Page 29 of Behind the Net

“I love the ones with her tongue hanging out.” I scroll through the images, grinning. “I take about twelve pictures a day.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a player accidentally bump the server. The server’s eyes go wide, and she scrambles to right the tray, but it’s too late. The drinks tip and spill, splashing over Donna’s sleeve. The glasses crash to the floor, and everyone in the box turns to look.

“I’msosorry,” the server gasps.

Around us, people pick up the shards of glass, pass us napkins, and clean up the spill on the floor.

“I’ll get more napkins,” the server tells us. “Stay right there.”

“Oops.” I pass Donna a hand towel with the Vancouver Storm logo on it.

Donna dabs at her sleeve, not saying anything.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She clears her throat before her eyes dart around the room. She’s gone white as a sheet, and it doesn’t seem like she heard me. She blinks and looks toward the door leading to the hallway.

“Donna?”

“Hmm?” She whirls around to look at me. Her chest rises and falls fast.

Something’s wrong. I have that feeling in my gut. She’s acting different.

“Are you okay?” I ask again softly, placing my hand on her arm. “Can I get you something?”

At the contact of my hand on her, she turns to me with a baffled look, like she forgot I was there.

“I need some air. I need to get outside.” The tone of her voice has changed completely.

The silly, warm woman from moments before is gone, and now she sounds petrified. She forces a smile, and I know it’s forced because I do that all the time.

“Ladies’ room,” she says, sounding breathless. She’s already stepping away. “Be right back.”

There’s a bad feeling in my stomach as I watch her make her way to the door. I heard once that people who are choking often run to the bathroom to avoid making a scene, when it’s the most dangerous place to be since no one can help them.

Donna’s not choking, but she’s definitely not okay.

I hurry after her. When I push the ladies’ room door open, she’s in front of the sink, splashing water on her sleeve. She’s wheezing, breath shallow and rapid. Eyes wide as saucers.

My mind whirs—I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s happening. Her eyes are darting around the small space as she tries to pull in more air.

“What’s going on?” I ask, rushing over to her side.

“I’m fine.” Her voice shakes as she turns the water off, and she’s wheezing harder than ever, clutching the side of the sink for support. She leans against the wall, and alarm bells ring in my head.

She can’t breathe. She’s having a panic attack.

CHAPTER16

PIPPA

“Donna.”My voice is strong and firm as I step in front of her. “Look at me.”

Her gaze flicks up, terrified, as she gasps for air.

I point at my eyes. “Right here.”

She nods frantically.

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