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MEASURE FOR MEASURE

TEMPEST

T he sound of ceramic shattering against tile echoed in my ears long after the actual noise faded.

Time slowed as I watched coffee spread across the restaurant floor, dark liquid seeping between pristine white tiles.

A server rushed over with a rag and dustpan, his mouth moving with apologies I couldn’t process.

“I’m so sorry,” I managed, the words feeling detached from my body. “I didn’t mean to?—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Flynn’s hand covered mine on the table, his touch warm against my suddenly ice-cold skin. “Tempest? Are you alright?”

I wasn’t alright. I was drowning in panic, my chest so tight I could barely breathe. The television mounted on the wall behind Flynn was broadcasting my execution.

“...exclusive announcement about the adaptation of best-selling author Miranda Milan’s sports romance series...”

The FlixNChill executive’s face filled the screen, her practiced smile revealing nothing about their plans for the “special reveal” mentioned in the teaser.

“Tempest,” Flynn’s voice broke through my spiral. “Talk to me.”

I forced myself to meet his eyes, those blue eyes that had looked at me with such tenderness when I’d finally trusted him with my secret. Just yesterday, I’d felt brave. Today, that bravery felt like a terrible mistake.

“I need to...,” I whispered, pulling my hand from his. “I’ll be right back.”

I practically ran to the bathroom, locking myself in the big stall as my shaking hands pulled out my phone. Gloria answered on the second ring.

“Tempest, thank god,” she said, her normally composed voice tight with tension. “I’ve been trying to reach you?—”

“They’re going to expose me,” I hissed, pressing my back against the cool tile wall. “That entertainment show is teasing some kind of special reveal about Miranda Milan. They’re going to tell everyone who I am.”

“It’s worse than that.” Gloria’s words hit me like a physical blow. “There’s been a leak. Someone talked. I’ve been on the phone with FlixNChill executives all morning.”

My legs gave out. I sank to the floor of the stall, not caring about germs or appearances. “What? How? Who?”

“They don’t know how it got out,” Gloria said. “But they’re in damage-control mode. They’re worried you’re going to kill the entire deal and that’s the last thing they want.”

My chest tightened painfully. Not just anxiety this time—real, physical pain like someone was sitting on my sternum.

“The good news,” Gloria continued, “is that they’re willing to do just about anything to keep the deal on the table. They understand this wasn’t how you wanted to reveal your identity.”

I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. The bathroom stall seemed to be shrinking around me, walls closing in.

“Tempest? Are you there?”

“I can’t,” I gasped, “breathe.”

“Listen to me,” Gloria’s voice sharpened. “This isn’t the end of the world. We can still control the narrative.”

But I couldn’t focus on her words. My heart hammered so hard I could hear it, feel it in my throat.

Black spots danced in my vision. I hadn’t had a panic attack this bad since last semester, before I’d started working with my therapist, before the animal sanctuary had become my refuge. Before Flynn.

“My family,” I managed between gasping breaths. “My mother... she’ll...”

“Tempest, maintaining complete anonymity has become more difficult the more successful you have become,” Gloria said firmly. “We knew this day was coming.”

I couldn’t respond. My phone slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering to the floor as I hugged my knees to my chest. I was drowning, suffocating.

The stall door rattled against the lock. Then a voice, Flynn’s voice, came from the other side.

“Tempest? Open the door, sweetheart. ”

I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t form words through the gasping.

“I’m coming in.”

I heard a scraping sound, then his face appeared under the door as he slid beneath it, uncaring about the bathroom floor or the fact that he was in the women’s restroom.

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, immediately recognizing what was happening. He sat beside me, then pulled me onto his lap, wrapping me up in his arms. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Can’t…breathe…” I choked out.

“Yes, you can,” he said firmly. “Look at me, Tempest. Focus on me.”

His blue eyes anchored me as he took my hand, placing it on his chest. “Feel that? Feel me breathing? We’re going to do it together. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

He exaggerated his breathing, slow and deep, keeping my hand pressed against his chest so I could feel the steady rise and fall. “Like this. In... two... three... Out... two... three...”

I tried to follow, my first attempts shallow and gasping.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “You’re doing great. Again. In... two... three...”

Gradually, my breathing began to match his. The black spots receded. The crushing weight on my chest eased, though my heart still raced.

“Flynn,” I whispered, embarrassment flooding me as reality returned. “You’re in the women’s bathroom. ”

A small smile touched his lips. “Yeah, well. Priorities.”

“Someone will see you.”

“Let them.” He brushed a tear from my cheek. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. “You’re more important.”

I leaned into him then, exhausted and shaking in the aftermath of the panic attack. I’d never had one this bad.

He held me, his arms strong and secure around me, one hand stroking my hair.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, “Just keep breathing.”

My phone was still on the floor, the call with Gloria disconnected. I should call her back. Should explain the situation. Should do a dozen responsible things.

Instead, I closed my eyes and let Flynn hold me, let myself believe, just for a moment, that I wasn’t alone in this.

When I finally felt steady enough to stand, Flynn helped me up, his hands gentle but sure. I splashed water on my face at the sink, avoiding my reflection.

“Someone at FlixNChill leaked my identity,” I said hoarsely. “They don’t know who, but it’s out there now. It’s only a matter of time before everyone knows.”

Flynn’s expression hardened, protective instinct flashing in his eyes. “That’s some bullshit right there, babe. I’m sorry this is happening.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” I gripped the edge of the sink. The ringing in my ears started up again and?—

“Hey.” He turned me to face him, hands on my shoulders. “This might change how people see you, but anyone who doesn’t like what you’re doing can fuck off. I’ll crush anyone who says a goddamned thing to you. Okay?”

“You don’t understand,” I whispered. “My family... my mother... they don’t know. They’re going to find out from strangers that I’ve been lying to them for years.”

What was I doing? I’d spent years carefully compartmentalizing my life, keeping my worlds separate.

Then Flynn had come along, and I’d let down my walls.

I’d told him everything. What if that had been the first crack in the foundation?

What if letting one person in meant I couldn’t keep everyone else out?

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” I said, my voice still raw.

“Don’t apologize,” he said softly, pulling me into his arms again. “Whatever happens, I’ll be there to help you through it.”

The simple certainty in his voice nearly undid me.

I squeezed him hard, knowing in my heart I’d been right to trust him.

But he didn’t understand the judgment, the chastising, the disappointment I was about to face.

And even if he was there with me, holding me like this, I still had to suffer it all alone, inside my own damn head.

“I just... I’ve worked so hard to keep my worlds separate.” I murmured. The thought of everyone finding out, of my family’s reaction?—”

“I get it,” he said, though we both knew he couldn’t fully understand. His life had always been public, his successes and probably even his minuscule failures celebrated openly. “But you don’t have to face any of it alone. Not anymore.”

And for just a moment, surrounded by the LA morning light streaming through the windows, I almost believed him.

They changed my flight back to Denver to go with the Kingmans.

But the return felt like crossing a boundary, leaving behind the fantasy of LA where I could be both Tempest and Miranda, returning to reality where those identities had to remain separate.

Flynn dozed beside me, his head occasionally dipping toward my shoulder.

I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I obsessively refreshed social media, searching for any hint that my secret was leaking.

Gloria texted before takeoff.

Gloria Horne: Confirmed with exec team. They’re containing it. Identity reveal NOT planned. All good. Breathe.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling of impending disaster.

When the plane landed, Flynn suggested we visit Burrito Petito and Abuela. “Nothing cures anxiety like donkey therapy.”

If anyone knew how to deal with celebrity drama, it was AbuelaNovela.

Before she married Abuelo Leo, she’d been married a bunch of times, had two children, and divorced her no-good cheating husbands back when women weren’t even allowed to have their own bank accounts.

All while being a huge telenovela star and then starting her own career in Hollywood.

Burrito greeted us with his typical enthusiasm, braying loudly and pushing his velvety nose into my hands. Abuela watched from the porch, a knowing smile playing at her lips as Flynn scratched behind the donkey’s ears.

“Mi amor,” she said, embracing me. “How was your trip with your handsome footballer?”

“The handsome footballer part was good,” I said, forcing a smile. “Really good. ”

“But something is troubling you.” It wasn’t a question. Nothing ever escaped Abuela’s notice.

I was sure Abuela knew about my writing, but I’d never actually told her myself. I’d lied even to her, my biggest supporter in life. God, what was wrong with me?