Chapter 13 #2
“I’m not packing, and I’m not going.” My chest is tight, so tight, like a band has been wrapped around it and is squeezing the life out of me.
“Isla,” he snaps, and then his words trail off.
Maybe because I’m starting to lose my shit.
I’ve taught myself to fly again after the accident.
But what I can’t handle is being in a windowless room for an extended period of time.
Any confined space without a view of the outdoors has been almost impossible for me ever since the plane crash.
I can barely manage elevators and public restrooms. There’s something about not being able to see where I am that makes me feel powerless and terrified.
I need windows like I need air to breathe.
A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead at the thought.
“Isla, are you okay?”
Alessio’s face is hovering over me, and maybe it’s the panic attack I’m doing my best to stave off that’s fueling my overactive imagination, but it almost looks like he’s worried.
“I’m…I think I’m having…a panic attack,” I manage.
My lungs are frozen. My thoughts are a frantic jumble.
“Jesus fuck, why didn’t you say something?” His hands are on me, even gentler than they were when he tended to my scratches as he guides me to a sleek leather couch. “Sit down and put your head between your knees.”
An air of authority is in his voice, like he’s done this before. I haven’t had a panic attack hit me like this in a few years, but I know he’s right. I fold myself in half and lower my head. His palm is flat on my back, reassuring.
“Breathe slowly through your nose and exhale through your mouth.”
I focus on my breathing, pushing all thoughts of the underground, windowless room from my mind. Alessio’s hand moves up and down my spine, and I find it oddly soothing. It’s the same hand that showed no mercy this morning, and yet now, it’s tender. Almost caring. The tightness eases from my chest.
“Just keep breathing,” he says, “nice and steady.”
We stay like that for what could be a few seconds or a few minutes as my pounding heart slows back down and the tension seeps from my body. Finally, I can sit up again, and the frantic clash of thoughts in my mind has eased.
“Want to tell me what that was about?” he asks.
I don’t know how to tell him about the plane crash.
I have a difficult time speaking about it to this day.
How can one person’s brain fathom losing everyone they love in the span of a minute?
Mine hasn’t been able to, not entirely. There are some days when I still feel like my parents and Lily are out there, a call or text away.
Only, they’re not.
“Isla,” he prods, still stroking my back, breaking me from the stranglehold of the past.
“It’s…” I falter and take a deep breath before trying again. “I have this thing where I can’t be in a room without windows.”
“Claustrophobia?”
“Kind of.”
“Shit.” He pauses. “Can I get you something? Water? Something from Priest and Luna’s bar?”
“Maybe a water.” Being alone for a minute might help me to collect myself.
He gets up and heads for the kitchen, and I miss his touch, which is so at odds with the merciless mobster who broke another man’s fingers this morning that it’s not even funny.
Nothing makes sense. The homey sound of ice cubes tinkling into a glass echoes from the kitchen.
Afternoon light streams into the living room, everything calm and still.
Cid jumps down from his sunlit perch and launches himself effortlessly into my lap with a purring trill.
He knocks his soft little head into my chin, aggressive with his affection as always.
I run my hand along his back, and he arches into my pet, his tail going up.
I feel grounded, comforted. The panic has almost entirely receded now, and I’m not sure who is more responsible for that—Alessio or Cid.
Alessio strides back into the room, holding out a glass of ice water for me. I take it, studiously avoiding touching him this time.
“Thanks.”
I bring the glass to my lips and take a long pull of the cool, clear water. That helps too, until a Cid fur gets stuck on my nose, tickling me.
“Something wrong with your nose, Jane?” Alessio asks, the softness leaching from him before my eyes like it was never there.
I lower the glass and wrinkle my nose. “A Cid fur.”
“Hold still.” Before I can stop him, he reaches out and gently brushes the bridge of my nose with one tatted finger. “Better?”
And there it is again, the strange contradiction I can’t seem to make sense of.
The man with hands that can be so gentle and yet also so destructive and cruel.
It’s like he’s two different people at once, the charming, sexy bartender I met in St. Thomas and the ice-cold Mafia killer who breaks bones and does God knows what else.
“Better, thanks.”
I take another slow, deep breath, surprised to find the tension has completely left me.
“No problem.”
“So, you see, I can’t go to some underground bunker with you,” I tell him, still unable to admit why.
He nods. “The safe house isn’t going to be a good option for you. But that’s okay. I’ve got a Plan B.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask what that is.”
His gaze meets mine, and it’s like an electric jolt goes through me. “You and Cid are going to have to come and stay with me at my place.”
My response is every bit as instant this time as it was at his previous suggestion.
“No.”
“Yes.” He stands back up. “Which room are you staying in? I’ll grab your bags. We don’t have any time to lose.”
“I’m not staying at your place,” I protest.
For all kinds of reasons, that’s not going to work. Being under the same roof as him? Sleeping in his apartment? Enveloped by his space? God, no. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.
“Like I said, you don’t have a choice,” he tells me, and then he strolls away. “If you won’t tell me where your stuff is, I’ll just start going through rooms until I find it.”
Cid rubs enthusiastically against my boobs, leaving a coating of gray fur on my shirt, completely unaware that we’re about to jump headlong into complete and utter disaster.