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It all made sense now. The clubs, the endless parade of women, the partying... he did it to forget. To get away from the harsh reality of his mother's Alzheimer's disease.
All of his behavior was nothing more than an escape. A shield of armor to protect himself.
Five minutes later, Eli came back into the kitchen, looking exhausted and a lot more irritated.
"Let's go," he ordered, his voice clipped. Holly set her jaw, saying nothing as she followed him outside. They were almost to the car when he stopped and turned around.
"What were you trying to do back there, Wilkes?"
Holly frowned. "What do you mean?"
He crossed his arms and glared down at her. "All your nicey-nice talking to my mom on the porch, then coming inside and making yourself at home. Even making fucking tea."
She stared at him, clutching at the water bottle in her hand.
"Are you serious right now?"
"I told you to wait on the porch," he snapped. "All you had to do was sit outside, mind your own goddamn business, and wait for me. But you couldn't do that. You had to barge in and get involved."
Oh, he didnotjust say that.
"You know what, Donnelley? Fuck you. If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even have known your mom needed you tonight. You were too goddamn drunk to even hear the fucking phone! I was even nice enough to drive you here so you didn't have to wait for an Uber."
He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "I didn't want to make your mom uncomfortable by not accepting her invitation to go into the house. And I was trying to ease the tension with a normal activity like making tea." She poked him in the chest. "And what do I get for it? You, acting like a first-rate asshole and treating me like someone who works for you. Newsflash, Eli—I don't. All I was trying to do was help you."
He froze, staring at her for a few seconds before the irritated look on his face gave way to one of agony. He whirled around and leaned his palms against the hood of the car.
"Oh, fuck." He hunched over, sucking in short breaths. "Fuck."
"Eli—"
"Something's wrong," he choked out. "I don't feel right. My heart's racing."
She placed a hand on his arm, and he shrugged her off. "Don't. Don't touch me." He slapped his hands against the car and staggered backward.
"What's happening to me? Holly, call for help. Something’s wrong."
She spotted a small park across the street. Lacing her arm through his before he could protest, she dragged him over to a wooden bench. "Sit."
"I can't get any air," he gasped, his eyes wide. "I can't—I can't breathe."
"You're speaking, so you can breathe. Sit," Holly said, pushing him down onto the bench.
She stooped down in front of him and placed her hands on his knees. "Look at me, Eli."
He held out his trembling hands. "My fingers are numb. You need to call someone. I feel really sick. Am I... am I having a stroke?"
"No, you're having a panic attack. Watch me, okay? We're going to do a breathing exercise that will help."
"No, no." He shook his head wildly. "I'm gonna puke. Oh, fuck."
He vaulted off the bench and ran over to a nearby tree. Collapsing to his knees, he vomited repeatedly until there was nothing left.
Holly knelt next to him and rubbed his back. "You're okay now."
Eli sank down onto the ground with a groan. “Am I?”
She handed him the water bottle. "Rinse and spit, then drink slowly."
