‘It’s okay,’ I said again. ‘It’ll pass, Dylan. It’s just a panic attack. Look at me. Look at me.’
He opened his eyes, his pupils huge and dark.
‘Breathe with me, all right?’ I said. ‘Take a deep breath, and breathe in calm. Then let it out slowly, and breathe out anxiety.’
He took a long, shaking breath.
‘That’s it,’ I said, putting the water bottle on the table and taking his hands instead. ‘Breathe in calm. Breathe out anxiety.’
‘Cece—’
‘Don’t talk,’ I said. ‘Not yet. Just breathe. Breathe in calm. Breathe out anxiety.’
A cameraman chose that particular instant to shove his way into the tent. ‘No,’ I snapped at him. ‘Get out.’
‘I’ve got to shoot this,’ he said.
‘No!’ I said. ‘In a bit, okay? Give him a minute.’
‘Thank you,’ Dylan gasped.
‘Back into rhythm,’ I ordered him. ‘Calm in. Anxiety out.’
Eventually, his breathing slowed and evened out, enough so that I felt all right letting go of his hands. ‘Here,’ I said,opening the bottle of water and handing it to him. ‘Drink this. Slowly.’
He did, his hands only shaking a little as he took the water from me. ‘Thank you.’
‘No need to thank me. You did the same for me. Or have you forgotten how you carried me down the hill like a princess?’
‘I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.’
‘You would have been fine—oh, hello.’
I was surprised by the vehemence of Dylan’s hug. I was kneeling on the ground in front of him, and so my face was pressed into his chest, right over his heart. It was beating very fast.
‘Thank God you’re here, Cece,’ he said. ‘I would be losing my mind without you.’
He kissed the top of my head. It was a long, hard kiss, two seconds, maybe three, and I felt it everywhere.
He pulled back. ‘I don’t know how the hell the other Romeos have done it,’ he rasped, ‘going through this without a friend.’
I smiled and patted his knee, doing my very best to pretend that I didn’t feel that aggressive friend-zoning everywhere as well. ‘You’re not so bad yourself, buddy.’
He took another long drink from the water bottle, then screwed the lid back on and put it on the table. ‘I should get back out there.’
‘Stop,’ I said. ‘Wait. You just had a panic attack, Dylan. Give yourself a second.’
‘But—’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘Do you want to go rushing out there andgive yourself another panic attack on top of this one? Sit here with me for a minute. Give yourself a chance to calm down.’
He slumped back into the chair. ‘Just a minute,’ he muttered.
‘I have to say,’ I said, grabbing a chair of my own and pulling it close, ‘I’m surprised that blood is your trigger.’
He gave me a confused look.
‘You must see a lot of it,’ I said. ‘You must cut your hands up all the time to get calluses as gnarly as yours. Surely there’s a ton of bleeding in sailing, people getting hit with stuff and falling off things, and… I’m realising as I say this that I actually have no idea what happens in sailing. I’m probably completely off base.’
