AllFreeNovel
Share Us
TWENTY
GWENNA
“Can you step into the laundry room and get that giant salad bowl from the shelf over the washer?” I would grab it myself, but I’m grating cheese.
Barrett tilts the skillet against the sink’s ledge, dripping the last streaks of venison grease from the pan into the Tupperware bowl where the browned meat is.
“Sure,” he says quietly.
He sets the skillet in the sink and washes his hands. I watch the way he soaps his arms up to the elbows. I can’t decide what it reminds me of—but something. A moment later I realize: He does it like a doctor. God knows I saw enough of them scrub into and out of my room after the wreck. I think of teasing him about it, but I don’t think he’s close to his doctor father, so he may not appreciate me mentioning him.
He catches my eyes on him as he turns. He smirks.
I grin unabashedly. As he walks into the laundry room, I want to laugh. I’m not sure why. It’s just like…there’s pressure in my chest—old pressure, stuck there for these last few years—and suddenly I need to let it out, so I can breathe and just…be happy again.
I smile as he turns toward the shelves over the washer and dryer. I feel so much lighter when I’m with him.
I let my gaze linger on him, drinking in his masculine beauty. Which is why I notice when he stumbles back, bumping the back of his head into the doorframe. He whirls around and, with wide eyes and a flushed face, staggers back into the kitchen. He stops by the dinner table. His face blanches. His eyes widen, and he just looks…like he’s in trouble.
Shit.
His chest is pumping in and out and he’s still got that look of frozen terror on his face when I get close enough to wrap my arms around him.
The second I lock onto him, a shudder ripples through his body and I feel his chest inflate and hold there as he struggles to breathe deeply. I tug the sides of his shirt.
“Barrett—look at me.” His eyes open and close in that exaggerated way that makes him look like he might pass out. It’s a blink in my direction, then he’s struggling for air again, his big chest heaving as his eyes slip out of focus.
“It’s okay.” I hug him. My heart pounds. “I’ve got you.”
I pull him with me to the counter and fumble for a lunch-size paper bag while he leans over, palms braced on his knees. The gasping sounds he’s making hurt my heart and make me sweat with fear for him, even though the rational part of me knows he’s just having a panic attack.
I grab his forearms—“Let’s sit down, okay?”—and together we sink to the floor. He leans back against my cabinets, his hands grasping weakly for his thighs. I pull the bag open and look into his eyes as I lower it over his mouth.
“It’s okay. You’re here with me, with Gwen.”
His dazed eyes cling to mine, even as his chest pumps and his muscles tremble. With my cheek against his chest and my hand straining to keep the bag over his mouth, I look up at him.
“Barrett, you’re with Gwenna. We’re in my kitchen. Feel my arm around you? You’re okay.”
I squeeze him tightly and a second later, he raises a hand to hold the bag. With my free hand, I stroke his neck.
“You’re here with me, baby. We’re making tacos. After we eat, I want to show you your Myers-Briggs profile, and you can laugh at what a dork I am. I thought maybe you would end up staying over…so I did something for you. Do you want to see?”
He blinks at me, and he seems to realize at the same moment I do that he’s not sucking air out of the bag anymore. His shoulders are still tense, but his frenzied breaths are calmer now. His eyes are still far off, but they’re holding mine.
I have this image of myself bursting out the front door when I used to have a flashback. Anything to move, outrun the moment.
“Come here…” I hold my hand out for him but he moves the bag off his mouth and stands without grabbing onto me. I clasp the hand that isn’t holding the bag and lead him slowly through the den and my office.
We step into my bedroom and I turn out the overhead light. Then I lead him over to the bed, where I flip a button on the extension cord draped over my night stand and my ceiling lights up. It’s striped with lines of Christmas twinkle lights.
“When I used to have nightmares, I would wake up to these and it would pull me back here faster.”
I watch him blink up at the rainbow of lights.
“Come here…”
We lay down. He’s slow and careful, like a fast movement might somehow startle him. I don’t let go of his hand.
