Page 26

twenty-six

Wyatt

After a session with the physical therapist to work on my shoulder, a whistle on my lips, I stop in my tracks. Mitchell waits in the hallway, murderous intent on his face as he stalks toward me.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he growls.

“Hey, there’s no need for violence,” I joke.

His eyes flash. “I told you one thing . Stay away from her. And then you?—”

“It’s not your place to keep me away from her.” I stand my ground, meeting his eye squarely. “What she and I have is none of your business.”

A promise I made over a decade ago, when I was in the lows after hurting her and his breaking my nose, hardly has any bearing on what’s going on now. I stayed away from her as long as I could stand it.

Now, we’re together. He can either deal with it or fuck off.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he glares at me. “You’re playing with her. Leading her on.”

“Except I’m not. I’ve been clear about my intentions from the get-go.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“I love her,” I tell him honestly.

Mitchell gapes at me.

The words punch me in the face, and it takes everything in me not to gasp. I always thought I’d be telling her first, in some big romantic gesture with flowers and chocolate and tuna salad croissants. Not… like this. Yet the words spill from my lips, and I can’t stop them. It’s like once I’ve opened the lid, there’s no putting it back inside.

“I’m in love with her. I’ll do anything for her. If she wants to end it, I’ll walk away. But you don’t have the right to tell me to stay away.” I square my shoulders and stare him down. “This thing between us, it’s real.”

I don’t know when I realized it. Only that one morning I woke up in her bed and knew I wanted to do it every single morning for the rest of my life. I know that after a long, grueling game, she’s the only person I want to see. And when I’m away on a road trip, all I want is to be home with her.

“I love her,” I repeat. “I’m in this. I’m doing this the right way.”

He grunts. “I still don’t like you.”

“I don’t expect you to. But I hope, for her sake, we can be civil.”

Mitchell evaluates me. “You’re really not going away?”

“Not anytime soon.”

He sighs, then extends his hand.

Taking it, we shake, and then I grin.

“You’re stuck with me now.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “Still think you’re an asshole.”

My smirk isn’t intended to be taunting, but I’m fairly certain it comes off that way. “Oh, I totally am. And if you think I’m taking it easy on you tomorrow on the ice…”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

And when we meet up at the restaurant a few hours later, Elsy by my side, I’m surprised when, after he hugs her, Mitchell offers me his hand.

“Whitney,” he says evenly.

“Good to see you again,” I tell him, because it’s actually not a lie.

Henry approaches us, a simple grin on his face. “Elsy,” he says, embracing her like he hasn’t seen her in years. “You look fabulous.”

“Thanks,” she says, her eyes bright with happiness. She takes my hand and I squeeze hers in reassurance. “You know Nick Mitchell, right?”

“Right. We’ve met.” Henry sticks his hand out and Mitchell shakes it. “Nice to see you off the ice, man.”

The host shows us to our table. It’s in an out of the way corner where we won’t be disturbed. Most of the time, I don’t have too many problems with people recognizing me, but after a few scary incidents back in Philly, I can never be too careful.

And considering three of us are hockey players… we attract a lot of attention.

“It’s weird that I’m crashing your party. It’s weird, right?” Henry asks, surprisingly self-aware. “I thought there’d be more people here. I wasn’t expecting… this.” He waves a hand at the intimate setting.

“Nah. You’re like my annoying little brother,” Elsy says, winking at him. “I know I give you a hard time, but?—”

“I like it,” he says quietly. Almost… shy? “I don’t have any sisters. I mean, Audrey’s dating Seb, but I don’t get to see her every day. None of my other brothers have steady girlfriends.”

She reaches across the table, taking his hand. A growl rumbles through me, but she just pats my chest and smiles at me before meeting his eyes.

“I’d love to be your sister.”

Settling back in my seat, my hand on her leg, I look up to meet Mitchell’s gaze. He nods at me, approval in his eyes.

Elsy asks after his dad, and as Mitchell talks, the tension in my shoulders relaxes. I’ve never doubted her; she says it’s not romantic between them, that they’ve never gone there, and I believe her. It didn’t keep something from gnawing at me about their friendship. I don’t have any female friends. Sure, I’m friends with the girls my buddies date, but I’ve never had a genuine friendship with a woman I didn’t want to get into bed with. I never thought that was a bad thing. Now I’m wondering how much I’ve missed out on.

Henry’s made it clear he respects our relationship. Once I shut down the sharing idea—which I don’t think he was really all that interested in to begin with—he’s been exactly the same person with her. A little flirty, but not inappropriate. And it’s clear now that she likes him, at least enough to want to be his pretend sibling.

Speaking of siblings, I owe Bex a call. I haven’t checked in on her in nearly a week. Even though she’s a grown woman and can take care of herself, a part of me feels responsible for her. She’s my baby sister. If I don’t look out for her, who will?

Conversation flows easily throughout dinner. Most of it is Elsy and Mitchell, but when I contribute, it feels natural. Like they want me there; like he respects my place in her life.

It must be tough, living in different cities. All of my friends are from the hockey world or tangentially related to it, so I’m used to the distance separating us because there’s never been any other option. Guys get traded or sign with new teams. I don’t have a lot of friends from high school, and the ones I kept in touch with, I don’t see more than once a year, if that. My summer breaks are mostly spent working out by myself or with any of the guys hanging around.

I spent nine years with Philadelphia. I had a house there; I lived there year-round. My parents wouldn’t let me pay off their house when I signed my first big contract, and they both still work, so I don’t see the need to spend more than a week or two with them. When Bex could get away from school, I’d take her on a trip somewhere to hang out. Now that she’s finished her doctoral program and isn’t writing her dissertation, she has a little more flexibility, but she still only gets two weeks of vacation time a year, so she’s careful about how she takes the time off.

Mostly, I spend a lot of time on my own. I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with that.

Until now. Until Elsy.

She lights a fire in me. She’s the one I want to spend my time with. When we’re apart, I’m already cataloging all the ways we can be reunited again.

And not in a creepy stalker, I’m obsessed with you way. More like… I finally realize what it means to want to be with another person and just breathe them in. Her presence soothes me. It doesn’t matter if we’re in two separate rooms, or if we’re sitting on the couch and she’s reading a book, or if we’re curled up together talking. I feel a calmness in my soul from being around her.

I love her.

And it absolutely fucking terrifies me.

What if she’s not there yet? What if she never gets there? She may have forgiven me for being a complete and utter asshole, but I know I still have a way to go to earn her heart. What if she decides I’m not worth it? My own parents don’t think I’m worth anything. What if she agrees with them?

Burning pain ripples through my chest as my breathing turns quick and choppy. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get a full, deep breath in. Sweat dots my hairline, and black dots dance in my periphery as my heart races. My food tastes chalky, and I have to work to swallow.

Elsy sets her hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, then nod. “I’m fine,” I tell her.

Her eyes narrow with concern as she studies me.

“I’m fine,” I repeat, because what I want to ask instead is what makes me so unlovable , and that’s not a question I want the answer to.

I mean, I do. But not really. I’m not ready to hear it. To have confirmation of all the ways I’m a failure and a fuckup. That she’s only biding her time until she finds someone better and moves on.

Fuck. I rub at my chest, at the sharp, stinging sensation deep behind my pecs. It’s inside of me, not surface level. The discomfort is wedged in deep.

“Wyatt, you don’t look so good,” she whispers. “Do you want some water?”

Grabbing blindly for the glass, I succeed only in knocking it over. The water spills onto my plate, flooding the table.

“Fuck.” I dot at the mess with my napkin, but the water is spreading like a tidal wave, dumping directly onto my lap. I let out a yelp at the ice-cold rush directly over my junk.

Elsy says my name again, but it sounds far away, like she’s speaking through a megaphone. No, her voice isn’t amplified. A funnel? What’s that word called?

A tunnel! It’s like she’s standing at one end of a tunnel, and there’s darkness all around, and a spotlight is shining directly on me, blinding me. My ears feel plugged up, like I’m on an airplane, and my stomach swoops from the turbulence.

“Wyatt,” Elsy says firmly. My eyes snap to hers, but I can’t focus on her face. My gaze slips off, darting around the room. What the hell is happening?

I’m having a panic attack.

It’s been a long time since the last time it’s happened. They’re usually isolated to hockey and I have tricks to calm down. Somehow, I don’t think smelling salts will help this one. I try to focus on my breathing, on my heart beating in my chest, on the physical sensations like my clothes touching my skin or the sounds I hear.

But when I try to breathe, my throat feels like it’s being constricted. Oh, wait, that’s my tie. I pull at the knot, loosening it, but it still doesn’t help that panicky feeling spreading through my veins.

Elsy sets her hand on my cheek. “Wyatt,” she says, more softly now. “You’re okay.”

Grabbing her wrist, I hold on for dear life, focusing on the simple contact.

“I’m okay.” My words come out in a ragged breath.

“You’re going to be okay,” she repeats. “Say it.”

“I’m going to be okay.” My voice sounds hollow, almost far away.

“Breathe,” she coos. “Take one breath in.”

I do as she says, holding it, then exhaling slowly.

“Good. Again.”

Following her instructions, I keep hold of her wrist, my fingers over her pulse point. It flutters beneath my fingertips, her heartbeat steady and even, and that helps me to concentrate on my breathing.

Slowly, surely, I come back to myself. The shocking cold over my lap punches me in the nuts, making my balls shrivel up all over again.

“How are you doing?” Elsy asks, her tone soothing me even more. I don’t see any shame or disappointment in her eyes, only pure concern. “That looked like a bad one.”

“It wasn’t fun.” I gulp in air. “I’m sorry. I?—”

She shakes her head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong.”

I frown. “But?—”

She strokes her thumb over my cheek. “It happens. You can’t control it.”

Awareness crashes into me. Shame creeps over me as I realize Mitchell and Henry have witnessed my epic meltdown.

But there’s no judgment on either of their faces.

“You good, man?” my teammate asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Henry says agreeably. “But if you’re ever not fine, that’s okay, too. You know?”

A lump lodges in my throat, and swallowing does nothing to clear it. “Yeah. I know.”

Mitchell meets my eyes steadily. “You’ll be okay.”