Page 24 of The Trouble with Players

“Whoa. They said, ‘Everyone in,’” he argued.

“Did I look like I wanted to go in?!”

He looked at me like I was crazy. But who pulled someone into the water who wasn’t even in a bathing suit?

I climbed out of the pool and grabbed a towel from a pile on a chair. I wrapped it around me and began to move toward the back door.

“Is your dad here?”

I looked beside me to the girl in a tiny red bikini who’d asked the question. “Excuse me?”

“Your dad. Is he here?” She looked around as if she’d actually find him hanging out at a party filled with college kids.

“No.”

“Too bad. For an older guy, he’s so freakin’ hot,” she said.

My heart began to race.

“Is he into younger girls?”

Sweat beaded on my forehead. “He’s married,” I said, though my words sounded as if they were in a fishbowl.

“Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t want me,” she said like she wasn’t talking about my father.

My hands began to tingle. “You know what? You’re probably right.” I spun away from her, suddenly unable to catch my breath. It was as if an imaginary weight was pressed against my chest. I rushed inside the house, frantically reaching the kitchen sink and bracing my hands on it. I needed to catch my breath, but I was seconds away from passing out. I moved unsteadily away from the sink and to the island, pushing aside a stool and sitting on the floor beneath it. I tucked up my knees as I tried to even my breathing, but my chest tightening around my racing heart prevented me from focusing.

Breathe, Peyton. Just breathe.

“Peyton?” Crew called.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words just wouldn’t come out. My head began to swim. I focused on my breathing. In and out. In and out.

Crew’s footsteps padded upstairs. Doors opened and closed. His footsteps padded back downstairs and moved closer until his legs were in front of me. He crouched down and found me under the island. “What are you doing down there?”

I shook my head, unable to verbalize what was happening.

His eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head, the words still stuck inside of me.

“Jesus Christ, Peyton.” He kneeled in front of me and grasped my hands. I couldn’t even feel his hands as mine had become numb. “You’re having a panic attack. Just breathe.”

I closed my eyes and focused on breathing.

“Has this happened before?”

I nodded.

“Okay, well just focus on your breathing. It will pass. You’re safe. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere,” he assured me.

In the past, if I just focused on my breathing it would eventually even out. But this time, the weight on my chest was suffocating.

We sat like that for a long time. The sounds of laughter and splashing outside began to dissipate. And, with time, my heartbeat began to slow.

“How often does this happen?” he asked.

“It depends.”

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