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“Panic attacks aren’t rational.”

Juliette looks at her hands, and they appear alien. Crystalline spikes of agony drill into her stomach, and she wonders if she’s going to throw up, right here on the phone with Luca.

Her pulse pounds, too loud, like a drum in her head. Her stomach heaves, but nothing travels up her throat. Words drift in and out, cutting through her bleary, dizzying world like radio static clearing as a car swerves in and out of reception.

“Juliette, please, breathe. What room number are you in?”

She listens to her own harsh intake of breath. It rattles around her lungs as if there are tatters in the tissue, letting air escape without her control.

“Two one three,” she whispers into the phone, digging her nails into the plush carpet beneath her. She wishes her stupid heart would stop pounding so hard.

“Hey, Jules.” A face blurs above her, cool fingers touching her cheek. She tries to swallow, to say something, but her throat is still too tight. “Hey, just focus on breathing. It’ll be over soon. Can you sit up?”

Juliette clutches Luca’s forearm and slowly manages to sit up. Her vision blurs and she gasps, but then Luca’s arm slides around her shoulders and holds her up. She buries herself in Luca, throwing all of her weight into her. It’s as if her bones have been replaced with lead, but with her face buried in Luca’s shoulder, the strange terror in her chest begins to loosen its grip.

One of Luca’s hands loops up and down her back, while the other holds the back of her head, thumb caressing the shell of her ear.

“Talk to me,” Juliette whispers. The silence around them is stifling, and she’s too aware of her own breathing.

“Anything specific?” Luca asks.

The rumble of her voice against Juliette is already soothing the fragmented pieces inside her chest, so she shakes her head.

Luca starts talking. Juliette understands none of the words, but slowly, in drips and whispers, her breathing evens out and her vision stops spinning. She still feels shaky, but as she finally draws back from Luca, she can see clearly. “Fuck, I wish I had one of Claudia’s Xanax,” she mutters as she presses her knuckles into her aching eyes.

Luca gently tugs Juliette’s hands away from her face. “How do you feel now?”

Juliette blinks, focusing on Luca’s concerned face, the crease between her brows, the deep frown marring the corners of her mouth. In this light, she can see flecks of emerald in her hazel eyes. Luca’s thumb sweeps against her lower lip, and a warm tingle sparks across her bitten mouth. “Shaky,” Juliette whispers.

Luca nods. “It’ll pass. I promise.”

“How often have you had panic attacks?” Juliette asks, curling her finger around a strand of Luca’s silky hair. She focuses on the texture, rubbing her thumb against the bluntly cut ends.

Luca shrugs. “A lot. More when I was a teenager.” Luca looks at her from under her long lashes, feathery blond and faint in the slant of sun creeping in. “Do you want to talk about it? I understand if not. We can deal with it later.”

Juliette searches Luca’s face, looking for some sign of what she really wants, but all she finds is tender concern.

“Not right now.” Juliette shakes her head. “But I would like some tea?”

Luca’s concern cracks into a smile. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

THIRTY-FIVELUCA

“What’s bothering you?”

Luca’s gaze snaps up to Vladimir. “Nothing. Why do you ask?” She glances sideways at the cameras being set up for Miami’s press day. Players mill around the back of the main stadium, waiting patiently for their turn and hiding from the vicious sun.

Vladimir’s brows raise over his sleepy, hooded eyes. His cheeks are flushed from a sunburn Luca doesn’t remember being there the other day. What else has slipped her notice since her thoughts have been consumed by Juliette?

“I’m only checking in,” Vladimir says evenly, patting Luca’s shoulder, and a bit of the tension in her chest unwinds.

She fiddles with her wrist wrap, the humidity sticky against her skin. Even though this is literally part of her job, Luca’s insides feel more scrambled than usual. There’s a lingering question about whether she’s fully recovered from her injury. The hard court swing is always her favorite, but there’s a deepening pressure at being the number one player and being on her preferred surface. On top of all that, her mind keeps picking at the things Juliette has said, at the posts about their rivalry and whether there’s more between them, at how people seem to be looking at them even more now. So many comments and tweets are about how this is normal for Juliette. She’s always been a flirt who flits from person to person, having flings and two-week-long relationships. Luca had never cared to look into Juliette’s past lovers, but now it’s all Twitter wants to throw at her. Afull thread of every person she’s held hands with or had in her box. It’s all piling on and threatening to snap Luca in half.

Those are the thoughts thatshouldbe plaguing her and eating away at her confidence. Instead, it’s Juliette’s sudden panic attack that has left Luca feeling woozy and off-balance the most. Dark thoughts infect the cracks she knows she should patch up, but much like a scab, it’s easier to peel away the healing flesh and see what lies beneath.

She’s just doing this to mess with you.

You’re just one of many in a string of failed relationships.