4. Lucy #2
His eyes slip closed, and he leans forward, resting his hands on his knees as he continues to battle for breath.
My brows drop in a frown. “Nate? What’s wrong?”
“Can’t… breathe,” he chokes out.
Adrenaline shoots through my veins, but my mind remains clear and calm. “Why?” I lean closer, eyes wide as I remember his food allergy. “Did you have fish?”
He shakes his head, his chest still heaving under his suit. Before I can even think of asking him, I’m pulling him up straight and pushing his suit coat off his shoulders. It drops to the floor along with my purse as I loosen his tie and toss it onto his jacket.
His hands clamp around my wrists as I open the top three buttons of his shirt. “What are you… doing?” he heaves through labored breaths.
I catch his gaze and speak clearly, but calmly. “I think you’re having a panic attack. I’m trying to make you feel less trapped.”
He closes his eyes, still clutching my hands against his chest, and forces air into his lungs.
“That was good. Keep breathing deeply like that.”
His breath hitches as his long fingers tighten around my wrists. I turn my hands in his grip, laying my palms flat on his chest. His heartbeat slams hard and fast beneath my fingers, and my heart aches in response.
“Take a deep breath, Nate.”
I pull in a long inhale, hoping he’ll follow my example. When he does, I nod in encouragement, even though his eyes are still closed. I hold my breath for a few seconds, waiting for him to catch up to me, then release it slowly, and he follows.
“Keep going.”
After I’ve coached him through about a dozen deep breaths, the tension in his shoulders releases slowly, and his grip on my wrists loosens, but I don’t move. I leave my hands on his chest and stay close to him, close enough to feel every uneven breath, every tremor he can’t quite hide.
He keeps his eyes closed, and I take the opportunity to study him without him watching me. He looks haggard. His hair is untidy, his usually clean-shaven jaw is covered in stubble, and his cheeks look sallow. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t slept since the accident.
His eyes open slowly and land on my face. He drops my wrists as though he just realized he was holding them. He takes a step back and runs a shaky hand through his hair.
He clears his throat. “I didn’t mean to…”
I frown and shake my head. “To what?”
He scratches his neck, turning away from me and averting his gaze. “Lose control.” His jaw tightens. “I don’t—” He cuts himself off.
He doesn’t lose control like that.
He never has.
My heart squeezes uncomfortably in my chest, but I shrug it off. I roll my eyes, grab his arm, and pull him to the nearest armchair by the window. “Don’t get embarrassed now. Sit down. You’re shaking like a leaf.”
He clenches his jaw but obeys. He runs his hands down the front of his pants, looking around the room to avoid looking up at me.
I dart back to where we were standing, retrieve the black leather purse I dropped, and dig through it as I walk back to him.
When I come to a stop in front of him, I hold out the juice box and package of peanut butter crackers I brought for myself in case my blood sugar tanked. I think he needs it more than I do.
He frowns at me, and I sigh. “You look like you haven’t eaten a whole meal all week.”
He swallows and drops his gaze.
“Take the snack, Nate.”
Reluctantly, he takes the juice and crackers from my hand. He sets the package of crackers on his lap as he opens the straw and pokes it through the top of the juice box. “You would have a juice box in your purse. You’re such a preschool teacher.”
I huff a soft laugh as I lower myself into the armchair beside him. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”
He takes a sip of the juice, still avoiding looking in my direction, and I get the feeling that he could use some distraction.
“I might not be a preschool teacher much longer, though.”
He frowns, finally turning toward me as he tries to open the package of crackers with fumbling, shaky fingers. “Why?”
I take the package from him, open it, and hand it back. “I’m looking for a new job.”
His frown deepens, casting his tortured eyes in shadow. “I thought you loved your job. Did something change?”
I pull in a deep breath and shrug. “I do love the preschool. But I need a little more than they can give me.”
His eyes search my face, then drop to the package in his hands. He lifts a cracker to his mouth, bites off half, and chews slowly as his gaze drifts around the room.
As his attention wanders, I search for something else to say to keep him from going back to whatever had him so worked up. But I can’t think of anything.
I shift in my chair and take a steadying breath, hoping this is the right decision and it won’t send him back into a panic. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head, not even looking in my direction.
“Are you okay?”
His gaze drops to the floor in front of him as he slowly chews and swallows his second cracker. His hazel eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I can see all the sorrow he’s been drowning in the last few days. “Do you want the polite answer or the real one?”
I’ve never seen Nate Walker look so vulnerable in my entire life.
In this moment, he’s not the annoying teenager who made my life miserable or the frustrating man who calls me ridiculous names.
He’s a man who is heartbroken and crushed.
Right now, I don’t see the boy who drove me crazy.
I see the man he’s grown into—steady, dependable, and always in control—a man who rescues people for a living but couldn’t save his family.
I swallow my nerves. “The real one.”
His eyes turn glassy and dart between mine. “I’m not okay, Luce. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be okay again.”
I can feel my heart tearing apart in my chest. Nate has always been the kind of guy who hides any serious emotion, good or bad.
For him to admit that he’s not okay with tear-filled eyes is nothing short of a cry for help.
I set my hand on his forearm and blink against the tears welling in my eyes.
“It’s okay that you’re not okay. It won’t feel like this forever. ”
He shakes his head and sniffles. “I don’t know how to move past this.”
I slide my hand into his, knocking the package of crackers into his lap. I weave my fingers through his and squeeze gently. “With God and good friends.”
His gaze rises slowly from our entwined hands to my face. He nods, and his throat bobs with a thick swallow.
As we sit in silence, each taking the time to find composure, Nate clings to my hand like a lifeline.
He doesn’t look at our interlaced fingers or acknowledge that he’s still holding my hand.
But I feel like he needs the connection more than he’d ever admit.
So, I don’t acknowledge it either. As the sunlight creeps further into the room and the soft sounds of people shuffling down the hall reach us, I fall into prayer again.
This time, I ask God to surround Nate with the support he needs.
My fingers tighten gently around his as I pray that God will help me be a good friend to Nate.
Several minutes later, as more voices drift down the hall, Nate’s gaze meets mine. He pulls his hand from mine abruptly, like the contact was starting to burn, and he stands, drawing one last steadying breath before the service begins.
For the first time in my life, letting go of his hand feels like the wrong thing to do… like I’m leaving him to face this alone.