he’s avoiding it. It probably doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
Wincing, Dakota rubbed his chest. He’d been an asshole to Tay the last couple of days. Okay, no. Asshole was a strong word. But he definitely hadn’t been as chatty over text as he normally was. Poor Tay was probably confused about how they’d gone from being so easy with each other to hardly any communication. Hell, the confused furrow to Tay’s brow when he’d left on Saturday had said it all—he had no idea where Dakota’s head was at, but he knew something had changed. And because Dakota didn’t want to have this conversation through text or phone, he’d slowly pulled away, adding bricks around his heart while he anticipated the worst—Tay breaking things off.
He kicked Calder’s foot under the table. “Thanks, man.”
Calder gave him a thumbs up and went back to his laptop.
Shaking off the last couple of days, Dakota finally texted Tay back. This was fixable. He’d make sure of it.
There were eleven other people in Tay’s Tuesday morning pre-hospital care practical. It was the first practical of six that would take place in the next three weeks, meant to prepare the students for their future careers as paramedics. Tay had worked with the program coordinator to be scheduled into practicals he could attend in person, but that still meant he’d miss two next week while he was on the road with his team. There was no way around it, so the professor had agreed to video call Tay in. He wasn’t happy about it.
The professor, not Tay. Although Tay wasn’t exactly happy about this practical in general.
Sweat dotted his temples as he sat in a lab on campus and wiped his damp palms on his thighs. The other men and women in his class sat around him, confidence bursting from every pore, shoulders squared. Tay’s own shoulders were rounded, and he avoided eye contact with the professor, silently begging not to be picked on.
Turned out party decorating wasn’t the only challenge that could kick his ass.
“You arrive at the scene of the emergency,” the professor said, arms crossed as he walked between the rows of counters. “What’s the first thing you assess?”
Shit. He knew this. They’d been studying this for weeks. It was emphasized in every case study he’d read for this class.
The kid can’t cut it in a four-year degree.
“Harley,” the professor barked.
Two rows over, Harley gave the answer. Tay didn’t hear it, his ears filled with static.
“There are loved ones at the scene,” the professor continued. “What’s the protocol for handling them?”
Oh god. There was a protocol for that? The professor called on someone else as Tay’s hands balled into fists on his thighs.
Someone must’ve answered; the professor continued. “In triage, what are you assessing the injured for?”
Tay’s muscles locked so hard pain shot into his neck. He knew this too. He did. But it was like a real emergency was right in front of him and everything he knew had flown out the window, his mind a blank slate, two years of knowledge erased. Spots danced in front of his vision.
“Taylor.”
Oh fuck. “Um.” He swallowed hard, throat clicking, armpits turning into puddles. “Uh . . .”
“These questions are basic fundamentals we’ve been talking about since the first week of the semester.” The professor’s voice was unforgiving. “You shouldn’t have to think about the answers at this point.”
Fuck. What if Anna and Stella were right and he didn’t have what it took?
He flew out of there as soon as the two-hour practical was over, already dreading Thursday afternoon’s. Could he fake the flu?
God, what was wrong with him? He knew the answers to the professor’s questions. All of them. Of course, that didn’t help him now as he drove to the arena, and it wouldn’t help him if he froze during an actual emergency situation and remembered everything later.
So. He wasn’t good under pressure. Good to know.
Except that wasn’t true. Take that overtime against Florida last week. He and Grey had scored in less than a minute. He’d been focused. Sure of himself. He knew what the fuck he was doing on the ice.
Everywhere else though . . .
He didn’t even know what he was doing with Dakota.
God. Dakota.
By the time he parked at the arena, changed into workout gear, and joined his teammates in a deserted hallway for a round of Balls In My Court, he had a headache from clenching his jaw so tight, and a pit of frustration in his