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“Anyone want to explain that?”
“Nope,” they both say.
“It wasn’t a request.”
The brothers glance at each other. Collin sighs and Cal nods. It’s like they had a conversation without ever speaking. “Management and the coaching staff knows,” Cal says, which is not the explanation I thought I would get. “He doesn’t want anyone to know who doesn’t have to know.”
“I can keep a secret.”
Collin begins to pace and Cal watches him with worry. “I have panic attacks,” Collin blurts out. “An anxiety disorder,” he adds. “Can we pretend this never happened?”
“Sure.” I don’t know anything about anxiety disorders or panic attacks but as the twins move around me to leave, I find myself saying, “If you ever need anything, let me know. I mean it.” The surprise on their faces tells me I really need to step up at being a better teammate and captain off the ice.
“Thanks,” they reply and then hurry to get the hell out of the bathroom.
Well, that was an experience. They hide his condition (do you call it a condition?) well because I never would’ve known he was any different from his brother. They both seem laid-back and at ease with being at this level of play. Maybe Collin isn’t as comfortable with it as I thought? But then, I don’t know what caused his panic attack in the first place.
Finally, I leave, grab food from Bagels and Butts, and head over to Deanna’s shop. I’ve never been to Bagels and Butts, but I’ve heard it mentioned enough from Sylvia, Scott Boyd’s wife, that I figured it has to be good enough for Deanna.
She’s sitting behind the counter of her shop, next to a woman, and she’s staring into space. The woman glances over when I walk in and slaps Deanna on the shoulder to get her attention. I also hear her not-so-quiet whisper, “I didn’t think fuck buddies brought lunch.”
Deanna glares at her for that before managing to smile at me. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“Came to check on you and brought you lunch.”
I follow her to the break room where we take a seat. The good news is she’s not wearing the same clothes as this morning and she’s pulling out the food, so it seems she’s hungry. The bad news? She looks rough.
“Nothing for you?” she asks, flicking her gaze over to me.
“I’m guessing that’s not healthy, so no.”
She rolls her eyes and pushes the fries halfway between us. “It won’t kill you.” Her eyes water.
“How are you doing?”
“My dad refuses to let me help. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t trust me or because he knows I called her a bitch the last time I talked to her and this is payback or what.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe you should head home and hang with Otis.” She doesn’t seem to actually be working.
Deanna shakes her head. “Not yet.” Her eyes fill with enough water this time that tears spill over. She pushes her food away.
“Come here.” I hold out my hand and she easily comes to sit in my lap, her face burying into my neck as I wrap my arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
“Why are you apologizing? Your mom died, darlin’; cry all you want.”
And boy, she cries. I’m beginning to think her breakdowns are only happening with me, which is fine. I don’t mind being the one to hold her through them. I truly don’t. Once she settles down, I make sure she eats, kiss her forehead, and regretfully say goodbye to her.
Thursday night, Deanna comes over around midnight. She wordlessly climbs into my bed, cuddles against me, and falls asleep. The difference is that in the morning, she’s gone before I wake up. I stop by her work and bring her lunch, but she doesn’t say much and she doesn’t break down into tears anymore. It’s like she’s withdrawing all of a sudden. I’m not looking forward to finding out wha
t happens when she starts dealing with this again.
Tonight, she comes over around nine. I understand that people grieve, as they should, but it’s killing me to see her like this. She hasn’t truly smiled and definitely hasn’t laughed since her mom passed away. I need to see that Deanna is still in there somewhere.
“What are you doing?” she asks as I grab the karaoke machine, which has yet to move from where I initially set it down, and begin to take it out of the box.
“Going to sing for you.” I’m that desperate to see her smile.
