by Aven Ellis
Panic builds in my chest. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. No, it’s not right. Matt is the man I love, don’t you dare try to screw this up.
But all I can do tonight is sit back and watch while my brother tries to play Cupid for the man who owns my heart.
With a woman that is everything Matt could want and more.
I bite down hard on my lip. My phone vibrates in my tote, and I gratefully retrieve the distraction.
My heart lifts when I see it’s a text from Matt.
Have you checked your big planner today?
I furrow my brow. Normally, I always review my planner over breakfast, sorting out my day. Then I move to my small planner and write out my action items for the game plan of the day.
I reply:
Still in car with Nate. Heads up they are going to introduce you to a girl after the game tonight. They think she’s perfect for you.
I wait for his response to that, which comes quickly.
I have the perfect girl so they can introduce all they want. Not interested.
Elation soars through me. I was silly to even have a flicker of doubt.
What if she is a supermodel well versed in The Kama Sutra?
I hit ‘send.’
Matt replies:
I’d rather have a sexy author with a fondness for planning in my bed.
Ohhhhhh! Before I can respond, he sends another message.
Read your planner and text me back. Be sure to look ahead, too.
I grin. He must have done something when I was taking a shower after breakfast. Thank God he didn’t open the little planner, or he’d see that my game plan items are filled with sappy mentions of him.
I hold my cover up so Nate can’t see. Luckily driving today requires all his attention, so he won’t even glance at me.
I flip open the book to today’s page, and to my surprise, I find that Matt has filled my day with activities. He even used stickers. My pulse quickens as I read them.
Write. Write. Write.
Matt has a game at seven-thirty tonight. Must watch him tear up the ice.
Look up a barre class to take. Sign up. Use sticky socks.
Don’t fear barre class. BE BRAVE I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT.
Check out this website for cognitive behavior tips so you can manage it.
Tears fill my eyes. He’s trying to help me. Matt looked up coping techniques just for me.
I flip pages ahead, and my eyes widen when I see he’s left all kinds of notes for me. Things about missing him, reminders for all his games, asking again about barre class, encouraging my writing. I get to the day he comes back and it reads:
Matt’s home! Netflix and chill with my boyfriend. Eat tacos. Wear hot taco socks because they turn boyfriend on.
He inserted a Netflix sticker and taco sticker next to his words, along with a heart.
Love fills me.
I close the planner.
Matt’s crazy about me, just as I am about him.
And nothing else matters.
Chapter 18
Heath couldn’t trust his vision or his mind. Was it really a fairy helping him? She blurred in his eyes. His head, oh God, his head throbbed with gripping pain. He must be imagining her. Heath tried to focus his eyes again, but it was too hard, so he closed them. What was he doing on the ground? Flashes of memory ripped through him. He had stumbled upon an invader. Heath remembered swinging his sword. But then what? What happened?
“Close your eyes,” the fairy said, her voice gentle and calming.
For some reason he couldn’t explain, he did as he was told.
“I’m going to help you,” the fairy said. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
Something stirred in his heart. Heath forced his eyes open, and the fairy hovered over him. She had long brown hair, but it was her eyes that commanded his focus. They were of the deepest brown, the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.
“I don’t understand why you are helping me,” he said before his eyelids dropped closed again. “As a fairy, you should wish me dead. Our societies are separated for a reason.”
Silence filled the air, and all he heard was the rustling of the leaves on the trees shading them.
“But I’m not a fairy.”
Heath struggled to open his eyes again, but this time, a woman was kneeling next to him. With the same brown hair and warm, dark eyes. Startled by her presence, he drew in a breath of air.
“I’m going mad,” he whispered as panic filled him.
She laid her hand on his arm, and heat ripped through him from her sweet touch.
“You aren’t mad,” she said. “And I’m helping you. You’re no longer alone.”
“Holly, are you ready to go?” Kenley calls out. “It will take us longer because the ice hasn’t totally melted.”
I finish up my sentence and hit ‘save.’ “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
Writing has been much slower than anticipated. After all, my brain keeps drifting off to Matt every five seconds and focusing is impossible. The fact that I got anything done is a miracle at all.
I get up from my desk chair and check my appearance one last time before I head out of my room. I’m wearing a silver and black Dallas Demons retro-style fitted shirt, skinny jeans, and black suede booties. My makeup is done, my hair is down and straightened, and by a complete miracle, I got my contacts in without ripping one. I pick my Tahari coat off the edge of my bed and slip into it, tying the sash, and grab my tote.
All I need now is the credential Nate had issued for me.
It’s lying next to my laptop. My stomach tightens as I gaze at it.
It’s my ticket to the WAGS lounge.
I’ve never dreaded anything more.
Usually when I see Nate play, I go to games with my mom and dad. We sit in a suite or on the ice. I’ve never been in the exclusive lounge before.
It will take all my coping techniques to deal with this.
But I will do it.
I’ll do it to see Matt.
I slip the credential around my neck. I run my fingers over the plastic badge, and as I do, I revisit the coping techniques in the psychology article Matt referenced.
I need to focus on the fact that anxiety isn’t reality. My mind irrationally exaggerates the negativity of situations. I need to shift to realistic thoughts. The article also said my mind puts negative judgment on others. I think they think negatively of me, when in reality, they might not think of me at all. My brain can choose to re-label the situation to be one of excitement rather than one of anxiousness.
The article made a lot of sense, and it helped to know other people have this issue, too. It was like the person who wrote it was inside my head, which was extremely comforting to me.
I draw in a breath of air as I walk down the hallway. I’ve known these articles were out there, of course, but I’ve never been brave enough to take the steps myself to try to correct my social anxiety before. I was afraid to deal with it. I was embarrassed.
And if I sought help or read articles about it, I was admitting I didn’t have it together. That there was something wrong with me. It didn’t help that Nate was so comfortable in his own skin, being a superstar, and it was mortifying to think of people knowing the truth about me, that I’m so different from my brother, a man the world loves.
It was easier to shut the world out and write.
But with Matt, I know that isn’t going to be an option.
And the truth is, while I’ll never want to go out to bars and get stupid drunk, it would be nice to be able to go to a barre class or Demons’ function and not feel an attack coming on.
Thanks to Matt’s support, I’m ready to face my fears.
And now is t
he time to start.
I walk with Kenley down the corridor to the Demons WAGS lounge. My chest fills with dread as my normal anxiety-inducing thoughts take over my brain. Such as:
They will all know I’m only there because I’m Nate’s sister.
I don’t belong with them.
They’ll all be so much hipper than me.
Every woman there is gorgeous. Models will be in heavy rotation. How many hockey players date models? It seems like all of them have had a model girlfriend on Instagram.
They will be fake-nice because of thought number one.
I draw a breath of air and try to stop the negative thoughts racing through my brain. I go through the list again, but this time, with more realistic thoughts:
They do know I’m Nate’s sister, so what?
I belong there as much as anyone else.
Hip is all in the eye of the beholder.
Yes, they’ll be gorgeous. This doesn’t reflect on me.
They might be fake-nice. But they might be nice-nice.
“Here we are,” Kenley says, interrupting my thoughts and gesturing to a sign indicating we have reached the lounge.
Kenley pushes open the door, and I find myself in a luxuriously outfitted room with huge sectional sofas and a massive TV screen hanging on the wall broadcasting the ice rink that is right down the hall.
In one corner of the room, children dressed in Demons clothing are playing in an area filled with toys. A huge table lines one wall, and spread on it is a lavish buffet. I spot tacos. Mmmm. I also see guacamole, chips, salsas, skirt steak, chicken, and shrimp. There are fruits and desserts, and another table is set up with all kinds of beverages, including an assortment of wines.
Mild panic sets in as I see a group of gorgeous women in the corner looking very comfortable with each other, talking and laughing. Some eyes shift my way, observing the newbie in the room.
My chest tightens. They are judging me. They’re judging my outfit. I’m not as pretty as them. Why am I with gorgeous Kenley? They all know I can’t possibly be with a player, I’m not player girlfriend material.
No. I shake my head. No, I need to stop these thoughts.
I do what the article suggests and refocus.
They are looking at me because I’m new.
Worst result? They don’t like me.
Do I care if they think I’m player-girlfriend material or not?
While they all might not embrace me, odds are a few will.
To my surprise, my panic is not escalating like it normally would. I take a deep breath to control my anxiousness and continue to replay these thoughts in my head.
“Kenley, Holly, good to see you!”
I turn and find Kylie Flynn walking toward us. My anxiety is further relaxed by her presence. I met her at Casino Night a few months ago, and she’s a sweet, genuine person.
“Hey, sweetie, how are you?” Kenley asks, giving her a quick hug.
“Good. Relieved that the holidays are over,” Kylie says, her brown eyes dancing. “Getting all those orders processed was stressful. I even had Harrison helping me ship on his off days. We decided we’re going to hire a shipping company since the business is growing so fast.”
I know Kylie owns her own apron and clothing design company, and from what Kenley has told me, it’s becoming quite successful. Obviously, she’s experiencing a lot of growth if they are ready to outsource product shipping.
Kylie turns to me, smiling brightly. “Holly, it’s nice to see you. I missed you at the New Year’s Eve party the other night,” she says, moving in to hug me.
I hug her and step back. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Well, I have something for you,” Kylie says. “Excuse me for a second while I get it.”
Kylie disappears to the back of the room, and before I can say anything, a stunning woman with long, silky jet-black hair walks up to greet Kenley.
“Hey, girlfriend, how are you?” she asks. “Did you bring any of those merlot truffles tonight?”
I can’t help but notice this woman’s outfit, leather leggings, an oversized black sweater, and a gorgeous pair of high heel over-the-knee boots.
“I did, just for you,” Kenley says, grinning. “Hey, Jordan, I want you to meet my friend and Nate’s sister, Holly Johansson.”
Jordan. Jordan.
Her identity clicks into place.
This is the hostess for the Demons games.
And Reese’s sister.
“Hi, Holly, I’ve heard a lot about you from Kenley,” Jordan says, her gorgeous face lighting up. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She extends her hand to me, and I shake it, noticing her skin is beyond soft. I bet she uses scrubs and remembers to put hand cream on every night. I make a mental note to add that to my planner because I’m sure she thinks my hands are disgusting.
Jordan doesn’t give a shit about your hands, Holly, unless they have the texture of sandpaper, which they don’t. Stop it.
The thought came so fast and so natural I almost laugh out loud at myself.
“Likewise,” I say, smiling.
“Oh, hey, I want you to meet Reese, hold on,” Jordan says. “I’ll go get her.”
My stomach lurches, which is stupid. I know Matt wants nothing to do with anyone but me.
I’m distracted when I see Kylie coming over to me, a gift bag in hand.
She smiles warmly at me. “This is for you.”
“For me?” I ask, shocked.
Kylie nods. “Yes. Go on!”
I hold the beautiful floral bag and remove light purple tissue from the top. Inside the bag, I find a key on a vintage keychain along with a folded apron. I unfold it and see it’s beautiful with vibrant pink and orange flowers on it.
“It’s a housewarming gift for your new home,” Kylie explains. “And thank you for staying in that house for us. It’s a huge burden taken off my plate.”
“Oh, that’s cute!” Kenley adds.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, holding the handmade apron in my hands. “Thank you so much.”
“And the house is ready for you to move in,” Kylie says. “We’ve unlisted it. Your home is waiting for you.”
I stare down at the key in my hand. Home. I have a home in Dallas now.
This means I can work on my future with Matt.
“I’m so grateful to you and Harrison,” I say, lifting my eyes to meet hers. “This means more to me than you could ever know. Thank you.”
“It means a lot to me and Nate, too,” Kenley adds. She gives me an affectionate squeeze around the shoulders. “We’re glad you’re staying in Dallas. And my mom is very pleased. If you haven’t noticed, she’s rather fond of you.”
I smile, thinking of how much I adore CiCi. And almost laugh when I think of how she scares Matt to death.
“Holly?”
I turn over my shoulder and find Jordan has returned with Reese.
Reese, who might be a student at SMU but could easily double as a Victoria’s Secret model. She’s tall and her body is amazing, with lush curves. She’s wearing a black dress with mesh inserts, a chic motorcycle jacket thrown over the top and luxurious black booties. A smile lights up her beautiful face, one that is magnetic and alluring.
But her eyes are what really draw my attention. She has jewel-like eyes, the color of emeralds, which pop against her long, silky, jet-black hair.
She’s the whole package, I think, reeling.
But not for Matt, my new mindset fights back.
“This is Reese,” Jordan says, grinning. “Reese, this is Holly Johansson, Nate Johansson’s sister.”
“Hello, Holly, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Reese says, flashing a confident smile as s
he extends a hand to me.
“Nice to meet you, Reese,” I say, trying to ignore that my stomach is tightening up.
“So what do you do?” Reese asks.
“I recently graduated from Northwestern,” I say. “I’m looking for work in Dallas now.”
“Reese is in her final year at SMU,” Jordan says proudly.
“I’m studying art history,” Reese says. “Not sure what career I’ll do with it yet, but modeling keeps me busy right now. I’m going to pursue that full-time once I’m out in May.”
Modeling. My brain can’t control my stomach, and it twists into a huge knot.
“What kind do you do?” I make myself ask.
“I do a lot of swimsuit and athletic wear. I play volleyball at SMU, so that’s a good fit for me. What did you study, Holly?”
A swimsuit model. Who plays collegiate volleyball. Studies art. And is supremely confident.
Panic begins building as I compare myself to her. Social-anxiety ridden, planner-obsessed, Harry Potter-loving wannabe author who prefers Netflix to going out.
“Um, creative writing,” I say, attempting to shove these thoughts aside.
“Oh, that’s fantastic! I wish I could write,” Reese says. “I have no imagination whatsoever. I’m lucky if I can think of something profound to say on a greeting card. I usually just scribble ‘Love, Reese’ since I suck at it.”
Jordan and Kenley laugh, and I can’t help but notice Reese is very likable. She’s not stuck up, and she’s actually engaging.
Which normally I’d appreciate, but now it’s making me sick with fear.
“Well, girls, I hate to run, but I’ve got to start prepping for the game,” Jordan says. “Reese, I’ll let Kenley take care of you tonight. And introduce you to Matt,” she says, lowering her voice.
I’ve reached an ‘I want to throw up’ level of insecurity.