And the fact that somehow, for those moments upstairs, Evie had made me forget my game had gone to shit. That was the most confusing part of it all.
Eighteen hours later I fell to the bench in the locker room, sweat dripping as though I’d just played my ass off.
But I hadn’t.
I’d missed every single shot, my wrist firing out of its normal rhythm and sending the puck into the rail every time.
The team had carried my ass, and Coach had sat me for the majority of the third period.
Noise blurred in the background of the locker room as everyone got undressed from the game, but I heard McKittrick loud and clear as he slapped my shoulder on his way to the showers.
“Looks like it’s official, Zolotov. You have the yips.”
Fuck. Me.
4
EVIE
Skye giggled as she crawled toward me on the floor of Maxim’s living room. We were in a delightfully ridiculous game of peek-a-boo and had been for the last twenty minutes.
A knock sounded at the front door, and I hollered for Fiona—Brogan’s fiancé and Skye’s once-nanny-turned-mother—to come in, knowing from her text that she was here.
I scooped Skye up, giving the little doll a couple of neck kisses as we headed toward the entryway of Maxim’s home. I hadn’t seen much of him in the last few days, but had caught him on his way out the other day for enough time to ask him if it was okay to resume some babysitting days to help Fiona and Brogan out. He’d easily agreed, right before grumbling about extra skate time and leaving.
“There’s my girl,” Fiona said, and Skye wiggled in my arms, anxious to get to Fiona. “I can’t thank you enough,” she said after taking Skye from my arms. She immediately started the mom bounce, and I grinned at her as I waved her off.
“It’s my pleasure,” I said. “You know how much I adore this girl.” I gently tickled Skye’s tummy, then headed to the kitchen to gather the baby bag Fiona had left with me a couple of hours ago.
“I know, but you’re just a life saver. Brogan hardly trusts anyone else with her,” she said, throwing the baby bag over her shoulder. “How are you holding up here? Maxim driving you crazy?”
I bit my bottom lip. “No, of course not,” I said. “He’s being very generous letting me live here.”
Fiona laughed. “Yes, he is,” she said. “But still. I heard he has the yips, which made me imagine Maxim throwing tantrums at any given moment and I worried you’d be yip collateral damage.”
I furrowed my brow. “The what now?”
“The yips,” she said again, smiling at Skye as she grabbed a strand of her hair.
“Pretend I don’t speak sports,” I said.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I figured Maxim mentioned it. It’s this unfortunate thing that happens to athletes sometimes. They’ll get little jitters or twitches during a game. Research suggests it’s highly related to performance anxiety,” she explained, slipping into her psychologist role without missing a beat.
I gaped at her. “Maxim has that?”
That could explain why he’s been so grumpy the few times I’ve seen him recently.
“Yep,” she said. “It’s never fun, but I can’t imagine how he’s handling it. Which made me think about you living with him and well, are you miserable?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said. “It’s only been a few weeks. This is a big place and he’s a busy guy.”
Fiona nodded, smiling at me. “Well that’s good to hear,” she said. “We’ve got to run, but I want us to do a girls’ night soon, okay?”
“That sounds great,” I said, genuinely meaning it. Fiona had become a great friend since meeting her, and with Mila gone, I was dying for some girl time. “You have my number,” I said while walking her and Skye to the door. I held it open for her, tilting my head as she stepped out. “Hey, Fiona,” I said when she’d made it halfway down the porch.
“Yeah?” she asked.
“Is there a cure?”
“For the yips?” she asked, and I nodded. “There isn’t a magic solution. It really depends on the athlete who has it.”
My shoulders dropped. I hated the idea that Maxim was struggling with his game, especially since I knew that his father was practically breathing down his neck, which was never a good thing. I’d seen enough of the punishments that man enjoyed doling out when I’d stayed with Mila when we were kids. Maxim’s father had never given him an inch of space to breathe when it came to hockey or a childhood, if I was being honest.
“You could try talking to him about it,” she suggested.
“Will that help?” I asked.
“Couldn’t hurt,” she said, then winked at me and headed to her car.
I made sure to wait until she’d secured Skye in her car seat and pulled out of the driveway before returning to the house and shutting the door. I headed back to my room to decompress for a few before I needed to work on my motions assignment tonight. And I couldn’t help but wonder what could be strong enough to give Maxim the yips, because the strong, sexy, and confident Maxim Zolotov was rarely anxious about anything to do with his performances on and off the ice.