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I’m breathing too fast now. The black pin pricks are starting to bloom into ink blots. “I’m . . . going to have . . . a panic . . . attack,” I manage between gasps.
Ethan pulls the car over to the side of the road, practically flying out of his door and over to mine. He rips it open, undoes my seatbelt, and lifts me into his arms. There’s no beach next to us anymore, just jagged rocks and endless ocean. He sits me on the side of the road, joining me and pulling me into his lap. My back to his front. His heartbeat steady to my erratic thrum.
“Look out there, baby.”
I don’t want to. I shake my head. The ocean scares me, he knows that, and he thinks this is how to handle a panic attack?
His mouth presses against my ear. “We’re not going to die. This is your chance to face your fears. That house is a fortress and it’s too high for the waves to get us. You’ll see.”
I shake my head. Tears are spilling now. I just want to get off this island. He has no right to force me to face my fears. None of this is okay.
I think I may have said some of those thoughts out loud, I’m not sure, but his face is drained of color and he’s looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“You really don’t want to do this?”
“Please don’t make me.” Each word comes between gasping breaths of the salty air.
It’s nearly the afternoon now, the sky is even darker than it was hours ago, and the storm is fast approaching. But I’ve already missed the last ferry out of here. There’s no getting off the island today, not unless he charters a plane or a boat.
He must be reading my thoughts because he pulls out his phone and begins arguing with someone on the other end. My mind trails off, following skipping stones to other thoughts as I wait for the panic attack to drift away.
I don’t want to hear his conversation. I know what’s happening.
It’s too late.
Sure, he got a flight out here this morning from Manhattan, but now there’s nobody else to take him back. Not even billionaires can pay pilots to put their lives at risk. Nobody is willing to come out here to get us. The hurricane is too close.
It’s coming tonight.
He waits until my breathing has slowed to tell me what I already know. “We’re staying.”
Twenty-One
We return to the house and I’m emotionally numb as we put away the groceries. Ethan doesn’t say another word, but he keeps watching me like I’m breakable. He’s never looked at me like this before and I don’t like it. I don’t want to be breakable. I want to be strong. Breakable people don’t make it very far in this world.
Either way, I hope he feels like shit for what he’s putting me through. I hope he regrets it.
At least the panic has left my body and the aching numbness that follows is starting to fade, too. I’m returning to my normal self. The best way to keep this version of me is to stay busy. If I’m not busy, I’ll think. And if I think too much, I’ll drop back into the anxiety again.
“Now what?” I turn on him.
“Now we wait.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Give me something to do.”
He nods slowly. “Okay, should we cook dinner?”
It’s early for dinner. Not once this summer did he and Cooper eat before six and it’s only four. Still, cooking sounds good. “Okay. What’s the plan?”
“We have options. What do you feel like eating?” He’s staring at me, but I don’t try to figure out what he’s thinking. I already know from experience that he’s a closed book.
“Is the power going to go out on us? Maybe we should eat some of the perishables now and save the other stuff for when we’re stuck on this island.”
“We’re not going to be stuck on this island.”
“I love how confident you are about that,” I snap.
“We won’t lose power either,” he insists. “We have a top-of-the-line backup generator connected to the house.”
