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Grace
“Howdoyoufeel right now?” Aidan asks.
My thoughts speed like racecars around a track. We’re in the wine cellar. The door is closed. I don’t want to be here, but this is where Aidan wants me to be, so I’m doing my best to stay put, even if I can’t stay calm.
“Anxious,” I say.
“How anxious?”
I meet his probing gaze. “Very anxious.”
“Do you feel like you’re going to have a panic attack?”
My shoulders rise toward my ears. “Not yet. You being in here with me helps.”
The only upside to the wine cellar’s tight quarters is that it forces us to stand close together. I shepherd my focus onto Aidan. As long as he’s here, I can weather the storm. Though it would be easier if he were holding me.
“Is your pulse racing?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Your heart.” He drops his gaze to my chest. “Is it pounding?”
Now that he mentions it... “Yes,” I whisper, though not for the reasons he may think.
“I want you to count down from a hundred in your head,” he says, “breathing deeply through your nose as you go. I want you to hold your breath for a count of two, then exhale from your mouth for a count of four.”
Maybe it’s just the walls closing in, but I swear, he’s even closer now than he was a moment ago. “I didn’t know you taught yoga in your off hours,” I joke.
His mouth tilts to one side. “Humor can be an effective coping mechanism. But I’d like to see you take a more conscious approach.”
Reluctantly, I begin counting down—ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven—holding my breath and exhaling slowly, the way he told me to. After five breaths, I can feel my body relax an infinitesimal amount. Then Aidan starts breathing deeply along with me, matching my rhythm.
My chest swells. Staring into Aidan’s laser-focused eyes, I forget where I am and how long I’ve been here. All I know is that the man I would do anything for wants me to breathe in, hold it, and then breathe out.
“How do you feel now, little one?”
I take inventory of my mind and body, noting how my thoughts seem to have stopped chasing their own tails. My heartbeat isn’t as frantic, and although my stomach is full of little winged creatures, it’s not all on account of fear.
Somehow, in the span of a few minutes, Aidan has done something I’ve never managed to do when I’m about to panic: make my body submit to my will. Or, in this case, his will.
“A bit better,” I say.
“Good.” His mouth curves, and I bear his approval like a glittering star-shaped sticker at the top of my book report. “I’m going to leave you now and shut the door.”
My pulse ratchets. “What?”
“I want you to practice counting and breathing on your own,” he says.
“No.” I shake my head, no longer even slightly better.
“I’ll be right outside,” he says.
He heads for the door, and without thinking, I grasp his hand.
“Aidan, please,” I beg.
He looks down at our joined hands, then back at me. There’s a potency to his stare that hits like a strong wind and makes me pull my hand back. I shouldn’t have touched him without permission.
