Page 84 of Embrace

“I’m fine. R-really…I…” His breaths become shallow, and he absentmindedly rubs a hand over his chest. “The tests aren’t just going to stop. I have to stay focused. It’s just two chapters, and then the quiz is online so—”

“Kian.” I take his hand in a firm grip, instantly recognizing his odd movements. “Forget that for one second.”

His eyes flicker, caught in a cycle of an endless to-do list. “But Ihave practice in an hour, and I’m running drills today. If I can start my assignment tonight, I’ll still—”

“Stop. Please. Just stop.” I press my hand to his cheek, steadying him. “Breathe.”

He freezes, his shoulders tight and his breath shallow, caught on that taut edge I know too well. I’ve seen it in Sierra before it tumbles into full panic, and I won’t let him go there.

Kian Ishida is an oak tree. Immovable. Permanent. Ready to weather any storm. Available to strip away until he’s used as firewood and turned to ash.

“Here,” I whisper, placing his hand high on my chest. “Feel it? Just follow the rise and fall. Can you focus on my voice?”

His chest rises hesitates, then dips.

I keep my voice soft, patient. “Again. In and out. Slowly. That’s good.”

He’s tethered to the rhythm of my breathing and the sound of my voice, and finally, finally, he exhales.

I find his water bottle and hand it to him. He takes slow sips, still dazed.

“That hasn’t happened in years,” he whispers more to himself. “How did you…?”

“Sierra,” I say simply. “She gets them when she’s stressed or repressing stuff.”

“But that doesn’t happen to me. Not anymore.” I can see him getting worked up again. “This is an important practice. We’re running a new strategy. I can’t be out of breath already.”

“Coach will understand,” I say. I know he will. “But playing right now isn’t a good idea. You can take off one practice. It won’t mess anything up.”

“We have our first game back soon. There’s so much to—”

I pull his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his messages. Dad’s name pops up near the top. My fingers hover a second too long before I hit send.

Kian reads it back slowly, his lips parting slightly as eyes flick over the screen. “Hey, Coach. Family emergency. My head’s not in the best place to practice today.”

The phone buzzes immediately. I peek over his shoulder.

Coach:Take it easy, Ishida. Call me for anything.

That’s the exact response I would expect from my dad, and a warmth spreads in my chest knowing he’s the kind of reliable person for everyone, especially Kian.

“See? You can relax. Nothing’s more important than making sure you’re okay.”

“You probably have things to do.”

“I only have to be here, with you.”

“I should shower,” he says, grabbing his clothes and a towel before heading to the bathroom. I stare at the door for several minutes. I hear the shower running but there’s no other movement. I hesitate briefly before twisting the doorknob. It’s unlocked.

I peek my head in. Kian’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands, shirtless in only his boxers.

Something cracks in my chest.

“Hey,” I call softly, crouching down in front of him. “You okay?”

He lifts his head, and I’m not sure how he’s keeping it up. It only takes one single shake of his head for me to reach my arms around him.

Kian’s done nothing but be there for every person in his life, but right now I want to be that person for him.