Page 79 of Third Strike Smitten

Maybe he needed space after last night.

Or maybe he’s regretting everything…

Maybe he wishes I wasn’t here…

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the negative thoughts. This isn’t like me. I don’t spiral over guys. I don’t get attached. And I certainly don’t feel this strange emptiness when they’re not around.

The hallway leading to the other rooms stretches before me, and I notice a door slightly ajar at the end. I haven’t explored this part of his apartment before.

“Killian?” I call again as I approach and push the door open wider. The room beyond is unlike the rest of his sleek, modern apartment. It’s a personal training space, complete with workout equipment, a pitching machine, and various sports paraphernalia. But none of the heavy things in this room catch my attention the way Killian does the moment I spot him.

Sitting on the floor, his back is against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His hair is damp, like he’s showered recently. He’s wearing a simple gray T-shirt and athletic shorts but it’s his expression that takes my breath away. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes are unfocused, his breathing is shallow and rapid, and his hands are trembling slightly where they grip his knees.

Oh God!

“Killian?” I approach slowly, keeping my voice gentle. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer as he stares at some invisible point in front of him, his breathing still rapid and shallow. I’ve never seen him like this before. This beautiful, vulnerable man, stripped of all his cocky confidence.

I lower myself to my knees on the floor beside him. “Killian, can you hear me?”

His jaw tightens, but he gives me the slightest nod. His hands are still gripping his knees so tightly that his knuckles have turned white.

What do I do?

He’s having an anxiety attack.

What do I do?

How do I help him?

Think, Isla! Think!

Deep breaths.

Right!

“Okay,” I say softly, trying to keep my voice calm despite the panic rising in my own chest. “I need you to breathe with me. Can you do that? Will you breathe with me?”

I tenderly place a hand over his and take an exaggerated breath in, holding it for a moment before releasing it slowly. After a few seconds, Killian mimics me, his chest expanding with a shaky inhale.

“Good,” I encourage. “Let’s do that again.”

We breathe together for a few more cycles, and I notice some of the tension leaving his shoulders. His grip on his knees loosens slightly, but he grips my hand now with an intensity I didn’t expect.

Like I’m his lifeline.

“Talk to me,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “What’s going through your mind?”

Killian swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “I can’t—” His voice comes out rough. “I’m going to fuck it up. I always fuck it up.”

“Fuck what up, Kill? Tell me.”

“The game. My career.” His big round eyes finally meet mine and I can see the fear swimming inside them. “And you.”

“Me?” I shake my head and place my other hand over his knee. “Killian, I’m good. I’m here. I’m fine. See? You didn’t fuck anything up. I’m okay. I promise.”

“Every time it matters, I…” he tries to take a full breath. “I find a way to mess it up. The front office matters. The game matters. You…matter.”