Page 122 of In It to Win It

This is what it’s like to be a Wynn.

“What the fuck was that?” Dad demands, sitting in Uncle Mark’s office, the soundproof door closed. “You looked like a robot out there.”

I lift my chin. “Yeah. Mission accomplished.”

“What?” He squints at me, then glances at Uncle Mark.

“Grandpa told me that passion is great, but it can also be a curse.”

They both stare at me.

“Seriously,” I continue. “He told me you have to control your passion. Otherwise it can destroy you.”

“Your grandfather is nuts,” Uncle Mark says.

“It made sense.” I frown. “He said the best players control their emotions, rather than let their emotions control them.”

“Yeah.” Dad nods, rubbing his chin. “But theyhaveemotions. You looked like a machine. Doing all the right things. But you had no passion.”

I think about that. He’s probably right. But that’s good. Passion—desire, hunger, thirst, whatever you want to call it—is trouble. On the ice andoffit. “Yeah. I’ve been working on controlling my emotions all season.”

“I know you have been,” Dad says.

“You do?”

“Sure. We’ve been watching you. You’ve seemed a lot more . . . not exactly laid back, but not wound quite so tight.”

“Must be the yoga,” I joke. “Or maybe the knitting. Everly taught me how to knit.”

I wait for the trash talk.

It doesn’t come.

“But controlling your emotions doesn’t mean playing withnopassion,” Uncle Mark says.

They’re both looking at me like they’re worried about me. What the hell is that about?

“Life is better with no passion.” I attempt a smile. “Easier to stay out of trouble.”

“That’s fucked up, Jean Paul.”

Oh, shit. I’m in trouble when my dad is calling me by my full name.

“What’s going on with you?” Dad rubs his chin. “Are things okay with you and Taylor?”

I jerk with surprise. “Uh. We broke up.”

Dad and Uncle Mark exchange loaded glances.

“What happened?” Dad folds his arms across his chest.

I shrug and avoid his eyes. “It’s better not to be involved with someone. Like I said, I’ve been working hard to do better. Stay out of trouble.”

“What does she have to do with that?”

“Oh fuck no.” Uncle Mark scowls. “Wasthatwhat that fight with Martinez was about? Jesus! I forgot about what happened at the wedding.”

They both level me with condemning looks.

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