Lachlan stands guard, watching from the sidelines.The people Jules was talking to before he excused himself are blindly following his cold trail, headed into the opulent high traffic restrooms, all gold and Baccarat Rouge, seeking to corner him.Lachlan knows he made the right call.
It’s a while before Jules emerges, pale.
‘You OK?’Lachlan asks, scanning him.
‘I’m fine.’Jules doesn’t force a smile, likely reserving his energy.He grabs a glass of champagne as he walks.Lachlan badly wants to stop him but knows his father would likely approve.At least it’s nottequila.‘Stay back.’
But the alcohol doesn’t do what Jules hoped it would, instead it has the opposite effect, eating away at his defences.His smile never falters but increasingly, his left hand goes to his side, clenching and unclenching there.He’s now solidly pale, his breathing faintly irregular.
Lachlan knows better than to interrupt.Alistair watches Jules too often.
But the third time he excuses himself, Lachlan follows inside.
‘Breathe nice and slow.’He locks the door behind them.
Jules makes a face.‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Lachlan loosens Jules’ tie.‘You’re having an anxiety attack.’
Jules smacks his hand away.‘No, I’mnot!I’m fine.I get like this at these things sometimes, it’s just—’
‘Can I take your pulse?’
‘You can fuck royally off, Bodyguard!That’s what you can do, you…’ Jules’ breath falters, overestimated how much air his tightening lungs would give him.His lashes flutter.‘You… I can’t…’
‘It’s OK.I’m here, you’re safe.’
‘I’m dizzy,’ he whispers, shoulders dropping.‘Can’t… breathe.’
‘Jules,’ Lachlan says very clearly.‘I want to help, but I need to touch you to help.Is that OK?’
Jules tries once more to rally, but it makes it worse, sends him unexpectedly sideways.Lachlan catches him easily; unhappy he had to touch him without getting ayesfirst.He grits his teeth and rights Jules before guiding him into the only stall and sitting him on the closed lid.
‘Head between your knees.’
‘Fuckoff, you—’
‘You’re gonna pass out if you don’t.Come on, please.’
Jules lets out a brief sob before he complies, but even that loosens his balance and he throws his arms out when he slides sideways again, grabbing Lachlan’s hand when offered.
‘There we go, good job.’
‘’S’not a job,’ the kid slurs.‘Never had a job, never gonna have one.’
‘I’d say whatever you’ve been doing tonight could easily be called a job,’ Lachlan tells him, fingers on the kid’s wrist.‘Can I take your pulse?’
‘Whatever.’
‘Yes or no?’
‘Fucking hell,yes.’
Lachlan watches closely, timing eachthudin the delicate wrist currently in his possession.‘It’s an anxiety attack,’ he confirms.‘They don’t always happen like in the movies.Sometimes you just feel sick and dizzy.’
‘Is that really what it is?’he asks, sounding young.
‘I think so.’
