Page 24 of The Call of Azure (Unexpected Love #3)

When Liam doesn’t respond when I laughingly screech for help after dropping nearly every pan I own all at once, I stumble around the corner to poke my head into the living area.

Since he didn’t come running to take on the role of my very own valiant kitchen knight, I fully expect to find him trying to smother his laughter while snickering to Cupcake that he should have followed me to help out instead of playing with her, since I can’t even manage to get out a pan without causing a ruckus.

I plan to roll my eyes and playfully glare at him for laughing at me before making him clean up my mess while I finish cooking.

What I find when I enter the living room, however, is anything but the cheerful scene I expect.

I’m absolutely not prepared for the haunting scene that meets me.

Not only is Liam not laughing at me or gossiping with Cupcake in the sweet voice he seems to only use for her, or on his way to see what happened or if he can help - I don’t think he’s really even in my apartment anymore.

He’s physically still here. He didn’t suddenly decide he’s scared of my cooking or that he doesn’t want to perform with me anymore and then sneak quietly out without saying a word, but his mind…

his soul…is somewhere else entirely. He’s curled up in the corner of the couch with his head bent toward his chest and both of his arms wrapped around the back of his neck like he’s trying to hide and protect himself somehow.

He’s frozen in place, and his eyes are screwed shut, and he’s barely taking in any oxygen as he struggles to manage even a single trembling breath.

Cupcake is standing on the arm of the couch like his own personal guard, one little paw digging cautiously at his shoulder as she tries to figure out what’s wrong, and the sight of them both in such distress breaks my heart into tiny little pieces.

“Hey. Sweetie.” I keep my voice soft and low as I cross the room, trying to offer as much comfort as I can, just in case he’s able to hear me from wherever his mind thinks he is.

Jesus, what am I supposed to do?

“Hey, sweetheart. I don’t get panic attacks myself, thank the goddess, but I’m pretty sure that’s what’s going on for you right now.

Can you let me know if you can hear me?” He doesn’t respond at all.

He doesn’t even flinch, and I don’t know what to do other than keep inching closer and talking and trying to pull him back to my safe little apartment.

“I know that everyone is different, and the things that help some folks through panic attacks make them worse for others. I know that some people like to be left alone because they’re already so overwhelmed, but others really like to be touched.

I think that helps them find their way back sometimes.

I know we don’t really know each other very well, and I don’t know what’s best for you when this happens, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing, okay.

So, if you can hear me, I need you to try to tell me what you need… please.”

He’s still trembling and rocking and struggling to breathe.

His knuckles are white where they clutch at one another behind his neck, and I’m afraid he might pass out.

It’s like he can’t hear me at all, like he doesn’t even realize I exist, but for the briefest tiny moment, I think I see him shake his head almost imperceptibly.

It’s probably not a response. It’s probably just a strong shiver wracking his poor, tense body, but I tell myself that it was a response.

That I’m helping. That somehow, I’m getting through to him.

“Okay, you can’t tell me. That’s alright. You can hear me though, so that’s good. I’m just going to keep talking here, okay. I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe, and I’m going to sit right here with you, and we’ll work through this together.”

I inch closer, letting my fingers brush along the side of his forearm.

I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do.

What if he needs to be left alone? What if his trauma is aggravated by touch, and I’m making it worse?

I don’t even know what set him off. I left him playing with Cupcake to go finish cooking, dropped some pans, laughed at myself, and then he was just gone.

I nearly jump out of my skin when he moves.

He’s so lost in his trance-like state that I’m not expecting any real movement just yet, especially not something faster than lightning, but in the space of a single heartbeat, his hand flips, and he wraps strong fingers around my wrist, clutching at me like I’m a lifeline.

Even though he’s a giant who could very likely snap my bones like twigs, I’m not really afraid.

Giant or not, this man is quiet and gentle and kind, and somehow, I know that he’d never hurt me.

Even if I was worried that he might injure me by accident, it wouldn’t matter.

I’d still let him cling to me because the only thing that matters in this moment is trying to help him.

“Okay, hun, okay. See, I’m here. You’ve got me now. Don’t let go, okay. Just hold on, and everything will be better in a few minutes, alright.”

He manages a shuddering half breath, the deepest he’s taken since I found him this way, and then I’m on his lap.

Before I can even register what’s happening, he’s moving again, pulling me until I’m kneeling on the couch, straddling his lap, and his arms are wrapped around me, crushing me against his chest. It’s surprising and awkward, and it feels like he might manage to crack my ribs if he squeezes me any tighter, but his face is buried in the bend of my neck, and he’s trying to breathe, so it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.

Even though he’s, thankfully, starting to respond, he probably doesn’t completely realize what’s going on, and it feels a bit wrong to curl up around him like a baby sloth while camping out on his lap without actual verbal consent.

Somehow, though, it seems to be helping him, and that’s the only thing that matters.

So I settle my body as tightly against his as I can manage before letting my cheek fall to his shoulder and closing my eyes while my fingertips wander up and down his back until his trembling slows and his breath sounds normal.

I don’t know how much time passes, but it feels like a lifetime before his fingers dig into my skin through my thin spandex tank as he clutches me even tighter for a moment before finally leaning back and lifting his face from my neck so that his pale-blue eyes can search mine.

“Fuck, babe. You scared the shit out of me. Are you okay?”

His forehead crinkles in what seems to be confusion before he snorts out a sad little attempt at a laugh. Maybe he’s having some kind of breakdown. I don’t think laughter is part of panic attack recovery.

“You swore.” His voice is shaky and barely audible, but the fact he noticed my swearing probably means he’s actually back with me, and he’s going to be okay.

Right? I have no idea, but I hope that the best way to keep him from slipping back is to keep him talking and focused on me because that’s definitely something I can do.

“Yeah, about that. I don’t actually have some like…

weird religiousy reason for not swearing or anything like that.

There just aren’t very many swear words, so it’s not usually colorful or creative enough for me.

But this isn’t exactly a moment where I’m concerned about trying to plan what words are coming out of my mouth.

I’m more than slightly terrified you’re not okay and not actually sure if I’m helping or making things worse.

I don’t really know you very well, and this isn’t something I’ve done for a really long time, so I wasn’t sure if… ”

I trail off as his lips twitch up in an attempted smile. “What? Climb on somebody’s lap?”

My confusion only lasts for a moment before I realize that he’s trying to make a joke to lighten the mood.

“Ha ha. Very funny. No, smart-ass. Blue used to…"

He cuts me off without saying a word by scrunching up his forehead until it wrinkles in a way that is absolutely and completely not at all, not even a little bit, adorable.

“My best friend, his name is Blue. He was going through a lot when we first met, and well…he’s doing so much better now, and he hasn’t had one in a few years, but for a while, after he first moved in with me, his anxiety was just through the roof, and he was having panic attacks a few times a week.

Things were pretty rough for him, and I spent a lot of time in the beginning trying to help him through them. ”

Liam’s not-adorable forehead wrinkles disappear. His expression softens while I talk about trying to help Blue, and entrancing pale silver-blue eyes watch me with something that feels like…wonder?

“I’m glad he’s doing better these days.” Even though his voice is still rough, it trembles a bit less than it did when he joked about me climbing on laps.

“Thanks. I am too. He’s a really good guy who didn’t deserve what he went through. I’m sure it’s the same for you. If you want to talk about what happened…” I trail off when his arms tighten around me, and the forehead wrinkles return.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. I just wanted you to know that I’m a safe person, and I’ll always listen if you ever feel like you need or want to.”

He sighs out a deep, shaky breath, and his fingers dig into my sides. “I was a soldier. For a long time.”

“Oh…” I don’t know what I expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. Everything about Liam screams “I’m a gentle giant who rescues kittens and reads to kids at the library,” not “Watch out, I’m coming after you with a gun.”