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Brielle shot Jazz a glance, but Jazz kept her eyes on me.
“Walls?” I gasped.
“Yes, what color are the walls?”
“C—c—cream,” I squeezed out.
“Good.” Jazz nodded. “What do you smell?”
“L—lavender,” I said. “Tea tree oil…from the massage lotion.”
“Yes. What do you hear?”
“Music—something Enya-like, without being annoying.”
The door to the private room opened and Brooklyn entered, tying the sash at her waist. She looked at me and then to Jazz. “What’s going on?”
“I had a panic attack,” I said. “And Jazz calmed me down.”
“Jazz distracted her,” Brielle explained. “Kind of genius. I had no idea what to do.”
“We do it with my mother,” Jazz said. “When she’s having an episode and she needs to be grounded.”
“Oh,” I said in understanding.
“So, you have panic attacks,” Brielle said slowly. “Is that—is this new? I mean, we’ve hung out a bunch and you’ve never…before, I mean.”
I glanced at Brooklyn.
Brooklyn’s expression hardened.
“What’s going on?” Brielle demanded. “This isn’t—are you having second thoughts about marrying Duke?”
I shook my head no.
“Then what is it?” Jazz asked. “Because if you’re not panicking at the thought of marrying him, then what is this about?”
“Club business,” Brooklyn finally said.
Jazz raised her brows. “Club business?” Her gaze bounced between me and Brooklyn. “Our friend is having panic attacks, and you think sayingclub businesswill make me drop the issue this time?”
“Does Doc know about your panic attacks?” Brielle asked.
“No one knows. Well, you three. And Duke. I had one in front of him a couple of days ago.” I leaned back in my spa chair and sent another look to Brooklyn.
“Okay, stop doing that,” Brielle commanded, her blue eyes narrowing in annoyance. “You guys are having a conversation without including me and I really don’t like it.”
“You and Jazz do it all the time,” Brooklyn pointed out.
“Let’s not get sidetracked,” Jazz stated.
“I can’t tell you,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry. It’s for your own safety. Please just let this go.”
Jazz raked a hand through her dark hair. “I don’t like this…but okay.”
“I know you’re mad at me,” I said. “For not being able to tell you everything.”
“Goes with the territory, I guess,” Brielle said, wrinkling her nose. “I just want to know you’re okay.”
