afar count as a workout?

Needing a pick-me-up, I pop open the webcam app on my phone, hoping to catch my cat doing something cute. I don’t really go in for all those fancy tech upgrades the guys seem to love. They can adjust their lights and thermostats from their phones and mess with their roommates’ televisions.

I have a tiny monitor for Puck in the living room so I can occasionally watch him stare at squirrels through the picture window. I smile at the slow sway of his fuzzy orange tail. He has two paws on the glass, his face smooshed against it. I bet there’s a whole parade of animals out there for him to watch.

My peace is short-lived — a notification pops up on the screen. Petra is trying to reschedule my appointment with Odin. I should respond to her, but for some reason I feel more excited to talk to someone else.

I scroll to Briar’s name and don’t hesitate before pressing the icon to call her.

She picks up on the second ring. "Hey." Her voice puts me at ease. That’s interesting. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t really want anything from me.

"I never rescheduled with Odin," I blurt.

“Hmm.” She adopts a low voice, mimicking Odin Stag. “And why do you think that is, Cameron?”

“Ha.” I like her sense of humor. “Honestly, I don’t fucking feel like talking to him.” I lean my head into the leather, my muscles going slack. “What does he say in your sessions?”

“Sir, that is private.” I smile. Outside the windshield, the parking lot is emptying as other guys head home to nap before we have to report to the arena downtown. “You ready for DC tonight?”

I make a noncommittal sound. “I will be by the time they get here.” I switch the phone to my other hand. “What’s your day look like?”

"Long," she says. "Good practice this morning. I had to talk to someone in marketing about a potential sponsor thing, which I hate."

“You don’t want to model fancy sneakers or watches?”

She laughs long and loud. “Oh, Mayhem, I love that you think I’m getting offers for that kind of money.”

I frown. Why wouldn’t the high-end brands be gunning for Briar? She’s an Olympic gold medalist and one of the league’s best players…not that I was studying her stats all night or anything. “I guess I assumed these companies were actually smart.”

“You’re very sweet. But it was for a local eye doctor. Dozens of dollars.” I can hear her moving around — the sound of a drawer, a cabinet, and a zipper. "How was your day?”

I sigh. I don’t feel like reliving all the drama with my family when I could be talking to her about literally anything else. I remember it’s just about lunchtime… beer o’clock for my brother. But maybe Briar is normal?