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"I'm good." He lifts a bottle of water over his shoulder. "Got you one, too."
I smile and make my way over to the armchair opposite him. "Hey."
He's sitting with his legs curled under him, dressed in gray sweats and a white T-shirt.
"Hey," he says, staring out the glass doors even though there's nothing to see but rain, rain, and more rain. "Look… I'm…" He blows out an anguished breath.
"You don't have to explain anything." I keep my voice low and steady. "All I care about is making sure you're okay."
Kyler brings the water bottle to his lips. His hands are trembling. "I…I had a panic attack."
I nod, but don't say anything, leaving it up to him what and how much he shares.
His eyes cut to mine. "When I was nine, my parents, sister, and I were caught in a thunderstorm driving back from my aunt's place. It was sudden, came out of nowhere. Just like today."
I nod again and remain silent, although my heartbeat kicks up a notch.
"There was an accident up ahead of us. Dad saw it and slammed on the brakes. He lost control of the car and we skidded, crashing over the embankment."
Kyler closes his eyes and starts breathing heavily, almost rhythmically. After a few rounds, his eyes meet mine again. "My parents and my older sister died. Somehow, I survived. But I was trapped. I drifted in and out of consciousness, in that upside down car, with the rain pouring down, until the rescue team finally came… Today triggered me."
My heart is pinched so tight my entire chest aches. I can't even begin to imagine how horrific it must've been to lose his family like that.
"Anyway, I'm sorry. I'm a mess at the moment."
"You have nothing to be sorry for, Kyler. You are not a mess." I lean forward, keeping my eyes on him. "Thank you for opening up to me. There are no words to express how sorry I am for your loss and for having that happen to you."
He swallows hard and bows his head. "Thank you."
We sit in silence. I hate that the first personal thing I’ve learned about him is something so traumatic, but I'm grateful he trusts me enough to let me know what's going on with him.
"Are you hungry?" I eventually ask.
"No."
I glance down at my watch. It's only five past eight, but we've both been working brutally long days at the conference. "Tired?"
Right on cue, he lets out a massive yawn. "Beyond tired."
"Same. How about we call it a night?"
He nods and turns toward the bed. Before he can say anything, I speak. "You take the bed. I'll take the couch."
"No. Mr. Huntingt—"
"Miles," I interrupt. "Please. Call me Miles."
I've suggested to him numerous times that he call me by my first name when we're alone. He's never once taken me up on it.
He offers a nervous smile. "I can't let you sleep on the couch…Miles."
My chest puffs out involuntarily. I wish it were under different circumstances, but finally, after nine long months, Kyler has said my name.
I quickly snap myself back to reality. "I insist. It'll be fine. Now, is there anything I can do for you?"
Kyler peers over at me, then the bed, then drifts his eyes back to me again. When he opens his mouth to speak, I expect him to fight me some more about the sleeping arrangement.
Ido notexpect him to chew his bottom lip and say, "Can you, um, sleep with me please?"
