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“Shit. Fuck. Babe, stop it. Slow your breathing. Come on. In then out. That’s it. Do it with me. Fuck. That’s it.”
She focused in on him as she managed to fight back the impending panic attack. He held her hand to his chest but, as she calmed, he dropped it down onto her lap, still keeping hold of it.
“How often do you have these attacks?”
“N-not usually one after another like this,” she reassured him. She concentrated on her breathing. Slow and steady.
“How many have you had since you’ve been here?”
She didn’t really want to answer that.
“How many?” he demanded in a voice she couldn’t ignore. Damn him.
“Four, not counting last night.”
“I don’t like that you kept that from me.” His voice was a dark warning.
She narrowed her gaze at him. “Far as I was aware, your protection only regards my body, not my fucked-up mind.”
He shook his head. “Again with the swearing.”
“Again with the arrogant commands.”
He eyed her. “I’d like to know what you planned to do once these pills ran out.”
“Hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”
“Medication should have been at the top of the list I told you to write. The one I still don’t have.”
“You just said that I can’t get hold of more,” she pointed out.
“No, I said I didn’t want you getting more without talking to someone. You need to be talking to someone on a regular basis.”
Not something she didn’t know. “Again, how?”
“I know someone. She’ll keep quiet about you. And she can assess if you need more of these. Not good that you have a panic attack just thinking about testifying when you’ve got to actually do it in a few weeks.”
Again, he wasn’t saying something she didn’t know.
“You trust this person?”
“Much as I trust anyone who isn’t family, yeah. Molly’s good people.”
Molly. Was she an ex-girlfriend? And why did she feel so jealous at the idea of him seeing someone? She bet Molly was curvy and gorgeous and put together. Not a freaking mess.
“Didn’t you say you had somewhere to be?”
“Got plenty of places I need to be. But right now, I’m trying to sort this mess out.”
Okay. That stung. She knew that she wasn’t important to him—not even close—but being called a mess was never something someone wanted to hear.
“Fuck. Shouldn’t have put it like that.” He reached over and cupped her chin. “But you’ve got to know this is a mess, right? You on the run for your life, having to hide here, not being able to sleep in the dark, panic attacks. It’s a mess.”
“Yeah. My life, right?” She tried to smile. Didn’t work. “But it’s not your mess to figure out. It’s mine.”
“Afraid it is. You’re living in my house, under my protection.” He looked down at her. “Right now, you’re in my bed.”
“Yes, but not like that. I mean . . .” Why had she slept in his bed last night? “You were just watching over me.”
