The Cheat Sheet

And then they yell, “Quarterback sack!”

I immediately have ten little leeches on me, and I can’t shake them off. Even though I’m not feeling it right now, I decide to just run through the narrow main hallway like a growling bear all the way back to the kitchen, because I know play and fun are how this family does things.

In the kitchen, I find all the adults. Too many adults actually. It’s suddenly clear this is not just a family party, but a massive birthday gathering where the parents were all invited to stay too. Cool, cool, cool. It’s somehow even louder in here, everyone laughing at a higher than normal volume. Chill, Nathan, it’s a party—of course they’re going to laugh loudly.

One guy sitting on a barstool at the counter spots me first. He does a double take. “Uh—is that…Nathan Donelson?” He’s wearing an LA Sharks shirt, so I know this can’t be good. I’m really not in the right frame of mind to deal with fans tonig

ht.

I raise my hand in a small wave and look around the room for Bree. She’s standing by the sink filling a pitcher with water. At the mention of my name, her head of long gorgeous curls swivels in my direction. She’s wearing a yellow cotton dress with a long line of wooden buttons down the front. Bree looks like a literal ray of sunshine, and man is she a sight for sore eyes after this long, grueling week. I want to run my hands down her bare arms and soak up all of her attention. I want to steal her out of here and keep her all to myself.

Our gazes connect, and for one glorious moment, everything else falls away. It’s just me and her here. Her smile splits across her face, and my favorite dimples punctuate her cheeks.

And then I’m punched hard in the stomach by a random kid, and I double over with a curse not suitable for said kid’s ears. There’s more chaos now.

“Nathan! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. Kids, OFF!” I’m not even sure who said that. Parents are fussing around me, peeling each of their relentless sugar-fueled offspring off of me. It’s a swarm of adults and children all invading my personal space in this narrow portion of the kitchen that connects to the main hallway. Bree is trying to make her way through the crowd, but I’m trapped, and she can’t get to me.

Lily’s head pops into the mix out of nowhere and acts like this scene of pandemonium is completely normal. “Hi, Nathan! It’s good to see you!” She squeezes under my arm to slide her way through the people and into the kitchen.

“Nathan’s here?!” That’s Bree’s mom. I’d know her voice anywhere, but I can’t see her because three dudes are pressing in, reaching over their wives who are corralling the kids. Really? You want a handshake right now, man? Bree is outside of everyone still just trying to make her way through. Someone hands her a baby and she’s trying to hand it back.

Doug comes up behind me and slaps me on the back. “Good to see you, man! Hell of a game last week.”

I’m smiling—I think?—and trying to answer everyone’s congratulations and introductions while a kid is pickpocketing my wallet. (Did I say I want a big family? I changed my mind.)

Everything. Is. Swirling.

I’m aware of my jaw tightening, teeth clenching painfully. I haven’t even made it fully into the kitchen yet. I’m still stuck in this damn hallway, surrounded by people. An urge to wave my arms around frantically and yell GET BACK! nearly overtakes me. I want to throw my elbows side to side until they all scatter. But I can’t—I know I can’t. I have to stand here like I always do and take it all with a winning smile.

I need to focus on the voices, but they’re all slowed down, mixed together—muted. I can’t follow them. I can’t swallow. My heart is racing and I feel like I’ve been plunged in icy water. Where is Bree? I can’t find her.

Why do my limbs feel heavy and numb? There’s a falling sensation, and the fact that I know I’m not really falling only makes my heart pound faster. Something is wrong. I can’t breathe. My chest. My fingers. My breath. What’s happening to me?

I have to…

I can’t…

I just…

Oh no. Something is wrong.

I watch as everyone clamors for Nathan’s attention and suddenly, his face goes pale. His eyes look distant and glazed. His shoulders are rounding in on themselves and he takes a step away from everyone. It’s so noisy in this tiny hallway that I’m barely able to hear him say, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to…”

He turns away from everyone and dashes down the hallway. There are about 12 bodies between me and Nathan and I push through them with the gusto of a Black Friday shopper fighting for the last doorbuster TV. “Excuse me. Just let me—ugh, MOVE, Doug!”

I emerge from the mob and stare down an empty entryway. He’s nowhere to be found. I run into the living room, but I don’t see him. He’s not in the dining room. I check outside. His truck is still parked, but he’s not out here. I’m frantic now, like I’ve lost my child in the mall. Nathan looked terrible right before he disappeared, and I’ve got to find him.

I decide to look up the stairs and peek in all the rooms. Finally, I see the door to the laundry room cracked with the light off. Inside, I find my mountainous best friend curled up in the corner, shaking. Nathan—my unflappable-Nathan—has his knees up to his chest, big arms wrapped around his legs, head dropped between them. I can hear his gasping breaths from here.

I rush over and drop down beside him, resting my hand heavily on his back. “Nathan, hey, shhh it’s okay. I’m here.”

“I can’t—” He tries to drag in a breath again. His shoulders are heaving. I put my hand on his chest and feel his heart pounding as if he just outran a bear. “I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m going to pass out.” All of this comes out in a frantic rush, like he’s desperate. “Am I dying?” he asks, completely genuine and terrified, and now I know for sure what’s happening.

I scrunch in closer and stretch out my legs around him so I can pull his back against my chest. Winding my arms around him, I hold him tight. “No, you’re not dying, I promise. You’re having a panic attack.” He’s shaking from head to toe, and my heart twists painfully. I know what he’s feeling right now. “Just listen to my voice, okay? I’m here. You’re safe. It feels like you’re dying, but you’re not. Now, all I want you to focus on is how my arms feel around you. Are they tight or loose?”

He expels a shaky breath and, after a long pause, answers, “Tight.”

“Right. I’m not letting go. Now, what do you smell?” I wait for his answer, and when he doesn’t reply, I gently ask again. “Nathan? Tell me what you smell.”