Page 56

I remember vividly how it was when I was in the hospital, when any unexpected sound would throw me straight into a panic attack. When I’d try to fall asleep but every shadow in the strange room was another enemy coming to finish me off.

“Tate,” I croon. “I’m taking you out of here. It’s going to be okay.” Then I scoop her into my arms, cradling her shaking body against my chest.

As I start jogging towards the stairs, she curls into me, burying her face against my neck. Her breath comes in harsh gasps, heating my skin, and her heart beats so hard I can feel it.

Protectiveness surges through me, more intense than I’ve ever felt it. Not just a wave crashing into me, but a tsunami. A hurricane. A storm of emotion like nothing I’ve experienced before.

“It’s okay,” I murmur into her hair. “I’m sorry. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Along with protectiveness comes self-recrimination. I promised Tate she wouldn’t be hurt again, and look where she is now. Unresponsive. Terrified. Trembling in my arms.

Once we get to the stairs, the metal door shuts behind us, dropping us into a welcome silence. “See, it’s over,” I tell her. “We’ll be upstairs in just a second. You’ll see, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

By the time we reach the upstairs hallway, she’s starting to come out of it. Her breathing is settling and the tremors are fading. Halfway to the door that leads to the yard, Tate lifts her head from my neck and looks at me, her eyes still fearful but much more aware.

“Erik?” Her voice is so small it hurts my heart. “What happened?”

Rather than slowing, I keep up my brisk pace, moving us quickly towards the door to the backyard. Yes, I could put her down here. I could take her into the living room or kitchen or library. But none of those feel right.

“It was the shooting range,” I reply. “Someone was in there, training. I didn’t think… But the sound. I think it reminded you?—”

“The island,” she whispers. “Oh, crap.”

“It’s my fault. I should have thought about it being a trigger. I’m sorry, Tate.”

“It’s not—” Suddenly, she stiffens. Red creeps across her face. “You had tocarryme out of the basement? I’m sorry. That’s so?—”

One of the office doors opens, revealing Rhiannon standing in the doorway. Concern washes over her face as she takes me in, holding Tate. “What’s wrong?” Rhi asks immediately. “Tatum. Are you hurt? Is it your head?”

Tatum makes an aggrieved sound and her face turns a deep fuchsia. I rub her back as I reply, “Tate’s okay. She just had a little flashback downstairs. The shooting range—” Over Tate’s head, I grimace at Rhiannon. “It was just faster to get upstairs this way.”

Her expression shifts to empathy in a blink. “That’s completely normal. Nothing to be… Well. If you need me, I’m here. Or I can call Sarah?—”

“I’m okay,” Tatum interrupts quietly. She lifts her gaze to meet Rhiannon’s. “Really. You don’t need to get Sarah.” Then she starts to wriggle in my arms. “And Erik. You can put me down now. I can walk.”

I lift my chin at Rhiannon, then start walking again. My arms tighten around Tate. “I’m not putting you down. Not yet.”

“But,” Tatum starts.

“Tate.” My voice firms. “Let me do this. Considering it’s my fault—” Pain spears through my gritted jaw. More softly, I continue, “Please, Tate.”

A beat goes by.

Then she stops moving and relaxes against me. “Okay. But for the record, Icanwalk.”

I know she can.

But I need to hold her. Need to bring her to a place where she’ll feel safe.

After all, I’m the one who fucked everything up. I should be the one to fix it.

As I adjust Tate in my arms so I can unlock the exterior door, the reality of the situation hits me.

Yes, I want to fix this.

But I also don’t want to put her down.

Holding Tate feels more right than anything I can remember.