Leo
"Welcome to my humble abode, Doc," Miller announced as we walked out of the elevator that leads directly into the foyer of his penthouse—an industrial luxury loft.
I had prepared myself for a chaotic bachelor pad, but as I stepped inside, the sight made me pause. The space was immaculate. Every piece of mid-century furniture was carefully placed, and the walls were adorned with hockey-related artwork. There was also a large frame containing a photograph of a brunette woman with green eyes and a brown-haired man with eyes that bore a striking resemblance to Miller's.
They must be his parents, I thought, letting my eyes wander over the picture for a moment before looking away.
The apartment was surprisingly clean—or perhaps I should say unused. I wondered how many days he actually spent here, considering he was usually at the Glacier Dome practicing or in the arms of one of the many people the tabloids frequently linked him to across the city.
