Page 26 of Branded Souls (Ember Hollow Romance #3)

Skye

I wasn’t dying. I wasn’t dying. I wasn’t dying.

I’m dying.

I pressed my forehead harder into the cold tile as unbidden panic pulled me down into a depth I couldn’t rise from. My gasping breaths made me feel like I was suffocating, but I couldn’t control them.

Nothing was in my control. Not my heart rate. Not my escalating blood pressure. Not even my thoughts as a war raged inside me.

My head pounded as my inner monologue spiraled.

I was going to stroke out if I couldn’t control this panic. My heart was going to explode if I didn’t calm its chaotic beating. Maybe I was bleeding internally from the accident and I didn’t know.

I’m dying.

Tears gushed down my face, and I let out a sob. I’d been desperately holding back, trying to be quiet, but I couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t stop this feeling of being crushed under the weight of anxiety .

I thought I heard my name, but I couldn’t respond. I could barely breathe.

Another pathetic, tragic sob left my mouth, and I hugged my legs tighter against me.

This would pass. It would wane. It always did…eventually.

A hand gripped my shoulder, but I was barely aware of it. Someone brushed back my hair, and I flinched away.

This was embarrassing. This was ridiculous.

This is torture.

I was physically pulled away from the wall and into a warm, strong body. I didn’t uncurl myself as Fox’s cedar and soap scent wrapped around me. He pulled me into his lap, saying my name again. It sounded desperate. Panicked.

It was the only thing that cut through the dread.

“Skye, honey, please talk to me. Look at me, baby. Please.”

My limbs were heavy, like lead was coursing through my veins, as I turned my head and met his gaze.

He looked like someone was slowly killing him. I’d only seen that face once before, and I’d swore I’d never cause an expression like that to cross his face again.

“What’s wrong?” He cupped my face in both of his hands. He leaned in, his labored breaths washing over my sweat-slicked skin.

“I’m—I’m so sorry,” I stammered, barely able to speak over the involuntary sobs.

“Don’t.” He shook his head once. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I couldn’t. How could I explain? There was no rationalizing the irrational .

“I—I…” There were no words to comfort him. No words to comfort me . “I think I’m dying.”

Any color that was left in his face drained. His arms tightened around me. “Where does it hurt?”

I saw the gears turning in his brain, trying to come up with a plan to fix this. But there was no fixing me. I had been trying for years. I was broken.

“Where’s your phone?” he asked, urgently.

I stared at him.

“I left mine on the bed. We need to call 911.”

I shook my head. He didn’t understand. “No.”

His hands ran over my body, as if he were looking for wounds he wouldn’t find. “Where are you injured?”

“I’m not…I’m not actually dying,” I choked out. “I just…think that I am.”

He froze. His brow crumpled in confusion and a dash of relief. His hands slid up my jaw, through my hair, and cradled the back of my neck. “Talk. To. Me. Skye,” he croaked, sounding like he was a moment away from breaking, too. “ Please .”

I shook my head. Where did I start?

“Panic attack,” was all I said before burying my face in his chest.

He pulled me against him. Nothing but the rushing of my pulse pounded in my ears, making me want to vomit. It was too fast. Too loud.

I let out another sob because I hated feeling like I was being strangled by impending doom and I couldn’t stop it. I was helpless.

“What can I do for you?” Fox whispered desperately.

I shook my head. There was nothing. There never was. This hadn’t happened in so long. I had started to think I was done with them .

He rubbed my back, a rhythmic, soothing up and down motion. I tried to focus on my breathing, tried to take deep, even breaths, but it didn’t help. I was a mess.

“I just—I have to wait till it passes,” I gasped.

His arms tightened around me. “Fuck that,” he muttered. Then, without warning, he stood up, cradling me in his arms.

Instinctively, I looped my arms around his neck. “What are you doing?” I looked up, the tears cooling on my wet face.

His expression was hard now. Eyes determined instead of sad. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

It was hard to think through the haze of anxiety, but something about his resolve hooked me. Our faces were still so close, I could count the few freckles on the bridge of his nose.

“Do you trust me, Skye?”

Did I trust him?

This man and I had been through so much together. We were little more than kids when we’d fallen in love, but that time with Fox had been some of the best of my life. They were years that made me…and they were years that broke me.

I had been away from Fox for almost as long as I had known him, but as I stared into his silver-flecked gray eyes, I couldn’t imagine trusting any other human being more.

“With my life,” I breathed.

He nodded once, and then we were moving.

Fox ripped back the shower curtain with one hand and stepped inside. I had no idea what he was doing, what we were doing, but when I looked up into his face, there was a hint of a smile on his lips .

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

I nodded.

He pressed his forehead against mine. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

I didn’t know how this was going to help, but I did as I was told. Anything to get myself out of this attack, to distract from it.

He pulled back slightly, and his lips pressed against my forehead in a soft, quick kiss.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he reiterated. “But lift your face toward the ceiling.”

I frowned, even more confused. But again, I did what I was told.

“Good,” Fox said, encouragingly.

A few silent beats passed, and I was about to ask what he was doing when the sudden sound of running water filled the air—followed a moment later by a blast of ice-cold water straight to my face.

My lungs seized for a split second before I gasped, face scrunching tight against the spray of water. My muscles locked, the cold stinging my skin. I tried to jerk back, but Fox’s arms were firm around me, holding me there.

“Shit!” I finally yelped, my breath returning in full force. I shook my head, breathing heavy through the cold.

My eyes caught his, and then I glanced up at the shower head directly above us. Fox was unyielding as a statue in a winter storm. He was under the cold spray too, water droplets rolling from his dark, shaggy hair and lashes, down his lips and chin.

He looked beautiful.

“Sorry,” he said, voice low.

I wouldn’t have been able to hear it if we weren’t so close. I swallowed. “What was that?” My skin was going numb under the freezing water. I had no idea tap water could feel so ice-cold.

“How do you feel?” His brows lowered, his eyes roaming my face, assessing.

I swallowed. My heart was still racing, but all I was focused on now was the shower. The cold. The fact that I was in the arms of Fox Ramsey and soaking wet.

My mouth fell open, stunned. I wasn’t sure what had happened, but the anxiety that had me in a vise a few minutes ago was gone.

I sucked in a breath, not even caring I almost swallowed a mouthful of water.

“Better,” I said, my chest loosening.

He gave me a half grin that conveyed both relief and a bit of exhaustion. “I’m glad.”

“How did you know how to do that?”

Fox reached around with one hand and turned the shower off. The absence of water had my skin instantly warming with Fox’s body all around me.

“I’ve never dealt with panic attacks, but August struggled with some PTSD when he left the Marines.

” He stepped out of the shower, our clothes dripping everywhere—like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“He’s doing a lot better, but I saw him struggle with some episodes early on.

I looked up everything I could that would help him, and one of the suggestions I read somewhere mentioned ice.

Putting ice or cold water on the face to shock the system. Almost like a reset button. ”

He reached for a white, fluffy towel hanging on the rack and wrapped it around me, not hesitating for a moment as he walked to the counter and set me on top of it.

Settling the towel around my shoulders, he smoothed my wet, straggly hair out of my face. “Stay right here,” he instructed.

I did. I watched as he disappeared out of the open door—a door that was suddenly missing a knob.

He was back quickly, his backpack dangling from his hand. Setting the bag on the counter beside me, he met my gaze.

“There are a few changes of shirts and sweats in there. The clothes will be big, but I’m sure you can make it work. There are also new toiletries. Take whatever you need. Get out of those wet clothes.”

I stared at him blankly. Overwhelmed, the building tiredness in my bones had me merely nodding at his instructions.

He leaned close again, his eyes checking mine like he was looking for any hint of panic. “I’ll be right out there. Waiting.”

I nodded.

He straightened, gave me one last once-over and left me alone in the bathroom, closing the knobless door as best he could.

For the first time in years, I wasn’t running. I was still. Safe. And somehow, that scared me more than I wanted to admit.