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He meets me by the car and looks at my wrapped hand, then stares directly into my eyes. “Are you alright? Or should we go inside and see a doctor?”
“I just want to go home.” I sound like a petulant child, but I’m tired, and more than just my hand hurts.
“I realize that. But do you need stitches?”
He’s perfectly calm, and it’s very unlike him. “No. The knuckles are just bruised and a bit swollen.”
“Do you need a sedative? We could ask for…”
“Joce!” My shout echoes across the parking lot. “I just want to go home!” The color drains from his face, and I reach for him. “Babe.” Dread creeps up my spine. “God, Joce, I’m sorry. I’m…” I drag my undamaged fingers through my hair and pull hard.
“Gunnar, I’d like you to call Tom. Now, please.” His tone is absolutely robotic, and his eyes are distant, and dammit, I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up bad. I’m scaring him. With my good hand, I fumble for my phone and hit Tom’s number. Thankfully, he picks up on the first ring.
“Gunnar, talk to me.”
I start to pace, my voice quavering. “I fucked up. I’m losing it. I punched my car window, and I just yelled at Joce. He didn’t do anything, and I yelled at him. Twice, Tom. I’m snapping at everyone.” I risk a glance at Jocelin, hoping to see affection, or at least forgiveness, in his beautiful eyes—not that I deserve it—but his gaze is cold and distant. “It’s not good.” The words are barely a whisper.
“I’ll meet you at Jocelin’s. I’m leaving now. Put him on the phone.”
I hold the phone out to Jocelin, who takes it cautiously, and my heart clenches. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s afraid of me. I’ve fucked up so badly.
“Tom.” He’s using that neutral voice again. “Yes.” Another long pause. “Alright. I’ll text you my address. See you there.” He hangs up and sends the text before handing back my phone.
We get in the Mustang, and he takes a shaky breath before putting the key in the ignition and starting the car. After one more deep breath, he slowly pulls out of the parking lot and heads home.
“I’m so sorry, Joce.” I keep my voice soft so I don’t scare him any more than I already have.
He tries to smile and reaches over to grip my uninjured hand. I let out a little sob and clutch at him like a lifeline. “I know,mon chéri. It’s fine.“ But it isn’t, and we both know it.
When we pull up to Jocelin’s building, Tom is outside the front doors, waiting for us. Jocelin rolls down the window. “Tom, walk through the parking garage, and meet us at the elevator.”
He nods and heads that way, jogging to catch up with us as we exit the car. “Nice hand there, Osouf. Real pretty.” His tone is casual, but his body language says something else entirely. He’s primed and ready for the unexpected, and perversely, that calms me.
We ride up to Jocelin’s apartment in silence, and once we step into the loft, Jocelin goes for the first aid kit while Tom helps me look at my hand. “It’s gonna be ugly and sore for a while, but it doesn’t look like you broke anything. Mind telling me what happened?”
“I keep thinking about Mom and Bjorn and how stupid both of those situations were. I was so angry. Iamangry. If I lose Bjorn too…” Sighing, I drag my fingers through my hair. “I was caught up in all of that, and the next thing I knew, I was in pain. Thankfully, the window didn’t shatter.”
Tom grunts. “You’d have to have made a one in a million punch or had a defective window for it to break. They design them to resist impact, dumbass.” I don’t argue either point.
Jocelin brings me a bag of frozen peas and directs me to the couch. I sit while Tom pulls him aside, and they have a brief conversation. Hopefully, Tom’s telling him I’d never hurt him. Because I wouldn’t. Not ever. Jocelin comes and sits next to me, taking my uninjured hand. He kisses me softly, and I whimper against his lips, trying to chase after him as he moves back. When his gaze meets mine, there’s warmth there. Tears of relief prickle my eyes, and I don’t bother to blink them away. Jocelin scrapes his fingers gently through my beard, and I lean into his touch. “I’m going upstairs to read,mon cœur. Come up when you’re done.”
I nod and grip his hand. “I’m so sorry, Joce.”
“It’s alright. You’ll be fine. We’re fine.” He kisses me again and disappears up the stairs.
I take a deep breath, shaking with relief, knowing I dodged a bullet I fired, and turn to face Tom.
“Good. I was going to tell you to breathe. Now sit and get comfortable. It’s been a while since we did this, and you obviously haven’t been practicing, so we’ll start from the beginning.”
He sits across from me on the coffee table and holds my gaze. “Take another breath and close your eyes.” I nod and do as he says. “Good. Now imagine yourself relaxing. You’re in your happy place. Do you know where that is?”
I take a moment and visualize being on my motorcycle, the wind in my face, the sun shining on me. It’s a wide open road, no other vehicles around. I have her opened up, and I’m speeding down the road. It’s one of the few things Bjorn and I love to do together in summer. Will we get to do it again? My hands ball into fists, and I wince as my knuckles protest.
“Gunnar.” Tom’s voice cuts through my thoughts. Shit. “Try again. Take a breath. Visualize your muscles relaxing, and clear your mind.”
Again and again, he walks me through the meditation exercises I used to do every day. It takes an embarrassingly long time for my brain to settle enough for me to regain some control. But eventually, the panic recedes, and just like last night, I’m drained.
Tom stands and helps me up. “It’s like riding a bike. With a bit of practice, you’ll remember the whole process, and it’ll be easier.” We walk toward the elevator. “Call me if you need me, but Gunnar…” He holds my gaze. “Get control of this. If visualization isn’t working for you anymore, go talk to Cass again. There’s no shame in that. You’ve done amazingly well, but this situation obviously was a trigger for you. It may require new coping skills.” Tom puts his hands on my shoulders. “Get control of the rage, Gunnar. Don’t hurt anyone.” He gestures toward my injured hand. “Yourself included. Okay?”
