Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 31942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 106(@300wpm)
“Where do you keep the coffee grounds?” She asks interrupting my thoughts. She’s searching the cabinets and I love the feel of her in my kitchen.
I turn to tell her with a teasing smile on my lips just as she grabs my coffee mug with the “Rangers Lead the Way” motto. But then the song on the speakers changes and she freezes in place.
7
BRODY
I watch in horror as Charlie freezes. Her breathing turns shallow, her chest suddenly heaving beneath that thin tank top. Her eyes are wild and scanning the room without really seeing anything. Her grip on the coffee cup loosens. It shatters on the floor between us.
She stares down at the mess and her whole body starts shaking.
“Don’t move,” my voice is quiet as I quickly navigate the shards of broken ceramic. I loved that cup, but I could give a fuck about it. My lamb is panicking and right now, she needs reassurance.
I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do or not. I know sometimes it’s tough to be touched during a panic attack, but I can’t risk her getting hurt. So without waiting to analyze if it’s the best move, I scoop her into my arms and thread around the mess. I carry her into the living room and sit on the couch with her still in my arms.
She buries her face in my chest and says in a tiny voice, “The song.”
A simple voice command is all it takes to silence it. I rub her back in soothing circles and murmur over her that she’s safe until her breathing returns to normal. Then the tears start, big gasping sobs that wrack her petite frame. I hold her through them, knowing it’s the only thing I can do.
It takes nearly twenty minutes but when the tears slow, I finally feel like I can breathe again too. I didn’t realize she was dealing with this. It’s an understandable reaction given what’s happening to her. I just wish I’d known. Maybe I could have done more to make her comfortable while she’s here.
“Sorry,” she murmurs softly into my soaked shirt. She’s lying boneless against my chest as I continue to draw circles on her skin through her tank. I don’t even know what she’s apologizing for—the panic attack, the mug, or crying in my arms.
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I answer softly. I want more than anything to take these from her. I want her to feel safe. Always safe but especially when she’s around me.
“That song was playing the first time I realized he was watching me. I was sitting in the crowded restaurant, and I’d never felt more exposed.” She makes a soft noise, the sound reminding me of a wounded animal. “I know you probably think it’s ridiculous. I mean, here you are this big, tough Ranger who has faced death and I panic when a song comes on the radio.”
“You remember those oversized belt buckles my mom used to wear?” She had a collection of twenty of them. She was never without one.
Charlie pulls away from my chest and looks up at me. Her eyes are red and swollen. Her wet lashes cling together. She frowns, no doubt mystified by my sudden change in topic. But she nods that she does remember them.
“I still can’t see a woman wearing them without panicking,” I admit. She shifts in my lap, and I wrap my hands around her thick hips. I’m not thinking about the same things I was in the shower. Now I just want to help her make sense of this. “You think you’re having a good day. You think you’ve finally left your past in the past. Then bam, something comes along, and it feels like every bit of progress you’ve made is just gone.”
She pushes her hair from her face, but I don’t miss the way her hand shakes. “It happens to you too?”
“Not as often as it used to. I’ve gotten better at managing it. But it’s trauma, lamb. We leave the traumatic situation, but it never leaves us. There’s a part of your brain that’s always going to be on hyperalert now.”
She blows out a breath and looks away from me, focusing on something in the distance. “It makes me feel like I’m losing my damn mind. It’s so hard to make it through the days now. I think about things I never used to. About if I’m in front of a window and what items around me could be used for a weapon and how many exits are in a room.”
“That’s normal for what you’ve been through,” I quickly reassure her. “We lived through some really fucked up things and now we’re always looking for clues that we’re in danger again. It’s the mark of a survivor.”