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“Not the first panic attack I’ve dealt with,” he said, not bothering to elaborate. I was sure he’d seen all sorts of stuff in his line of work. “And when you mentioned the proposal the other day, I threw a few in the truck. Ice works, too, but these are definitely more convenient.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that kind of attention and care.
I kind of wanted to fling myself across the seat and kiss him.
But my mouth was currently occupied, and my body was so tired that I felt like a wet noodle.
And there was that whole thing with him almost kissing me and then walking away.
I wasn’t sure I could handle rejection on top of this right now.
Or ever.
“I have breathing exercises I do,” I tried to explain, needing him to know I wasn’t completely incapable. “But I just couldn’t focus.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, Marin. I get it.”
But I didn’t.
I’d felt good about the ferry. Confident actually. And then it was like someone had flipped a switch, and I’d gone from happy and fine to…this.
I looked over at Macon, and suddenly, I remembered exactly when the panic had started—when I looked athim. The memorial had been hard to look at, but the second I turned towards Macon…
“I’m gonna go get some coffee,” he said, pushing the door open to hop out. “Do you want some?”
My mind still in a daze, I nodded. “Sure.”
I watched him walk away, still trying to come to terms with my new reality.
My panic attack wasn’t about my past.
It was all about my future.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“You’re so quiet,” Marin said as we drove down the long stretch of highway.
She’d been admiring the view and trying to catch a glimpse of lighthouses and the weathered houses on our way up the coast, but she was right.
I was being quiet.
“Sorry,” I said lamely. “Just focused on driving.”
I’d been reticent for most of the day. Ever since we’d left Springer’s Point, I’d been so stuck in my head that I didn’t know what to say or how to say it. This was not how I’d thought the day would go—how I’d thought any of this would go.
We’d docked in Hatteras hours ago, and since then, we’d made our way to a few stores, grabbing everything from air filters to plywood, and now, we were headed to a late lunch.
And up until now, I’d said maybe three sentences.
“Can you pull off?” she asked, pointing toward a scenic turnout. “Just ahead over there. I want to see if I can get a picture of the lighthouse for my mom.”
“Sure,” I answered.
Oh, look. One more. I’m Mr. Fucking Chatterbox.
I pulled the truck to a stop and turned the engine off. Stepping out, I decided to meet her on the other side and take a moment to enjoy the last bit of warm weather the season was giving us. I held back, leaning against the truck, and watched as she pulled out her phone, aiming it toward the water. But then she abruptly stopped and turned back toward me.
“What is going on?” she asked bluntly, the picture forgotten as she tucked her phone back in her purse.
