Only then do I notice the ring box taped to the puck. Breathe, Bailey. Breathe. Eli rips of his gloves, prying my fingers off the side of the chair and curling his hands around mine. “Bailey? What’s wrong?” I open my mouth, but it takes several tries before I can croak out an intelligible response. “I think I’m having an anxiety attack. Or maybe not officially? Maybe I’m just freaking out.” His arms are suddenly around me,
