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TAYLOR

“What the hell was that fight about?”

I know that’s not a great way to greet JP after he’s been away for a few days and I missed him, and he probably feels like shit about getting suspended, but I was so furious when that happened. I was watching the game and I actually jumped up off the couch and stood in front of the TV with my heart lodged in my throat.

“You punched him in the face for no reason!”

JP’s face is rigid, his jaw set. “Yep. No reason at all.”

I pause and narrow my eyes. “Are you being sarcastic?”

He shrugs. “Sometimes you just gotta have a good throw down.”

I toss my hands up in the air. “No, you don’t! What the hell, I thought you were trying to stay out of fights!”

“Well, I failed. As usual.” His bitter tone makes me flinch. “And apparently you’re pissed about that.”

I blink. I kind of am, but . . . “I don’t like it when you fight.”

“It’s part of the game.”

I close my eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have started this conversation as soon as you walked in. I was upset about the fight, but I’m not that mad. Come in. I’ll get you a beer.”

“I can’t stay.”

I’ve turned toward the kitchen, but I swing back around. “What?”

“I can’t stay. I’m meeting the guys. I just came to talk to you because I didn’t want to do this over the phone.”

My heart stops beating, then lurches into an uneven rhythm. My breath sticks in my throat. “Do what?”

“Break up with you.” His mouth is a thin line, his chin jutting.

I stare, my jaw loose. “B-but why?”

“I don’t want to be a dick, but . . .well, I guess I am. Sorry. I shouldn’t have let things get this far with you. I’m not cut out for relationships.”

I try to swallow, but it hurts. My eyes burn. My head is a vast, empty space. Maybe clouds are floating through there, but that’s it. This can’t be happening.

I try to marshal my wandering thoughts. In fairness, I wasn’t looking for a relationship either. I knew this would end at some point. Better now, than thirty years from now. Right? I swallow.

Only . . . I’d just started having stupid, hopeful thoughts about a future with JP. I’d just come to see that even though I kept telling myself I didn’t care about love, I really did still want it. I wanted it with JP.

I’d felt so close with him. The gifts he gave me were so sweet. We fought and we apologized and we made up.

How stupid could I be? I should have known that was crazy.

I draw a long breath in through my nose, my throat quivering. I’m afraid to speak because my voice will come out shaky. Finally I nod slowly and manage to say, “Okay. I get it.”

He glances at me. It’s quick, but enough for me to see the misery in his eyes before he looks away. “Good. Okay, then. Yeah. Good.”

I pause. I still have a million questions zinging around inside me, but none of them matter, I guess. He’s done with me.

It’s okay. I knew it would happen.

JP looks like someone’s jabbing the butt end of a stick into his kidneys. “You’re an amazing woman,” he says hoarsely. “With the biggest heart. You deserve to find someone good enough for you.”

I lift my chin, even though it’s wobbling. “Yes. I do.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll still keep Byron. I know your dad is taking him soon, but this doesn’t change anything about that. I’ll look after him until then.”

I nod numbly. Right. Byron. “Thank you.” The words squeeze out of my constricted throat.

“Bye, Sunshine.”

As my apartment door closes behind JP, I feel the crack—a sharp burning in my chest as if a fissure just opened up. I literally gasp, and I slap my hand over my mouth. I can’t breathe, can’t speak. Pain shudders through my entire body.

I make it over to the couch and sink down onto it. Oh my God. I need Byron. I need hugs, I need doggie kisses, I need . . . comfort. Now I don’t have JP and I don’t have Byron. What am I going to do?

JP

Our next game is a home game, Friday night. I take my game-day nap, this time alone. This time I don’t get a goodbye kiss when I’m leaving. (Byron’s slobbery dog-breath kisses don’t count.) This time Taylor won’t be waiting for me when I get home.

That’s okay. It’s for the best.

I go through my usual taping routine at the arena, listening to music. The team didn’t end on a high note before the Christmas break, but what’s done is done. I have to learn to forgive myself and put my mistakes behind me, not brood about them forever. That’s not how to move forward. Tonight I can start over. I can show everyone I’m better than that last game. I can control my emotions.

And I do.

The game is shit.

Actually, we win, but not thanks to me.

Most guys get reamed out by the coach after a bad game. Not me. I get reamed out by the coach and the team owner.

This is what it’s like to be a Wynn.

“What the fuck was that?” Dad demands, sitting in Uncle Mark’s office, the soundproof door closed. “You looked like a robot out there.”

I lift my chin. “Yeah. Mission accomplished.”

“What?” He squints at me, then glances at Uncle Mark.

“Grandpa told me that passion is great, but it can also be a curse.”

They both stare at me.

“Seriously,” I continue. “He told me you have to control your passion. Otherwise it can destroy you.”

“Your grandfather is nuts,” Uncle Mark says.

“It made sense.” I frown. “He said the best players control their emotions, rather than let their emotions control them.”

“Yeah.” Dad nods, rubbing his chin. “But they have emotions. You looked like a machine. Doing all the right things. But you had no passion.”

I think about that. He’s probably right. But that’s good. Passion—desire, hunger, thirst, whatever you want to call it—is trouble. On the ice and off it. “Yeah. I’ve been working on controlling my emotions all season.”

“I know you have been,” Dad says.

“You do?”

“Sure. We’ve been watching you. You’ve seemed a lot more . . . not exactly laid back, but not wound quite so tight.”

“Must be the yoga,” I joke. “Or maybe the knitting. Everly taught me how to knit.”

I wait for the trash talk.

It doesn’t come.

“But controlling your emotions doesn’t mean playing with no passion,” Uncle Mark says.

They’re both looking at me like they’re worried about me. What the hell is that about?

“Life is better with no passion.” I attempt a smile. “Easier to stay out of trouble.”

“That’s fucked up, Jean Paul.”

Oh, shit. I’m in trouble when my dad is calling me by my full name.

“What’s going on with you?” Dad rubs his chin. “Are things okay with you and Taylor?”

I jerk with surprise. “Uh. We broke up.”

Dad and Uncle Mark exchange loaded glances.

“What happened?” Dad folds his arms across his chest.

I shrug and avoid his eyes. “It’s better not to be involved with someone. Like I said, I’ve been working hard to do better. Stay out of trouble.”

“What does she have to do with that?”

“Oh fuck no.” Uncle Mark scowls. “Was that what that fight with Martinez was about? Jesus! I forgot about what happened at the wedding.”

They both level me with condemning looks.

My gut cramps up. Then a wave of heat submerges me, and I can’t breathe.

It’s all too fucking much.

I’m a Wynn. I have to be the best. And I can’t be. I just can’t.

The pressure is suffocating. I can’t do anything right. I play with too much emotion or I don’t play with enough. I find a woman who’s warm and kind and caring, but I can’t care about her because it fucks up my game.

“He said crap about her,” I burst out. “I had to hit him.”

The air in the room goes silent and heavy.

“I see,” Uncle Mark says slowly.

Dad covers his eyes with his hand.

“I know, I know. That’s why I broke up with her. I can’t be losing my shit like that over a woman.”

“You know he probably didn’t mean it,” Dad says. “He was just trying to get to you.”

“I know that! And it worked! Fuck.” I drop my head.

“Will it happen again?” Uncle Mark asks.

“No! Like I said, that’s why we broke up.”

“So if Martinez insults her to your face again, you won’t deck him?”

“I . . . I . . . ” I close my eyes. “He better not.”

“Jean Paul. Are you in love with her?”

I roll my eyes, curling my hands into fists. “Why?”

“Look,” Dad says. “It’s understandable that someone insulting the woman you love would upset you. But it’s going to upset you whether you and Taylor are together . . . or not. People say stuff to you. The best chirps go for a guy’s weakness. They ever tell you your mom likes butt play?”

My jaw slackens.

“Ha.” Uncle Mark grins. “One time some asshole told me he saved money on car insurance by riding my mom.”

Dad and Uncle Mark both guffaw.

“Not even funny right now,” I mutter.

“The point is, guys are always going to go after you for something if they think it’ll throw you off. You gotta ignore them, whether it’s about your mom, your girlfriend or your damn dog.” Dad pauses. “Breaking up with Taylor isn’t gonna fix that. Actually . . . ”

“What?” I frown, my mind unable to make sense of what they’re saying.

“I think you were playing better when you were with her.”

I think my head’s going to explode. “I have to go.” I stand. “Are we done?”

No other player would get away with such disrespectful behavior, and this just makes me hate myself even more.

But Uncle Mark nods, and Dad says, “Yeah. But I’m here if you need me, Jean Paul. As your dad.”

When I get home, I know Taylor has been there. Don’t ask me how, I just feel it. Maybe a hint of her scent. Or it could be the Christmas present sitting in the middle of my coffee table that wasn’t there when I left.

I sit down and eye it. The tag reads, “To JP, From Byron.”

I glance at the dog. He’s watching me eagerly, as if he’s waiting for me to open it. “You got this for me, huh, dude? Good doggo.”

Slowly I pick up the square wrapped gift. I loosen the shiny red ribbon and peel off the paper. Then I open the white cardboard box. Nestled in tissue is a mug. I pull it out.

I smile. A color picture of a happy Byron adorns the mug. I fucking love it. I didn’t want to admit it when Taylor was asking me about that, but I really am going to miss the mutt.

Trust me to fall in love with a dog who’s not even mine.

Then I turn the mug around and see the words on the other side:

JP,

Thanks for

picking up

my poop.

Love, Byron

Fuck!

My nose burns and my eyes prickle.

I drop my head forward, holding the mug in both hands, squeezing my eyes shut.

I have never felt like such an asshole in my life.

TAYLOR

My office is closed until Monday, so I don’t have to go to work. I’m grateful in one way, but it might be good to have something to distract me from my wrecked heart. I know that’s dramatic, but I don’t care.

Lacey and Everly and I get together Saturday for lunch to exchange gifts since we didn’t do it before the holidays. Everyone was busy with Christmas parties and such. I haven’t told them that JP and I broke up and I’m not looking forward to it, but I do kind of feel a need for some girl support.

We meet at Bistro del Rey. Seated at a square table near the window, we have views of the marina, wispy clouds streaking the pale blue sky above the boat masts and palm fronds fluttering in the breeze.

We exchange hugs and settle into chairs, arranging our purses and gift bags.

“First up is cocktails!” Lacey says. “Let’s see what they have.”

I smooth my hand over the white linen tablecloth and pick up a menu. “Oh, I see what I want.” They have a cocktail called Sunflower—lemon, grapefruit wedges, gin, and Bourbon. “This was made for me.” Except my throat closes up and my chest aches, thinking about JP calling me Sunshine. Buying me beautiful sunflower gifts. My bottom lip pushes out, but I firm it up and swallow hard.

Once we’ve ordered drinks, we take our time with the lunch menu.

“You look tired, Taylor,” Everly says. “Busy Christmas? How was your trip?”

“My trip was awesome.” I play with a fork. “It was so much fun to see my nieces, and my sister of course.”

“You don’t sound like it was fun.”

I sigh. “Okay. I might as well just get this out. JP and I are no longer seeing each other.”

Stunned silence presses against my ears. I look up at my friends and see their wide eyes and parted lips in identical expressions.

“What happened?” Lacey touches her throat.

“I’m not even sure. We had a fight, just before Christmas, but I thought we got over that.”

“What was the fight about?”

“I, uh, told him about how I wanted Manny to know I was with him at the wedding. He freaked out because he thought I was just using him to get back at Manny.”

“Ohhhh.” Lacey grimaces.

“I explained it to him, and he apologized and it was fine. And then after what happened with Byron?—”

“Oh my God!” Everly claps a hand over her mouth. “Is Byron okay?”

“Yes, he’s fine.”

“What happened?” Lacey sits up straight, looking back and forth between Everly and me.

Everly tells the story, since she was there, and honestly even though it could have been tragic, she’s so funny and it’s such a ridiculous story, she has me and Lacey cracking up.

“You ladies are having fun.” Our server arrives with our drinks. He smiles as he sets them in front of us.

“Yes.” Lacey wipes a tear from her eye. “We are.”

I can’t believe I’m laughing when I feel so shitty. “I love you guys.”

“Oh, hon.” Lacey sobers. “Okay, back to you and JP . . .”

“He felt terrible about Byron.” I sip my drink. “Oh my God, this is good. This is going to last about two seconds.” I take another taste. “He’s so hard on himself. He makes a mistake and he beats himself up over it forever.”

Everly nods slowly. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Anyway, he came over to my place and said he was breaking up with me because he’s not cut out for relationships.”

Lacey winces. “I did warn you about that.”

Everly frowns at Lacey. “That’s not really helpful, Lace.”

Lacey’s eyes widen. “I’m just trying to . . . shit. You’re right. I’m sorry. That wasn’t helpful at all.”

“I know you tried to warn me.” I sigh. “I should have listened. I thought . . . we could just have fun. I gave up on finding love after my parents split up, but . . . it found me.”

Lacey tips her head to one side. “You’re in love with him.”

My bottom lip quivers. “Yes.”

Both women reach out to squeeze my hand.

“He’s an idiot.” Everly huffs out a breath.

“Men,” Lacey says. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” I finger my sunflower necklace. “He gave me this for Christmas.” I show them, and they peer at it and oooh and aaah. “And a sort of painting that says ‘You are my sunshine.’”

“Aw.” Lacey actually tears up. “That’s so sweet.”

I sniff. “I know. I can’t believe he turned around and broke up with me.”

“He’ll figure it out,” Everly says. “I know he will.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m going to kick him in the nuts and help him.”

I laugh. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to get involved.”

Everly appears unconvinced. “We’ll see.”

“Maybe Théo should talk to him.” Lacey’s eyes brighten. “JP helped Théo when I left him.”

“I don’t want people interfering. I just want him . . . to be happy. Maybe he does need to talk to someone, though.”

“You’re a better woman than I am.” Everly lifts her Negroni and drinks. “I’d want to kick him in the nuts.”

“I’m so glad I have you both.” I lift my glass and touch the rim to Everly’s, then Lacey’s. “The crazy thing is, I didn’t want to fall in love. After what happened with my parents, I realized love doesn’t last for anyone, so why even try. Dammit, I don’t know how this happened.”

“I do.” Lacey smiles. “It’s because you’re you. And you’re full of love. Which is why we love you. ”

“Stawp. You’re going to make me cry again.” I blink away tears. “Enough crying. Let’s get drunk.”

“I’m in.” Everly lifts her glass.