1. Chapter One #2
Slipping into the bathroom, I chucked the manuscript into my bag and stared at myself in the mirror.
The lights were too bright, and I winced at the dark circles under my eyes.
I looked as defeated as I felt. Splashing some water on my face, I gripped the counter and tried to take a deep breath.
But my chest was too tight. And the lights were too bright.
My legs were like lead weights and my arms threatened to float away as I struggled to catch my breath. I couldn’t do this.
First, the Marcus Kent disaster in middle school had turned me into a laughingstock, and now I was having a breakdown in a publishing house bathroom. Public humiliation was my specialty.
It was embarrassing enough to botch my manuscript so badly, but having a panic attack in the middle of the publishing house’s office was a new low for me.
I knew one thing about romance novels—in a romance novel, the main character would be rescued mid-panic attack. No. Scratch that. She wouldn’t have panic attacks. Those were reserved for people like me to struggle through on their own.
No one was coming to rescue me, so I forced myself through the steps that would bring me back into my body.
“Five things I can see,” I muttered, glancing around through hazy eyes. “A mirror. Paper towel dispensers. Stalls. A tall window. Sink faucet.”
I took a breath, getting more air.
Now I needed four things I could touch. I shuddered.
A perfect step in a public bathroom. I ran my fingers over my purse, avoiding the sharp edges of the manuscript.
My coat. It was a thick fleece and as I grazed my fingertips over it, some tightness in my chest eased.
Pumping soap into my hand, I ran my fingers under the faucet, hissing as cold water hit my palm.
Another bit of tension left my body. And then I grabbed a paper towel, focusing on the roughness scraping against my skin.
Three things I could hear.
The sound of a flush in the men’s bathroom next door. My breath that was still too shallow. Footsteps down the hallway—I held my breath as they got closer, only letting it out when they passed by the door.
Two things I could smell.
This was the last place I wanted to inhale anything.
But the first few steps were only taking the edge off the panic attack.
I had to keep going. Pressing my fingers to my nose, I inhaled the soft smell of the soap.
It was pink soap, and I couldn’t name the scent, but all pink soap smelled like it.
A soft, perfumy scent that was going to linger well into the night.
And my hair.
Coconut shampoo that mercifully cut through any gross bathroom smells. I inhaled deeply and all the tension slackened in my body.
To seal the deal, I focused on one thing I could taste.
The last minty hint of my mouthwash I had swished before leaving the apartment. My heart was still racing, but I didn’t feel like I was going to pass out. I sucked in a breath, ready to cry with relief when I felt my lungs expand.
Hoisting my purse, I took one last look at myself in the mirror and walked out of the office with my head held high, smiling at everyone I passed. They didn’t need to know I was crumbling inside. That was no one’s business but my own.
I was nearly at my car when my phone rang, my brother’s name flashing across the screen.
“How’d the meeting go? Wait—don’t tell me. Lynn loved it. She always loves your writing.”
I grimaced, so thankful Lucas couldn’t see my face. “How do you know she always loves it?”
He laughed, and I smiled, hearing my nephew, Henry, cooing in the background. “Because she wouldn’t publish it if she didn’t.”
My brother had an entire shelf dedicated to Rose E. Rhymes and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him my latest work wouldn’t be on his bookshelf anytime soon.
I could hide it from Lucas for now, but my roommate Juliet would know something was wrong the second I got home.
She had an uncanny ability to read my moods, probably from being best friends for over a decade and a half.
But fortunately, she was picking up extra nursing shifts lately, preparing for her wedding.
I’d have the apartment to myself to wallow in my failure.
I could avoid talking about this for a while. Hermiting myself at home, at least until the lease ran out or I couldn’t afford it anymore.
That didn’t help me in the long run with Lucas, though.
How could I admit I knew nothing about love?
Especially to my older brother, who shielded me from our parents’ dysfunction.
I created my own problems around love despite his help, but admitting any of that out loud was even worse than telling him how the meeting actually went.
He would just blame himself or he’d struggle to understand why I’d let it bother me for so long.
He had broken the cycle our parents had established.
Instead of two fighting parents who were constantly at each other’s throats, my nephew had two successful parents who provided for him and loved him dearly.
His chunky smiles were a testament to just how well Lucas and Rebecca were killing it as parents while juggling careers as a minor league hockey player and an art dealer.
And I was over here struggling to write a fake romance because I couldn’t wrap my mind around what love really was.
“So,” my brother prodded. “How did it go?”
“It sounds like you already know,” I said, infusing my words with a smile so he would drop it.
“I knew you could do it, Molls.”
The pride in his voice settled in my stomach like a rock. Great. I was disappointing everyone. Everywhere. All the time. Even if they didn’t know it.
“To celebrate,” he began, “I have a ticket with your name on it. What do you say? You and Henry, tonight’s Instigator’s game. Front and center.”
I laughed, genuine joy tugging my face into a smile. “I’d never pass up an opportunity to spend time with my favorite nephew.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Molly.”
Because I don’t have a life of my own.
“Anything for you and Henry,” I said, getting into my car. “Make sure he wears his team hoodie. He looks adorable in it.”
And his snuggles were life changing when he fell asleep wearing it. Henry had been going to his dad’s hockey games since before he was born. The sound of the crowded arena brought him comfort, and a nap was certain.
I could use some of that comfort.
At least Preston would be there, too. He’d grown up next door to us.
My brother’s best friend who’d somehow become mine, too.
Between rounds of video games and shooting hoops in his driveway, he’d been there through all the worst parts of my childhood.
Even if we’d drifted apart lately, just seeing him on the ice always made me feel safer. More grounded.
Speeding toward the apartment that wouldn’t be mine much longer, I glimpsed the manuscript.
Lynn had left me notes marked in red all over every page.
The red ink competed with the black typeface, and I knew deep in my bones I needed to rewrite the entire thing.
But not today.
I needed to pull myself together and put on a convincing front so my brother wouldn’t question anything. He spent so much of his life trying to protect me.
But he couldn’t save me from myself.