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Taking his trembling hands in mine is as heartbreaking as it is unsettling. I don’t think I’ve seen Elliot this distraught since Sammy’s funeral.
“I’ll find another way,” he says again in between short gasps.
“The only thing you’re gonna do right now is focus on me,” I say calmly. “You feel my thumbs rubbing your hands?”
It takes him a second, but he nods.
“Good. That’s good, Ell. Now tell me what you smell.”
He has to take a deep breath or two, which is an added bonus. “Vanilla. I . . . I smell you.”
“What’s going on?” Rhett asks as he reenters the room. He drops the blueprints onto the table before cautiously crouching next to me.
“He’ll be okay,” I say. “Take one of his hands.”
Rhett does, his frown deepening.
“You feel Rhett’s callouses?” I ask, guiding Elliot’s fingers over the rough parts of Rhett’s hands.
“Y-yeah.”
“And what color is Rhett’s shirt?”
“Black,” Elliot mutters.
“Yeah. Can you find some other things in here that are black? Maybe take a deep breath while you do?”
Elliot inhales slowly as his eyes search the room. “The vase. The picture frame. The—I don’t want her to die, Ol.”
“She’s not going to,” I say soothingly. “Look at me.”
When his gaze returns to mine, I reach up with my free hand and wipe away his tears. That panicked look is still in his eyes.
For a couple minutes, I direct his attention toward anything other than his thoughts. I have him pick out objects that are different colors and textures, which is something he’s done for me thousands of times.
It’s unnerving to have the roles reversed like this. Elliot has always prided himself on being our rock. Seeing him like this has doubt creeping through my mind.
Does he really think we can’t do this? Or is all the stress finally too much for him? It was bound to happen eventually.
Wren comes back with the glass of water I asked her to get. As she sets it on the coffee table, she casts me a worried look.
“Thanks, princess.” I give her a reassuring smile. “Ell, can you take a couple more deep breaths for me?” As he does, I squeeze his hand. “That’s it. And you see Wren? Look at her. She’s okay. She’s safe, and we’re not gonna let anything happen to her.”
“But what—what if . . .”
“No what ifs,” I say softly. “Not right now. Just focus on us.” I take one of Elliot’s hands and place it on Rhett’s chest. “Feel his heartbeat?”
With a nod, Elliot closes his eyes and sighs.
“Count each beat,” Rhett says as he holds Elliot’s hand in place. It’s one of the few things he’s usually able to do that can help me get through a panic attack.
“One,” Elliot mumbles. “Two. Three . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m not supposed—”
“No apologizing,” Rhett says. “Not for this, Ell.”
He shakes his head. “We need to make a plan. Aubrey—Wren—I’m sorry—”
“Shhh,” I soothe as I stroke his hair. “Wren, c’mere.” Once she’s close, I place Elliot’s hand in hers. “Keep counting.”
