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I open my mouth once more, wanting to tell him, “My mom can’t know about this” but barely managing a squeaky, “M-My mom.” Thankfully, that seems to be enough explanation for him because Xavier nods, glancing at the cop car pulling up behind us in the mirror.
We’re running out of time.
Then he says the last thing I expected.
“Breathe with me.”
I blink at him, my poor heart doing a whole-ass backflip when he reaches for my trembling fingers and takes my hand. His hand feels warm. Reassuring. It’s big, too. Much bigger than mine.
But I still can’t fucking breathe.
This can’t be happening.
Here I thought my anxiety attacks were over. I haven’t had one this bad since my dad’s birthday last year.
“Vee, look at me, I’m here.” Xavier tilts my chin up with his index. “You’re not alone.”
He has no idea how wrong he is about that.
No idea.
“Just breathe with me, all right?” he instructs and inhales deeply.
Slowly.
It takes everything in me to match his tempo, but after a few minutes, I manage to pull a miracle out of nowhere and discipline my speedy pulse.
I breathe in.
Breathe out.
Over and over again.
Until, finally, I regain a semblance of calm.
“You going to be okay?” Xavier worries. “Just say the word and we’ll work something out.” The way he says it causes an unknown, gut-wrenching feeling to stir in my chest.
I never, in a million years, would’ve suspected that there was such kindness in this boy. It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who’s been bedding cheerleaders left and right.
“I mean it, Vee. I’ll just tell him you’re having an anxiety attack or something. We—”
“Xav, I’m okay,” I choke out. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t seem convinced but reluctantly nods, squeezing my fingers one last time before unlinking his hand from mine.
I miss the warmth instantly.
The sheriff comes knocking on the driver’s-side window the next second, and Xavier rolls down the glass, flashing his best suck-up smile to the man on the other side.
“Sheriff Daniel, what can I do for you?”
The forty-something man seems taken aback by Xavier’s attitude but quickly schools his expression. I’m guessing the kids he arrests at 1:00 a.m. aren’t all this merry.
“Well, well, Xavier Emery.” The sheriff pushes to his tiptoes to see further inside the truck. He spots me in the passenger seat and stifles a scoff like he’s not surprised to find a girl in there. “Where you two coming from so late?”
“A friend’s house.” Xavier doesn’t miss a beat.
“You mean the party at the Coxes you lot think we don’t know about?” Sheriff Daniel’s lips twist into a crooked smile.
