Grizz #2
“Eliza,” I interrupt gently but firmly. “Hey. Stop.”
She doesn’t. “I’m failing him, Grizz,” she whispers, her voice breaking completely now. “I’m failing.”
That’s the part that guts me and I wish I were the one there dealing with this shit show rather than her.
“It’s time to move him to a facility,” she says, the confession spilling out. “After today, I can’t wait anymore,” she continues, exhaling shakily. The sound is raw and exhausted. “I have to move him. I have to.”
I rush to assure her, although I know it probably sounds hollow. “Eliza… you’ve done your very best. I know that.”
“He trusted me to take care of him,” she says. “And I can’t even protect him from himself.” Her voice drops to a whisper, the kind that carries shame with it. “Putting him in a facility feels like giving up. Please tell me I’m not a terrible daughter.”
I know the truth of the man our father was. I know the damage he did, the fear he wielded like discipline, the love he never learned how to give. And I also know this, with absolute clarity, Eliza has given everything and more.
While I’m off living my best life, she took him in.
For years, she’s been the one managing all the doctors and dealing with the appointments and the medications and the emergencies.
She absorbed the emotional fallout so I could keep skating, keep playing, keep pretending money was a sufficient form of contribution.
She isn’t failing. She’s drowning.
“El,” I say, my voice rough but steady, “listen to me.” She goes quiet, but I hear her sniffling, fighting back her emotions. “You are not a terrible daughter. You’re doing the hardest thing there is—loving someone who can’t be safe anymore.”
I hear her sniffle as she tries to pull herself together. She’s been researching for weeks the best facilities available and I’ve been wanting her to pull the trigger on it, but she’s been hesitating. While I hate that my father got hurt, this was the catalyst that was needed.
“You can’t do this alone,” I add. “You were never supposed to.”
“I just feel like I’m abandoning him,” she says softly.
“You’re not,” I say without hesitation. “You’re choosing him. Even when it hurts.”
There’s a long silence on the line.
“Let me get back to my apartment,” I tell her. “Give me about an hour. I’ll call you back, and we’ll go through everything together. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you too.”
The call ends, but I stay there, phone still pressed to my ear, unable to fully accept what I’ve just heard.
Tanner breaks the silence.
“What happened, man?”
“My dad,” I say. “He started a small kitchen fire and burned his hand. Eliza’s been holding everything together and now she can’t anymore.”
Tanner’s face is one of sincere concern. “Dude… I’m sorry.”
“We have to put him in a facility,” I continue.
He exhales slowly, eyes darkening. “Jesus.”
“I have to go home,” I say. “Like home home.”
“Go to her,” he says. “She needs you.” Then, he adds, “And you need this too. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I know.”
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’m telling you 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.
I’m not running. I’m showing up.
And this time, I’m not doing it alone.