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One second, Stefan is holding me tightly against his big, strong frame.
The next that arm is slipping free and he’s collapsing back against my car.
I hear the thunk and turn to face him, seeing that he’s gone a ghastly shade of gray. His eyes roll back?—
And then he collapses.
I grab for him, distantly aware of my brother moving toward Stefan to do the same.
But neither of us are fast enough.
Stefan collapses, body hitting the concrete hard, head slamming back against the car.
“Shit,” Dan mutters, skidding to a halt, dropping to his knees. “Easy,” he says, slipping his hand behind Stefan’s head, gently shifting his body, laying him out on the floor when he tries to get up. “Just give yourself a second.”
“I’m fine,” Stefan snaps, tucking his elbows beneath him and trying to sit up.
Only his face goes gray again and he starts to collapse.
“Christ,” Dan says, plunking a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. “Just…stay.” His eyes come to mine. “Be right back.”
And then he’s walking out of the garage, disappearing around the corner. It takes me a second, but then I realize he’s checking for Trey.
Because he’s not in the garage.
And also…what the fuck had he been thinking coming into my garage in the first place?
And…how did he get through the gate?
And—
I exhale.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll take it up with security—or maybe I’ll just sic Pascal on him. Or?—
Right.
This is probably not the time to be thinking about security or Trey or Pascal and his super sneaking skills that rival Dan’s. This would be the time to focus on the fact that my husband is currently white as a sheet and sprawled out on the garage floor.
Because he collapsed.
He shivers, a full-body one that I feel as he’s pressed against my thigh. “What’s going on, honey?” I ask softly, gently touching a pale and sweaty cheek.
“I—”
“He’s gone,” Dan says, moving into the garage, walking past us, and hitting the button to close the door. As it rumbles shut, he comes back. “Ready?” he asks, but I don’t get a chance to respond because he’s not talking to me. He’s crouching next to Stefan, slipping an arm around Stefan’s shoulders, and pushing him up to sitting.
And then he’s all but hauling my husband to his feet and pausing.
Waiting as Stefan wavers.
Repositioning his arm so that Stefan can lean more heavily against him.
“Breathe,” he orders.
Stefan nods.
Does just that.
