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really trust that I was okay. He was always waiting for me to fall off the wagon.
    “Nothing happened. But maybe I want something to.”
    “What does the doc say?”
    “I haven’t mentioned it yet.”
    “Finn, I think maybe you should. Before you do something you regret.”
    As usual, Nate was right.

Chapter 9
    OBJECTIVITY (n.):
    An impartial role that a reporter should
    maintain when covering a story.

    Casey

    In the morning I took my bike out for a spin. A spin down to Finn’s house. Zack wasn’t helpful giving me much information and I exhausted all my resources at the station. It was time to make a move.
    I let myself enjoy the ride for the first few minutes. I loved this part of Stillwater. The old English-styled homes nestled along the river, the rugged cliffs, and flowing water.
    Up on the ridge, Finn had an enormous monster of a house. White with black shutters that stretched for nearly a block. Yet somehow he managed to make it look homey as well as grand.
    Strange. His house wasn’t gated off, but it was tucked away. Maybe people around here just gave him the space he needed. My brother certainly did.
    I looped around the cove, studying everything, trying to figure this guy out. I knew, deep in my gut, that there had to be some juicy reason he left hockey. My Lois Lane sensibilities told me I was onto something here.
    Completely lost in thought, trying to catch a glimpse of Finn in the wall of windows as I slowly coasted along the street, I didn’t notice the dogs approach from the left. If you could even call them dogs. Two enormous, pony-sized Great Danes announced their presence with a thunderous bark. Followed by a terrifying growling noise, like two possessed demons.
    I began to pedal faster, but in all the confusion, I gripped my brake at the same time. A mistake that launched me head first over my bike. I landed in a kneeling position, after doing a full 360 in the air, before falling forward on my stomach. The dogs crouched, ready to charge. I screamed, rolled into the fetal position, and covered my face.
    My legs stung like a motherfucker and the dogs were snapping. Yet it didn’t sound like they had moved any closer to me.
    I peeked out from behind my hands to find them perched on the edge of the property. They were bound by an electric fence, but I didn’t trust that they wouldn’t decide to break through it if something on the other side of it caught their fancy.
    “Nice puppies,” I said. “Nice. Nice. Stay there.”
    I picked up my bike and slowly slid on, ignoring the pain. When I took that first pedal, they growled again and the panic was back. I wiped out for a second time, tearing even more skin off my legs.
    “Jesus,” a low voice rang out.
    Shit, shit, shit.
    It was Finn.
    “Retreat,” he said to the beasts. They backed up.
    He rushed over to me. “Are you okay?”
    I nodded, keeping my gaze downward. I wasn’t ready for him to see the victim of the almost-mauling.
    “Casey?”
    “Hi,” I said.
    “What are you doing out here?”
    “On a little bike ride,” I told him.
    “Man,” he said, wincing at my bloody legs. “You’re hurt.”
    “Maybe a little.”
    “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He wrapped an arm around my waist and mostly carried me inside.
    The Daley house, though enormous, was stylish and inviting. It was decorated in cool tones of blues and grays — simple lines and rich fabrics. The walls were adorned in modern art. I recognized the colorful work of Paul Klee, Rothko, and Miró. It was tasteful, minimal, and strangely sophisticated for someone like Finn. There was definitely more to this guy than there appeared to be.
    The kitchen was clean and bright, full of cool stainless steel appliances and sleek maple cabinets. It smelled like citrus and coffee. A red mug, bowl of half-eaten granola, and iPad were abandoned on the table. I had obviously interrupted his breakfast.
    He hoisted me up to his counter and I felt light-headed.
    “Wait here,” he