8 Everleigh Milestone—Buffalo Traffic Jam #2
“Let’s return to our top story this morning. The Metropolitan Police are appealing for any information after the disappearance of Rachel Heavensly, a legal secretary, wife, and mother of two young boys who disappeared in January . . .”
Tinny syllables morph into lethal bullets curving through the air to find their target. I almost stagger, a crushing weight bubbling above me and crashing down with the force of a category five hurricane.
While I haven’t been officially reported missing, the threat feels real. Christopher wouldn’t dare draw attention to himself with a police investigation. Perhaps he’s clinging to the hope I’ll scuttle back eventually.
“An exhaustive investigation has so far yielded no results . . .”
Spluttering, my legs turn to weak jelly. The ground is wavering beneath me at the thought of what that poor woman could be enduring right now. Heat scalds the back of my eyeballs as an iron cinch closes around my chest.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Not even the cashier’s beckoning can pierce my stupor. Nor Sterling’s voice or a hand on my bicep. The store is bending and wobbling, my surroundings transforming into a stiflingly hot office full of secrets.
“Eden? Hey, breathe. Say something.”
Sharp ringing fills my ears, sending prickles across my scalp. All I want to do is curl into a ball tight enough to disappear.
“Is it another panic attack?” Sterling rushes out.
With the last of my senses, I frantically nod.
“Sir, you’re holding up the queue.”
“Can’t you see she’s in distress?” His growl vibrates through me.
“Do you need medical assistance?”
“How about some fucking manners?”
“Now there’s no need to take that tone . . .”
The urge to run is overwhelming, filling every mental crevice until my entire frame is trembling. Voices melt into the periphery, the ringing punching my eardrums in a mental fire alarm.
“Alright, alright! Just take the cash!”
Vaguely aware of Sterling pulling notes from his wallet to toss at the cashier, I startle when his arm curls around my shoulders. I’m tugged away, my clothes stuffed inside a bag and tucked into his paw.
“It’s okay, Eden,” he says under his breath. “I’m getting you out of here.”
As I’m steered from the store, each step takes me back to the secrets I fled before they consumed me. Cold air bites my cheeks, but I can’t focus on the high street. Not with the painful reminder of my own cowardice staring me in the face.
“Just a bit farther,” Sterling encourages.
He keeps his arm locked around me so I don’t trip and fall. The contact makes the bruise on my arm come alive, branding me far beneath the surface of what’s visible.
“Try to focus on breathing for me. I’ll find us somewhere quiet.”
“C-Can’t . . .” I pant.
“Yes. You can. Like we practiced, remember? Only this time breathe in for four seconds, then out for four seconds. Count in your head with me.”
He begins to count. Strong. Assured. One, two, three, four. Each number spoken like he holds the secrets of the universe and deems me worthy of saving from inevitable damnation.
“Good girl,” he praises. “Again.”
I want his help, oh, how I fucking want it . . . but trust is a luxury. One that my new life does not afford me. I trusted once before and barely survived it being shattered by the truth.
My husband is a monster.
Who is to say he isn’t one too?
“Eden,” Sterling murmurs. “Again. One, two, three, four . . .”
Hard brick presses into my spine. Through my blurring vision, I can make out Sterling tugging me to a crouch, following me down onto his haunches. He mimics sucking in a big breath, then huffing it out.
“One, two, three, four . . . That’s it. Keep going.”
The sound of my heaving fills the quiet alleyway.
“Can I touch you? Take your hand? You’re shaking so hard.”
Anxiety scratches at my skeleton, droplets of acid rain weakening my ability to hide my terror.
“Let me in, Eden,” he pleads with wide eyes. “No one should hurt alone. You helped scoop me off that floor when I needed it. Now you can trust me to do the same for you.”
Without judgement, Sterling outstretches a hand. One single lifeline.
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
Extending my hand cracks my breastbone open and allows a laser beam to penetrate the darkest parts of me. Layers I’ve kept shrouded in shadows for my own protection.
“That’s it,” he soothes. “I promise you’re safe with me.”
His palm is rough, the skin toughened into rugged leather by years of manual labour. It scratches my skin, managing to achieve gentle reassurance despite every indication pointing to his well-honed intimidation.
Fingers interlock. A stark contrast between hard and smooth. Steady and trembling. Sterling cradles my hand like a delicate bird’s egg and keeps his attention on me.
One. Two. Three. Four.
My grip tightens.
“Keep going,” he encourages.
I’m clinging to his hand and begging the life raft will keep me from drowning. Those worry-filled eyes are the kindest thing I’ve ever seen, and a tiny, selfish part of me wants to keep staring into them.
I want to feel safe.
Here. With him.
Sterling’s fingertips stroke my veins, each flick bringing grounding. “You’re doing well, love. I knew I sensed a fighter in you.”
One. Two. Three. Four.
His touch . . . it’s so reverent. So calming.
With rational sense stripped away, I find myself on my knees, curling closer to him.
Seeking the unshakeable warmth I know I’ll find.
My fear of touch can’t compete with the innate, almost primal desire to find the nearest source of heat and let myself be warmed.
Sterling startles but doesn’t pull away when I tentatively inch into his arms. He lets his feet skid so he’s seated on the ground, taking my weight with ease. Before long, I find myself in his lap, a vulnerable limpet clinging on for dear life.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “You’re okay.”
Whether he means me or himself, I don’t know.
“Keep counting, Eden. Breathe with me.”
The stable weight of two muscular slabs holds me close. His hug feels alien at first, a whole new world of sensation, but my nervous system relaxes into it before my brain catches up.
My fingers knot in his scratchy flannel, scented with freshly dropped pine needles and the bite of mountain air. It’s a balm to my nerves. A cracked window in my soul that allows air to chase the shadows back into their bleak prison.
Pressing my cheek against his clavicle, I focus on his roaring heart. It’s fast. Unsteady. Is he scared? Perhaps this is as unfamiliar for him as it is for me. The comfort another human can provide when they’re not set on inflicting pain.
When his other hand timidly moves to cup the base of my skull, my eyes slide shut. I can block out the radio, the world, the dark tendrils dragging me back into the past. All the reasons why I shouldn’t allow myself to curl up against this man’s chest and let him make it all go away.
But I do.
I let myself collapse into him.
His lips press into the top of my head, planting a velvet-soft forehead kiss for each breath I manage to catch. That’s when another ice wall deep inside me spectacularly collapses. My thudding heart and each vulnerable ventricle sit exposed . . . ripe for the breaking. Perhaps he will.
And maybe, just maybe . . . I’d let him.
It’d be a small price to pay for this feeling.