Page 17 of For Pucking Ever

I mean, what really happened between our Bast Man and his old teammate in Winnipeg? It was hush-hush and swept under the rug.

#RaisesABrow #AManOfManySecrets

My DMs suggest that these two have history that predates the Cup finals. Like, Shaw-had-his-poster-on-his-wall kind of history.

#Obsessed #MeetYourHeroes #ThenLiveWithThem

And the REAL tea? Toronto management is FREAKING OUT.

Listen, I'm just saying. . .when a rookie who's supposed to be the future of your franchise gets a devastating injury, without really knowing what's going to happen, this close to training camp. . .because we don't have that long left folks. Something is UP.

Toronto insiders are whispering about potential TRADES or they may #GASP let him go. I mean, if he's no use to them, what's a franchise to do?

Well, I certainly hope that the speculations aren't true and our little goalie god returns to the crease honey.

Can you IMAGINE the drama if Baby Shaw gets traded before he even starts his sophomore season?

#TradeRumors #HockeyDrama #FrontOfficeNightmares

That's all for today's update, my little gossip goblins! Keep those DMs coming with any Seattle sightings of our missing goalie prince!

Don't forget to like, subscribe, and hit that notification bell because you KNOW I'll break the news the second anything happens.

This has been HockeyHomeGurlHattie—where the ice is cold but the tea is SCALDING!

#WhereIsDerrick #GoalieMIA #SeattleSecrets #TradeWatch #StanleyCupHangover

SEVEN

DERRICK

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four straight-up torturous hours of my life just. . . gone. I know, because I've had nothing but fucking time to count every excruciating second, marking time like a prisoner scratching lines on a wall.

That's how long I've been living like a fucking vampire in this house. Hiding from light, from noise, from everything that used to make me feel alive.

I sit on the edge of the massive bed Bast stuck me in, fingers curling into the expensive sheets. This king-sized cloud of a mattress is way too big for one person. I stare at the curtains still drawn tight against the Seattle sun. They block out the worst of the light, but not enough to keep the world from pressing in. Summer is happening out there. Laughter. Boats on the water. Life.

Inside, it’s just me. My dark little bat cave of doom.

The first week, the pain was bad enough I didn’t even notice. The second week, I started memorizing the patterns on the damn ceiling. Week three, I’ve officially lost my mind. No TV. No games. No endless scrolling.

Even now, with my screen ban finally lifted, kind of, I can only use my phone in tiny increments. Dr. Patel ordered me to set a timer. “No cheating, Mr. Shaw.”

Meanwhile, Bast moves through his house like a shadow. Quiet. Distant.

Even from upstairs I can hear him working out early every morning. The muted thud of weights hitting mats. The creak of floorboards under his heavy strides.

Then, like clockwork, I hear softer sounds. The scrape of chairs, the whisper of a door closing down the hall. And when he finally emerges and comes to check on me, there are tiny clues he thinks I don’t notice. Paint under his nails. Specks on the sleeves of his shirts. Smudges on his jawline sometimes, like he forgot he even got dirty.

I want to ask him so many questions. Is he painting? Drawing? Doing adult paint-by-numbers? I have no fucking clue because Bast keeps his secrets like armor. Because he won’t talk about anything that matters. Because we are two goddamn ghosts haunting the same house.

My throat burns with frustration. I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes, breathing through the ache still lodged deep behind them.

Bast’s house is gorgeous. Stupidly gorgeous. Big windows. Vaulted ceilings. Hardwood floors that gleam under the right light. A massive library crammed with books, most of them about art, oddly enough.

How many art books can one man own?

I used to daydream about having this kind of life. Not just surviving paycheck to paycheck, not just existing between hospital visits with my mom and long bus rides to away games. I have it. I earned it. But here I am. Trapped. Surrounded by everything I thought I wanted but feeling more alone than I ever have in my life.