Page 21 of Monstrous Serpent

He lets out one of his dramatic huffs, slides off the couch, pads to his bed by the window, circles once, then drops.

Mom sets a plate on the coffee table with a turkey sandwich, cut diagonally, and chips on the side.

I sit up, clearing my throat. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Mhm.” She sits on the arm of the accent chair and folds her hands. “Are you okay?”

I nod.

“Cody?”

“Broke up with Cindy.”

Her face softens. “Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry.”

“Me too.”

She reaches over and squeezes my knee, the pressure warm and steady. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

I look away and poke at the chips on the plate. “Not right now.”

“Okay, well, eat up.”

“Yes, Mom.”

She squeezes my knee one more time, hand lingering for a moment before she leaves the room.

Blue is already snoring in his bed, one leg twitching. The house is quiet, and the sandwich looks good because Mom's sandwiches are always the best, even when she acts like she just threw it together.

I take one half and bite it, exhaling through my nose.

This past weekend was a reset. That’s it. A way to cut out distractions I don’t need anymore . . . like my ex-girlfriend.

Now it’s back to what actually matters.

Earning First Team All‑American. Owning my ice time. And proving to Toronto I’m ready for the Leafs, not a stint in the AHL.

Nobody on that ice is going to ask me to read a paragraph out loud or take notes faster. Out there, it's just my legs and my stick and getting the puck to where it needs to go.

Out there, I don’t have to be anything other than exactly what I am.

The guy who gets back up.

Every. Single. Time.

Chapter 7

Hunter

I open up the throttle and the ZX-14R hits a hundred and ten as I blow past a compact SUV that's got no goddamn business sitting in the left lane. The wind cuts across my arms where the Stryker vest doesn't cover the compression shirt, the engine hums through my thighs and into my chest, steady and low.

Atlas is two bike lengths ahead, finally leaning into the curves instead of muscling through them. His riding smoothed out about thirty minutes ago.

Him and those fucking edibles.

Don't know what set him off tonight. He was fine when I left earlier. But when I came back, he was sitting on the couch staring at nothing, eyes glassy with that look he gets when his head's somewhere he won't talk about.

We needed to get out.