My fingers go cold. Something shifts in my chest. Heat, disbelief, something sharp and warm. It may all be for show, but damn if it doesn’t feel real.
Every clap and cheer and whistle adds to the excitement of our team celebrating the win. We take a final skate around the edge, waving at the fans before we head off the ice.
The tunnel is lined with fans and a few significant others. Jenna’s girlfriend is, as always, the first to step forward with an enormous hug. Beth hits me with a fist bump and heads over to her boyfriend. It’s a sea of excited purple and gold. But I spot two fans in particular that stand out. Mostly because JJ is bouncing up and down next to Beau. Beau’s shoulders are a little stiff, and he winces when a girl grabs his arm. His smile doesn’t leave his face as he shakes his head at her, but it’s strained, disingenuous. He almost looks like he needs a rescue. I’ve seen that look on the faces of my friends at a club before when some random guy gets too friendly.
Concern for him overrides any other feelings, and I tromp over. It’s not like there’s anyone else waiting for me. Dad tries to make it out to as many games as he can, but between caring for Mom and Celeste, he can’t attend them all.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Beau looks relieved when I wedge myself between him and the brunette. Her nose wrinkles when I get too close, and she stepsaway. There are advantages to sweaty hair and the post-game funk.
“Good game.”
“Thanks. It was a bit of a surprise to see you there.”
“Well, you know we’re a team now, right?” He doesn’t sound as sure of himself as he usually does. Voice a little weak with a hint of a tremor.
“Yup. Does that mean I have to show up to watch your games?” My eyes are locked on his hand as he brings it up to swipe at his hair. There’s a slight tremor, and beads of sweat have popped up on his brow despite the chill in the arena.
“Guess so.”
“Are you okay, Whitaker?”
“I’m fine. But I gotta go.” He sounds short of breath, and his eyes are darting around as if he’s searching for an escape route.
“Right.” Alarm bells are going off in my head. Something is off.
He rushes away, but I’m worried about him. I’ve never seen him less than polished and perfect. He might not be my favorite person in the world, but I’d feel like a massive asshole if I let him go off alone when he needs help.
His long legs eat up the ground as he pushes through the crowd to get into the quieter hall, away from the public eye. Instead of heading for the guys’ dressing room, he swings open a random door and darts inside.
My heartbeat picks up, anxiety rising when there’s no answer to my knock. I hesitate before pushing it open. What if he’s naked in there or something? But my concern outweighs my fear, and I push it open slowly. The room is empty except for a lonely desk with an inch-thick layer of dust on it. I’m a hundred percent sure he came in here, but where is he?
A gasped breath catches my attention, and I walk over to the desk. He’s sitting on the floor, hidden from view. His head is propped up on his hands, and his chest is moving way too fast.
“Whitaker, should I call an ambulance, grab the medic? What’s going on?”
His head shoots up, and he shakes it at me, eyes wide, but it looks like he’s struggling to catch his breath. So many alarms are going off in my head at the sight of him. Struggling for breath, sweating.
I drop to the ground in front of him. “Hey, eyes on me.” He locks his blue eyes on mine. “Tell me three things you see in the room.”
“You.” He only gets out the one.
“Fair. What color are my eyes?”
He studies me for a beat. “Green, a little blue, some brown.”
“Okay. What about my jersey? What colors do you see?”
His eyes drop to my chest. “Purple, yellow, white.” His words are coming out a little stronger than before, and his breathing is a little more even.
“Great. Now count backward from ten. Can I touch you?”
He nods as he counts, and I place my hand on his shoulder. Just a light touch to ground him and bring him out of his own head.
The words get steadier, and his breath evens out until it’s coming at a nice steady rhythm again.
As soon as he reaches number one, he shifts around, dropping a hand to the floor to push himself back up.
