25. Deacon
Chapter twenty-five
Deacon
It was four in the morning when I woke up to Lyla taking deep breaths next to me. She sat against the headboard, staring at the blank TV screen, and holding her knees to her chest.
I slowly lifted my body and reached around her to turn on the lamp. The soft glow gave me a better view of what was happening, and the stoic look on her face told me something was wrong.
“Lyla,” I said, my voice just above a whisper. I rested my hand on her forearm and waited for her to speak. She blinked a few times like she was waking herself out of a daydream. I sat up beside her and rubbed her arm. “Breathe, sweetheart.”
And there I went with the off-screen pet name.
In my defense, this situation was different. This wasn’t a phone call at Kroger or a witty conversation Lyla loved to have when I was on my way to her house. I knew what this was. I had a hunch the first night we went to The Attic—when I felt her heartbeat against my chest and noticed the apprehensive look in her eyes.
Her breathing slowly returned to normal, and she slipped her fingers through mine, giving them a squeeze.
“Lyla—” I hesitated. My next question went against her rules, but I asked it anyway. “Lyla, how long have you had panic attacks? ”
Her eyes darted up from my bedspread, and she held my gaze. I squeezed her fingers back, assuring her she could tell me if she wanted to.
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, looking deflated. “They started when I was a freshman.”
“A freshman here, at BG?”
Lyla leaned forward and nodded. She dropped my hand and crossed her legs, resting her elbows on her knees.
“Does anyone else know about them?” I prompted gently.
“I never had to say anything to anyone.” She let out a nervous laugh and looked at the TV again. “I’ve always known how to . . . I don’t know . . . make them go away? Kind of?”
A month and a half, and this was the second one I witnessed. I had no idea how many others there had been when I wasn’t with her. It didn’t seem like she was making anything go away, but I couldn’t say that. It wasn’t my place to say that. Right now, my job was to make sure she felt safe where she was.
Lyla looked at me with tired eyes. “How did you know there were others?”
A hard pull on my heartstrings made me fall back against my headboard. “We don’t lie?”
The corner of her mouth lifted into a small smile. “We don’t lie.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to open the door I tried so hard to keep closed. I didn’t have to give her everything right now.
“I had panic attacks a few years ago,” I admitted. “They lasted for about a year. What you’re experiencing could be something different, but it just feels familiar, that’s all.”
“What made them go away? ”
“Honestly”—I smiled sympathetically—“and you’re going to hate this answer. There’s no cure-all for this kind of stuff. For the panic attacks, it was time.”
“Time,” she repeated. “Well, fuck.”
I chuckled. “I know that isn’t helpful.”
“It is, actually.” I didn’t notice she got closer until we were touching shoulders. “It’s kind of wild, isn’t it?”
Wild wasn’t the word that came to mind. “What is?”
“We might have something in common.” Her body shook against mine, and I knew she was laughing. “That’s some boyfriend-girlfriend shit.”
“If panic attacks are the boyfriend-girlfriend shit we have going for us, I don’t think that's promising,” I said, smiling at her dark humor.
“We have plenty of cute boyfriend-girlfriend shit to balance the real shit out.”
“How do you feel now?” I rested my hand on her knee. She was warm, which was unusual for her. Lyla was always cold. “Do you want me to walk you home?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s late. Like I said, this happens sometimes. It’s not you.”
“I know it’s not me, sweetheart.”
I slid out of bed and grabbed the remote off the floor. One of us must’ve kicked it off the comforter in our sleep. I turned the TV back on and hit play on the next episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia . “Lights off or on?”
“I can turn them off.” She clicked off the lamp and settled in next to me. “I have a weird request that I don’t want you to take the wrong way.”
I rolled on my side to look at her. “What’s up?”
“It helped before—when you squeezed my hand. Do you think you could do that for a few minutes? ”
I smirked just to mess with her. “If you want me to hold your hand, Brooks, all you have to do is ask.”
“Shut up.” She smacked me on the chest and extended her hand for me to take.
“It’s the pressure, by the way,” I explained, lacing my fingers with hers. “It brings your focus to something else when your mind can’t slow down. You know, it might be more comfortable if you got a little closer to me.”
She scooted closer and leaned up on her elbow. “If you want to lay with me, Scott, all you have to do is ask. You seem like the cuddling type. Is Cassie a cuddler?”
Cassie—the girl I wanted back. The girl I planned my future with. That Cassie.
Even in a baggy T-shirt, I could see the curves of Lyla’s hips and the dip in her collarbone. It was the first time I thought to skim parts of her skin hidden underneath a material that would lift so easily. Her fingers were warm against mine, and I wondered if the rest of her ran this hot.
Lord almighty, answer the fucking question, Deacon.
“I’m a good cuddler. I wanted to make sure Cassie felt sexy even with her clothes on. It’s a sensual feeling, though, being close to someone and not expecting anything. I didn’t cuddle with the girls I slept with after Cassie—”
“WAIT!” She shot up, and her eyes went wide.
I bit my bottom lip to keep another obnoxious grin at bay. I knew the questions would pour out of her, and not a single part of me was mad about it. I could talk to Lyla Brooks for as long as she’d let me, and for the next two hours, that’s exactly what I did.