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There was a harsh pain in my chest and I grasped at my heart. Panic was rising from my stomach, up through my chest, clawing to get out. I hadn’t had a panic attack in a year, but one was hitting me now. I fought desperately to regain control of my body, but I couldn’t breathe.
The screen door slammed closed and Trace rushed around me, squatting in front of me. He took my face between his hands. “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”
I tried to even out my breathing but it wasn’t working. Tears escaped the corners of my eyes and he wiped them away.
“It’s okay, Olivia,” he said soothingly. “Everything is okay. All you have to do is breathe.”
My gasps began to quiet and my chest didn’t heave near as much, but the panic attack hadn’t passed yet, and if I didn’t get myself completely calmed down it would start up again.
“I’m so sorry, Olivia,” he brushed my hair away from my eyes. “I should’ve told you. I thought you deserved to know about them. They’re your family. I wanted you to find that part of yourself. I didn’t want you to feel like you had no one. I know how often you look at your dad’s pictures and I know how much you wish you knew him. But he’s gone, and if you can’t know him, then I was going to be damned before I kept you from your grandparent’s and uncle,” he spoke fiercely. “I really thought I was doing the right thing,” he pleaded with me to believe him. “I didn’t tell you because I know how shy you are with meeting new people and that you’d get yourself too worked up to meet them. Clearly, I was wrong,” he chuckled humorlessly, “you got upset anyway.”
He quieted after that, breathing slowly with me in an effort to keep me calm. His hands soothed up and down my back. He watched me with worry in his eyes. Once, I’d woken up from one of my nightmares, and had such a bad panic attack that he had to take me to the hospital. I didn’t like scaring him like that.
“I’m okay,” I said after a few minutes. My voice was hoarse, almost sounding like a smoker.
“Are you sure?” He asked hesitantly.
I nodded.
He took my hands and helped me to stand.
“Dexter probably thinks I’m so weird,” I frowned, glancing at my reflection in the glass door. I looked horrible. My hair was sticking up wildly, my skin was deathly pale, and my brown eyes were wide like a frightened rabbit.
“No, he doesn’t think that,” Trace chuckled.
“Of course he does,” I grumbled. “First, I called him dad and fainted. Then I ran out of the house having a panic attack. Did he—” I paused. “Did he know were coming?”
“Not at all. After you passed out into my arms I explained who you were and he let me inside. I was actually surprised to see him. This is your grandparent’s house. He said your grandpa was gone to the hardware store and your grandma is working,” he put a hand on my waist and I leaned heavily against him for support. Panic attacks always left me feeling drained and exhausted.
“What if they hate me?” I whispered. “What if they tell me to get out of their house?”
“Silly girl,” he brushed my hair away from my forehead so he could see my eyes, “how do you not see how incredibly lovable you are?”
“Lovable has nothing to do with it. I’m their illegitimate grandchild. My mom never even told them about me. Why wouldn’t she tell them? What if they’re horrible people?” I frowned, staring inside the door at the homey living room. Surely horrible people wouldn’t have such a sweet looking home?
“They were grieving,” Trace reasoned, “and your mom was married to another man. I can understand why she didn’t tell them. She was scared of Aaron and she’d lost your real dad. But don’t you think they deserve to have you in their lives, as much as you deserve them? You’re both missing out on something special.” Tears pooled in his eyes and he swallowed thickly. I knew he was thinking of Gramps.
I lai
d my hand comfortingly against his jaw. “You are one of a kind, Trace Wentworth.”
“Well,” he shrugged, fighting a smile, “I’ve never seen the benefits in being normal.”
I rubbed my hand against his stubbled cheek. “I love you,” I whispered. “Even when you pull stupid crap like this,” I pointed at the house, “I still love you.”
He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need to, and bent his head so he could press his lips against mine. Heat ignited in my belly at the feel of his lips. He lightly nipped at my bottom lip and a moan escaped me.
The harsh clearing of a throat had us pulling away.
“Feeling better?” Dex asked.
I nodded, untangling my fingers from Trace’s shirt. How had they even got there? It was like they had a mind of their own. “Much better,” I smoothed my hands on the jean fabric of my shorts.
Dex held open the storm door and nodded his head for us to go inside.
Trace and I sat side by side on the old floral couch. I looked around the living room, memorizing everything. The yellow walls, the scratched coffee table, the piano in the corner. Every single piece revealed a little bit about the family living there.
“So…did you and my dad grow up here?” I asked Dex, finally venturing to speak.
