That part wasn’t quite true. I could think—just not about the things I needed to think about, like driving. Or navigating an airport. Or playing hockey. Right now, I was supposed to be putting on my gear for the team’s morning skate, but I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t… Fuck, I couldn’t even breathe. My mind was going a million miles a minute the way it did when I was freaking out between playoff games, mentally buckling under the pressure and flailing because there was nothing I could do to change the outcome until I actually hit the ice.
Except hockey had nothing to do with why I couldn’t calm down today. Even a playoff game had never had me this fucked up.
Pacing alone in my team’s familiar locker room, trying to ignore the tingling in my shaking hands and the pressure in my chest—not a heart attack, this was not a heart attack—I begged my stupid brain to pull itself together. The rest of the team had already geared up and gone out for the morning skate, but I was in here, trying to talk myself off the fucking ceiling.
Just give it a rest, I told myself over and over. Focus on the game. Not on Devin. The game.
But it didn’t work. Everything Devin and I had talked about kept rocketing around in my head. I’d known from day one that Dallas and Devin were a package deal, and about her health problems. Those were literally the reason we’d met in the first place.
But something about our conversation had been messing me up, and today it had me this close to freaking out. Again. Like…badly. Especially since I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that I was meeting up with Devin after the game. It was our first home game after being on the road, and we were going out with the team for drinks, and I’d be facing him with all this shit on my mind, and—
Fuck. Was it going to be like this all the time now? Me losing my shit before a game, even more than I had the last couple of games because this time I’d see Devin? And what happened when I saw Devin in the crowd with his brother?
And what if Devin and I got serious? Like, really serious?
More serious than telling him you love him?
Oh God.
My stomach lurched, and I struggled to take a deep breath. Or any breath at all. I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t calm down, and goddammit, not this shit again. I’d already lost it twice in the last week, and I was not doing it again. I had a game tonight, for God’s sake.
I managed to get to the bathroom and splash some water on my face and in my hair. Sometimes that helped. Sometimes it didn’t. This time…it didn’t.
Gripping the edges of the sink with slick, wet hands, I tried to pull myself together, but it wasn’t working. My heart kept going faster and faster, and I couldn’t get enough air.
A pre-game breakdown was never good for anyone, but I refused to let my team down. I refused to scratch over something like this unless it was so bad I couldn’t pick myself up off the floor, and that was a rare thing. I knew me—I’d freak out twice as much next time because of whatever had set off the attack and because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to play. If that happened enough times, my team was going to get fed up. So was my coach.
No, I had to pull it together. Not just play tonight, but play extra hard so no one had any reason to doubt me. Especially so I didn’t have any reason to doubt me.
No pressure or anything.
Oh God. Breathe. Come on. Air. Why isn’t there enough air?
I was simultaneously mortified and relieved to hear the sound of skates on the hard floor. I hated being seen like this, but Christ, I needed that lifeline, and I prayed through the chaos in my head that whoever was coming in was a lifeline, not just someone walking in to find me losing my mind.
“Kelly?” Maddox. Thank God.
I closed my eyes and exhaled. “In here.”
The clomping came closer. “Hey. You all right?”
I pushed out a ragged breath, my heart pounding so hard I barely heard myself say, “I don’t know.”
A hand materialized on my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s grab a bench.”