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I hold it together for about five minutes. But then his fingers brush my bare shoulder and I look over to find him smiling at me, his arm raised like an invitation, and I'm helpless against his pull. I tuck myself against him, cheek on his chest, David between my belly and his ribs. He wraps his arm around me, holding me close, my leg naturally draping over one of his. He presses a kiss to my hair and makes that pleased, rumbly sound I love to hear from him. My nose fills with tobacco and vanilla and the earthy scent of the beer he had with dinner. It makes my stomach do wild things, my head spinning with possibilities.
I have no fucking idea what I mean to him, but whatever it is, I think I like it.
I start my morning throwing up, hating that Jake refuses to leave my side despite me begging him to.
"Breathe," he says over and over, like it's so fucking easy. His hand rubs circles between my shoulder blades as I try to catch my breath. "Just breathe, little one. It's going to be okay, I promise."
Tears fall down my cheeks as my lungs continue hyperventilating with panic. My stomach lurches again as a sob wracks my body. There's nothing left to purge, so I end up dry heaving, my panic only getting worse as my body convulses against my will.
Jake mutters a swear under his breath before gripping the back of my neck and placing something against my lips. "Open up, little one."
With anyone else, I'd fight. Hell, I'd freak the fuck out. I can tell it's a pill. He's about to drug me. And I'm about to let him.
I'm way too panicked right now to even begin analyzing that I trust him enough for that. I just open my mouth, letting him slip the pill in and drinking from the bottle of water he chases it with.
It's like fucking magic. Within a minute, everything is slowing down. The storm inside my head goes quiet. My lungs remember how to breathe. My body relaxes back against Jake as the fight fades out of it. I blink slowly, my eyes suddenly feeling too heavy to keep open.
"That's nice," I mumble, struggling to lift my eyelids again. Why am I trying to do that? Why can't I just sleep? Sleep sounds wonderful. "G'night."
Jake chuckles softly, his arms winding around my waist. "Go ahead and nap for a little bit. You have time."
Time? Time before what?
I decide I don't care, a warm black nothingness pulling me under.
Group therapy. The reason I panicked in the first place. The reason I woke up from my nap filled with dread. The reason I'm shaking as Jake walks me down to the living room.
"You don't have to do this," he reminds me, his hand stroking my back through the sweatshirt he put me in this morning. His sweatshirt. Not the Army one, but a new one. One that smells just like him – tobacco and vanilla, a scent I’ve learned comes from his expensive cologne, not actual tobacco use. "We can tell Carter and then you can just rest. It's been a hard morning."
"I need to," I whisper, hating that my voice trembles. "Carter is doing so well and I - I need to see…" I shake my head without finishing, ashamed of myself.
But Jake nods in understanding. "You need to see the others struggling. You need to remember you're not alone."
My face burns. "Does that make me an awful person?"
"Not even a little, Casey." He nudges my chin, forcing our gazes to meet. His smile is soft and warm and makes me want to wrap my arms around him and never, ever let go. "I'm so proud of you. Go see your friends. I'll be here when you're done."
"Right here?" I ask, my heart rate spiking as I realize he can't come with me. Of course he can't. Operatives aren't allowed unless the entire group invites them for a session. How did I forget that?
"No. I'll wait in the kitchen, at the island counter. I'll go there right now and stay, so even if you need to leave early, I'll already be there."
"Promise?"
"Promise, little one."
"Okay." I take a step toward the living room, then turn back and throw myself at him, not caring how ridiculous it is. I need one more hug before I face this. I need to feel him, warm and solid and here for me, and remember that I'll be okay no matter what happens because he's taking care of me now. Because I'm his… something.
Because he's going to save me. He promised. And he never breaks a promise.
He kisses my temple, squeezing me hard against his chest. "Come find me after, little one. I'll be waiting."
Those words are the most comforting thing I've heard in a very long time.
They're enough to get me to finally walk away from him and into the therapy session, even as my legs wobble and my stomach threatens to purge the little bit of juice that he got me to drink after I emptied myself earlier.
Carter is waiting on the couch with an annoyed look on his face that he immediately hides when he sees me. I know he hates this therapy stuff. I'm not sure if it's the therapy he hates or Dr. Singh specifically, but I'm thankful he's willing to bear it for me today.
Once I'm seated on the couch beside him, I notice he's wearing a too-big sweatshirt. My stomach flutters. It must be Travis's, right? And if I'm wearing Jake's hoodie the same way, does that mean Jake and I are… like them? I'm not sure if it's the same though. Not sure if this really counts. Jake has been giving me his clothes since the compound. That probably makes a difference, right?
