Page 99 of Win Big

I drive home, once again with that uncomfortable feeling that Heather is coming to rely on me too much. Maybe “rely” isn’t the right word. She’s always asked me to stay for meals as a thank you for helping her or taking out Owen, but lately she seems disappointed when I say no. Could be I’m imagining things. We’re just friends.

Maybe I shouldn’t have come over to help clean up the yard.

But I can’t just drop out of their lives. I want to be in their lives. Ihaveto be in their lives.

20

EVERLY

I was so mortifiedthat Wyatt saw me having a panic attack. I didn’t want to answer the door, but I had to.

But he was so understanding. He didn’t freak out about it. He went and got me a Slurpee. He gave me the best back rub. He asked me what else he could do for me. When I tried to tell him how stupid I felt it was that I had these, he just shrugged and said, “It’s not like you can control it.”

Which is so true. Also something that frustrates me, because yes, I like to control things.

I don’t tell many people I have them. Definitely not co-workers. So many people still look down on any mental illness as a sign of weakness. I know I should be open about it, to break the stigma, but I’m not one to draw attention to myself. Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to do that.

But Wyatt knows and he doesn’t seem to think any less of me for it.

Tonight is the Condors’ game against Calgary, and Wyatt and his friend Baz Chadha are doing an interview for CBC for Hockey for All. We’re going out with Baz and his agent for drinks after the game. And it’s Valentine’s Day. Wyatt hasn’t said anythingabout that, and I’m not going to. It’s kind of a silly, made-up holiday.

I watch the game from Dad’s box on the press level. I don’t go to many games, but I’ve been watching them on TV—okay, I’ve been watching Wyatt on TV—so I figured not only would I get to see the game live, and then meet up with Wyatt and Baz after, I’d get to spend time with Dad.

I arrive while the warm-up is going on. Dad’s already there, along with Théo and Scott. I meet Théo’s eyes as I greet them, both of us remembering the troubling discussion the other night. Dad looks sharp in his suit and tie. I guess I’ll see how sharp his mind is tonight. My stomach is tight with anxiety.

Théo and Scott are also wearing suits, and since I’m sitting up here with them, I dressed up a bit too—black trousers, a fitted black turtleneck, and high-heeled boots. I hang my fluffy ivory faux-fur jacket over the back of my chair and set my purse on the floor beneath the counter.

I lean on the counter to peer way down at the ice, immediately searching out Wyatt. He’s feeding pucks to Jimmy to shoot at the net, one after another. I smile.

We haven’t told anyone that we’re dating for real. Mom and Dad still think it’s just a PR thing. I asked Lacey not to say anything to Théo about our conversation where I spilled my guts about Gage, warning her that nobody else in my family knows that sordid story and I want to keep it that way.

Everyone thinks I’m perfect. The perfect daughter. The perfect student, when I was in high school and college. The perfect director of the Foundation. They don’t need to know that the reason I try so hard to be perfect is because I know I’m the exact opposite.

I listen to Théo, Scott, and Dad talking hockey business. The trade deadline is Monday, so everyone is focused on that. I know Théo has been working long hours, involved in top secretdiscussions with other teams, trying to strategically make the best deals possible. It’s like putting together a puzzle—trying to get the best player possible while staying within the salary cap, mindful of the players on the team he wants to keep and how much that will cost.

If anyone’s up for it, it’s Théo. He’s super smart and analytical, and I think Dad made one of his best decisions ever hiring him as GM. Lots of people think he’s too young, but I think his analytics background, plus being a former hockey player, make him perfect for the job. He made some amazing deals over the summer, and already the team is doing better than they ever have.

“I don’t know,” Théo says. “Boston hasn’t done much for Jackman since they got him in December. He’s only suited up for one game.”

“But he’s got a lot of potential,” Scott says. “He’s young.”

Théo shakes his head.

“You can never have enough defensive depth in the playoffs,” Dad says in his distinctive craggy voice. “And Jackman is on a cheap deal that expires after this season, so there’s no risk in getting him.”

I watch Théo’s face, because I have no idea if Dad’s statement makes sense or not, but Théo nods. “That’s true.”

Hmm.

The warm-up is ending, so I pull out my phone to check social media. Taylor has sent a hilarious Snapchat picture of Byron sprawled on his back on the floor, sleeping.

I scroll through Twitter, check out a few hashtags I follow, laugh at @dog_rates.

I need a dog.

What? I’m too neurotic to have a dog. But it would be nice...

“Want a drink, Everly?” Théo asks, standing.

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