10. Ben #2
“I’m going to touch you, okay? If you don’t want me to, I need you to either tell me no, or if you can’t speak, just blink twice. I’m going to put my hand on your chest and help you with a breathing exercise, okay?”
“Yes,” I said, and God, I was so fucking embarrassed.
I was a thirty-one-year-old man, and not only had I been about to ditch a truly lovely person who had gone out on a limb to be vulnerable with me, who was ill and had given up so much to help others, but now I was such a slave to my emotions that I couldn’t even man up and take her on a date.
I was ruining everything. Just like I always did.
But then her hand was on my chest, her hand so incredibly delicate.
I focused on the feel of her fingers, which were long and tapered almost like a pianist’s.
I remembered wishing that I could learn to play an instrument when I was younger, but once I’d hit puberty and been one of only three alphas in our pack, the three of us had been pushed into training to become the heir.
While most packs tended to follow a bloodline lineage, with an alpha child taking over from their parent, not everyone did. Designations were random, and not every single alpha from puberty went on to become the alpha of the pack.
It was something that confused non-wolf shifters to no end, considering they didn’t really have the same pack structure we did, but it made sense to me.
Wait… why was I thinking of pack hierarchies? I didn’t know, but it was a pleasant distraction. Much like Giselle’s hand on my chest.
She was so cold. I didn’t know how I managed it, but my still-trembling hand pressed the seat-warming button and put it on high. There. At least I could do that much for her.
Slowly, achingly slowly, I pulled myself away from the malevolent grip trying to pull me down, down, down into the abyss.
But every time I made some headway, I was yanked back again.
But Giselle’s gaze, her voice, her hand on my chest, were like a lifeline—an ethereal rope tossed down to me, allowing me to finally gain ground over the mire that was threatening to consume me.
“I want you to breathe in for a count of eight. Nice and slow, not a hurry in the world. I’ll count, you inhale, okay? One, two, three…”
I focused on every word she said and followed her instructions. Somehow, each number that passed had me gripping higher on the rope and pulling myself farther away from the maelstrom. Away from racing thoughts and heart.
“Eight. Excellent. Now, just let it sit there for seven seconds. Let it be an anchor for you. You’re safe. You’re in your car with me, and everything is okay. One, two…”
Again, I followed her instructions. And again, I was able to get farther from everything trying to devour me.
“Seven. There you are. I can feel your heart slowing down. Now, let’s exhale for eight, shall we?”
We exhaled for eight.
“One more time?”
Yeah, I could do that. We did it again, then one more time. And then a fourth for good measure. By the last count, I was mostly back to normal, although I was still exceedingly embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked. That was all I could say, because what else would be a good segue from the stunt I had just pulled?
It had been at least six months since I’d allowed anyone to see me have a panic attack, and even then it was only Natalie.
I certainly hadn’t let my ex-beta and the gang he betrayed me for see me so vulnerable, and I hadn’t had panic attacks before the massacre.
So, the fact that a woman I barely knew—a woman I was taking out to dinner—was the first to see me in such condition was throwing me through yet another loop.
I missed when my life was less complicated.
I missed when I didn’t have such a gaping wound in my chest that followed me wherever I went and affected all parts of my life.
I wished I could go back and be the man I was before, but unfortunately, time and trauma did not work that way.
They flowed in one direction, and there was no escaping from their relentless march.
Once the toothpaste was out of the tube, it was impossible to scoop it back in.
Sure, it was still toothpaste, but it would have to be put in another container, and its shape and consistency would never quite be the same.
“Hey, remember what I said. No apology needed. These things can happen to anyone.”
But they weren’t supposed to happen to me .
Before the massacre, I had been a successful and well-known alpha.
I’d negotiated an ease of tension with a couple of other packs along our border, and I’d battled the heads of a couple of other communities that had butted heads with our own.
Nothing as dramatic as a shifter war, but there had been a bear clan who insisted we were infringing on their ancestral lands, as well as drama with Natalie’s herd when her sister had married into our pack.
“I…”
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything right now. Is there any music you like to listen to? Maybe we can listen to a song, then you can decide where we go from there.”
“Where we go from there?” I repeated dully, not quite putting two and two together.
“Yes. I understand if you want to go home, and I won’t take it personally at all. But if you feel ready for it and would like some food, I’m still more than happy to go to dinner with you.”
Surely, I had to be hallucinating. There was no way she would want to continue the night with me after I’d made a total fool of myself.
“You’d want to do that?”
“Only if you want to.” A strange expression must have crossed my face because she continued.
“I’m not being a martyr. I know you just had an upsetting experience.
When my mother got really sick, my brother started getting debilitating panic attacks.
And then, when I got sick, his panic attacks became borderline unmanageable.
Thankfully, he got help, and he’s now on a medicine regimen that works for him, but believe me when I say I have a lot of experience with these kinds of situations. ”
She really was too good to be true. Here she was, stuck in a strange man’s car, only recently out of the hospital, and she was still so concerned and understanding. God, I was grateful someone like her was leading my son’s education.
“If you’re done for the night, I completely support that. Maybe we can try again another time. And if you’ve changed your mind about the entire thing, I’ll understand.
“But, if you’d like to continue on with our date, I’m perfectly fine with that and would be happy to.
Everyone reacts differently to such things, and often the same person can have completely unique reactions from past panic attacks.
The ball’s in your court, but trust me, no matter what you choose, I’ll be okay. ”
I couldn’t believe it. I made such a mess of things, and yet she was acting like I’d gotten a parking ticket. Her level of empathy seemed almost supernatural, but I was intensely grateful for it.
So, if it was up to me, that left the question: what did I want?
I was so emotionally strung out, it was hard to think.
A significant chunk of me wanted to go home and stand under the hot shower until I couldn’t feel anything anymore.
Another chunk of me was still wallowing in shame because of Giselle’s kind words.
Yet another part of me, because two certainly weren’t enough, was whispering that I deserved everything that had happened because I had abandoned the memory of my wife. How dared I move on?
Despite that intense chorus of negativity, there was something bright and shiny inside my chest. Something that felt a lot like hope and echoed within my brain in honeyed refrains.
Go on the date.
And despite all the odds, despite what was probably wise, I swallowed the saliva pooling in my mouth and found my words again.
“I’d still like to go to dinner, if you’re up for it.”
“I’d love that.”
Huh, maybe it really could be that easy.
“Right.” Although I had made a decision and intended to stick with it, it was still a bit awkward. How was I supposed to transition from the panic attack to taking her out to dinner? “I think I wouldn’t mind listening to a song first. You know, before we get to driving.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Normally, I would assume someone was faking their graciousness and was secretly either disgusted by my actions or pitied me, but I could smell none of that with Giselle.
Sure, concern lanced through her scent, and the nerves were definitely still there along with the stress ketones, but that was it.
And, in my opinion, those particular emotions were more than reasonable.
“Would you like to pick the song?” I asked, trying to sound remotely normal. “After all, ladies first.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t feel like fishing my phone out of my purse. Why don’t you share a song, if you don’t mind?”
“I can do that.”
My anxiety ticked up at having to choose a song, but I squashed that and told myself not to be silly. I chose a classic Queen song, because who didn’t like Queen? Not somebody I would want to be on a date with.
A few moments later, Freddie Mercury’s voice came over the car speakers, and the panic attack, as well as everything else that came along with it, began to sink into the background.
It wasn’t fully gone, and every minute or so my thoughts would try to flick back to that situation, but each time it did, I focused on the lyrics.
Focused on moving forward and still having a great night with a wonderful person who deserved to be treated.