If it weren’t for gym class in school, I never would have picked up a volleyball. Despite my injury, I was actually really good at volleyball, and soon, I came out of my depression to enjoy my junior and senior years. I even got a scholarship to the University of Bellevue, which was surprising. While it wasn’t hockey, it was still a sport, and of course, my parents were at every home game.
Until I stopped playing.
I had every opportunity to play here at the university in South Carolina, but I really wanted to focus on my studies of anxiety in athletes. When I busted my wrist and my depression set in, my goals changed. I don’t know how many athletes I’ve met in my life who suffer from anxiety and/or depression. It’s scary but completely understandable. These kids put so much pressure on themselves to make it to higher levels of their sports, and when they fail, they don’t know how to cope. Or they come from really awful home lives, and they are trying to fight that trauma.
The newest area of study is ADHD. While having ADHD is essentially a superpower, its main side effect is anxiety. My goal is to do the research into finding out where the anxiety comes from, what meds help, and the patient’s overall progress. The best part? I’m still in the hockey world. My university’s program has linked up with the psychologists for the Carolina IceCats. When I was selected to be in the program, I knew I couldn’t turn it down. I knew I would help someone.
I just didn’t realize that someone would be Evan Adler.
While most of my memories are flooded with his twin brother, Evan is in them too. He’s that steady guy. The good one, the one who always looks cautious. He was kind and helpful but quiet. I never knew that, inside, he was battling his brain like no other. His anxiety jump-started in high school when things got real. He was being scouted; his dad was taking him and his brother to meet different owners and coaches. They’d go to camps for hockey all over the place, and their travel team was the best in the USA. When they were selected for the Olympics at sixteen, Evan faked a knee injury so he wouldn’t have to go. Owen went and brought home the silver, scoring two goals in the finals.
Not surprising, but Evan should have been there.
Unfortunately, his brain wouldn’t allow him.
And I don’t know if his brain will allow him to continue in the NHL.
Of course, he’s as gorgeous as ever. Dark hair, blazing bluish-green eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. He’s built like an ox and stands a solid 6’4”. He’s a beast—with crippling anxiety.
After taking his weight and his temp, I ask, “How are the meds?”
He shakes his head, his eyes so sad. “I stopped taking them. I had suicidal thoughts. Freaked my mom out.”
“I’m sure,” I say, my stomach dropping. He hasn’t responded well to meds. His therapy is going great, and I feel he’s coping well with a lot of the things outside the rink. But on it is a whole different story. He will literally stop skating and stand there. I’ve seen it; it’s terrifying. “Since stopping the med, have you had any more thoughts?”
“No, they went away maybe four days after I stopped the pills.”
“Good,” I say, writing that down. I hand him a questionnaire for our study, and as he gets started on it, I go to the computer to input data. I watch him as he fills out the questionnaire, and my heart breaks for him. “Have you told your brother how bad it’s been?”
He looks up at me. “Have you answered the phone when your parents call?”
I press my lips together, knowing the answer to my question. It’s hard having him in the program when we both know each other’s families. When he told his mom I was assigned to his case, his mom told my mom, who then called me ninety-seven times. Since I’m embarrassed about my life right now, I won’t answer the phone. That doesn’t play well with my mom or the rest of my family, but it is what it is. I am focused on my research and my studies. I want to graduate early and be hired on as a lead researcher. Dr. Tembalt already said I’ll be hired as soon as I’m done with school. I gotta get done. I want to help more people. Right now, I only have two players, but I want all of them. I want to really dig into the data to find out what is best for them.
As I look over the notes in Evan’s file, I’m taken aback by the doctor’s last entry.
Patient is considering leaving the NHL for college. I suggested this as a good option for him.
Oh Mylanta.
I glance over at Evan, and he looks up at the same time. His brows come in. “What?”
“Are you really considering going back home?”
His shoulders fall as he lets out a long breath. “I can’t keep making an ass out of myself when I get on the ice. I don’t think I’m made to play pro. I need to look at other options.”
“But you’re so incredible. We can get you past this.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ll see.”
In no way, shape, or form does that sound confident. I want to scream at him, remind him who the hell he is. But I have tried all three drug classes on him when it comes to anxiety medications. I have two more things I could try, but I think he feels defeated. I send a message about that, informing Dr. Tembalt of my predicament and asking for his advice.
“So, what’s the word, Angie? A new med?”
I don’t look at Evan as I read the doctor’s message back.
Let’s see how therapy goes first. I’m worried he may very well be done at this point.
The pain of my own dreams disappearing crashes into me as my eyes meet those of a childhood friend. Within seconds, my stomach drops because I fear his dreams are about to do the same thing as mine.
Melt away faster than a sheet of ice.
Chapter Two
Owen
* * *
I am going to kill D’Artagnan Miklas.
It is his fault I’m sitting across from a total nutjob.
“What’s your favorite color?”
Normal enough question, but Amanda Fills’s behavior is anything but normal. She holds a pen in her hand and taps it to her lip as she awaits my answer.
“Purple and black.”
Her brows touch. While she may be hot as hell, with a great set of tits and an even better ass, I am counting down the seconds until this date is over. I’m usually highly attracted to blondes with green eyes, but not today. I should have dodged the setup, but I’ve been sort of lonely. Tired of the same hookup song and dance. Don’t get me wrong, I love a great hookup with no feelings whatsoever. But I don’t know. Lately, it just hasn’t been doing it for me. Maybe it’s the South Carolina women. It seems as if everyone I meet wants to play games. I don’t have time for that. Be honest, be straightforward, and be real. That’s not a hard request.
But apparently, for that, I have to date women who bring a notebook and pen to our date to take notes on me.
I’m not even fucking kidding.
“Purple and black? That’s an odd combination.”
“Actually, it’s not for me. My dad played for the Nashville Assassins when I was younger, and my mom owns the team, which is how they met. My oldest sister is the general manager, and my second-oldest sister is a special teams coach for them. Their colors are purple and black. It’s said that we Adler kids bleed purple and black.”