“You don’t back down when something is important to you, even when most people would. You fight for what you think is right.”
Her hazel eyes widen, and she shuffles back a step, bumping the fridge.
“You can’t knowallof that about me.” She can’t hide the waver in her voice.
I meet her eyes, holding them a beat too long. “I do.” The certainty in my voice surprises even me. “But if I keep praising you, this is going to get dangerous.”
Aspen freezes just for a second before her gaze skitters around the loft, looking anywhere but at me.
Not the reaction I was going for. The cocksure grin slips off my face as I stand taller, giving her room in the small kitchen.
The silence stretches until it’s all I can feel.
Aspen’s fingers tighten on the edge of the counter, and for a second, I can’t tell if she’s about to bolt . . . or is holding on for dear life.
She stays, clearing her throat and breaking the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
No. My nerves are too raw.
“Depends.”
“The other day, when you had a panic attack . . . Does that happen a lot?”
It’s the first time she’s named what happened the other night, and the need to flee sparks in an instant. I don’t do this. Talking about my past—how it impacts me—it’s a no go.
But those big, sad eyes pin me in place.
With a heavy exhale, I say, “We’re done talking about you?”
She shrugs. “It was getting awkward.” She waves a hand dismissively, and her eyes drop to the floor between us. “Sorry. That was none of my business. You’re not my patient.”
Her apology annoys me as much as her refusal to accept praise. Enough that I find myself needing to answer her honestly.
“Generally speaking, no.” I fight through the rise in my heart rate that comes with this conversation. “Certain things trigger it. Talking about . . . family.” I avoid sayinghername. “Smells, words, weather. It can be anything or nothing at all. But it’s been a while since I’ve had one like that.”
Slowly, her eyes climb until they find mine again. “And the noise you mentioned? Is that always there?”I look at the ceiling but the answer isn’t there. “Usually.” My palms slide against the granite damp from how hard this is. “When you’re around . . .” I shrug like it doesn’t matter nearly as much as it does. “It fades into the background.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Like a human sound machine.”
The gruff chuckle that comes out takes me by surprise. “Yeah.” I hold her gaze. “Something like that.”
Aspen shakes her head, teeth catching her lower lip. “My brother’s call meLittle Ms. Fix-it.”
The annoyance in her voice doesn’t match the spark back in her eyes.
Good.
“Is it terminal?”
She sighs dramatically, popping a hip against the counter.
“The prognosis is uncertain.”
My eyes drop to the narrow space between our hands. Close enough to touch. Close enough to make my pulse kick.
“Sounds exhausting.”
Confusion tugs at her mouth.
