Page 22 of Take My Hand

“I kinda blew your cover, didn’t I?”

I shake my head. “It’s a risk I run every time I leave my house. It’s something I’m used to.”

“You didn’t seem used to it.”

“No,” I say, expelling a heavy breath. “But it was a bad day.”

Carter leans back, placing her hands behind her and tilts her head, waiting for me to continue.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with what happened…what caused the band to take a break.”

I’m not sure how much Carter knew about Whisper Me Nothings before joining our tour, but everyone who came onboard was heavily briefed about the heightened security measures that were put in place at all the venues we played at, and keeping known locations to a minimum. After what Nikolai and I experienced, it was the only way I felt comfortable being back in large crowds again.

Her eyes soften, looking more green than brown today. “I do, and I’m sorry.”

I never quite know how to respond to that. Even two years later. “It’s okay” doesn’t feel right because it’s not okay and it’s never going to be okay. “Thank you” doesn’t fit either.

Deciding to just push forward, I say, “It was the two-year anniversary that day I saw you. While all I wanted to do was stay in bed, I wanted to try to push myself a little bit. Prove that I’m doing better, feel a little sense of power back.”

I run a hand through my hair, giving the strands a hard tug, giving my brain something else to focus on for a moment. Carter tracks the movement as if she sees right through me.

“Anyways, I thought I could go out and grab some food and take it back home safe and sound. But even standing in there waiting for my food, I could feel my anxiety creeping up my throat, restricting the air around me. By the time I grabbed my food, I was ready to get the hell out of there.”

“Until I called out to you.” Her voice sounds guilty.

“No. I mean, yes, it startled me a bit but once I realized it was you.” I pause, scanning her face. “It was the first time I felt something good that day.”

She brushes a lock of hair behind her ear, eyes darting to the floor. She must’ve bleached it again recently; the color so bright it toes the line between white and blonde. But her roots are still dark, same with her eyebrows. I like the contrast.

“The camera flash is what set me off. As soon as I saw that, the panic that had started to recede a bit rushed back in full force, and I just needed to get the hell out of there before I broke.”

“I understand, trust me. I mean, you know.” Her face reddens, recalling the panic attack I talked her through.

“I should’ve called you earlier, but I just…” I trail off, looking around her room as if it’ll give me the answer as to why I didn’t.

She straightens up, clasping her hands in her lap. “Let’s just forget about it. I get why you needed to get out of there, and you know I’ll never judge you for that. Just next time, know that you can tell me. Deal?”

Relief I didn’t know I was holding out floods through my chest, and I hold out my hand to her, waiting for her to shake it. “Deal.”

Her palm is warm, and I give it a little squeeze before she pulls it back.

“Now that’s out of the way, I gotta be honest with you, Hayden.”

“About what?”

“You suck at this,” she says, gesturing to all the pieces spread around us.

I bark out a laugh, enjoying her candor.

“Allow me to take the lead on this. Can you handle that?” She raises a brow, challenging me to see if she’s going to hurt my feelings by letting her be in charge. If my masculinity is so fragile that it would be threatened by her taking over this task.

I raise my hands in surrender. “Please do. Just know this is the only time I’d let you take control of something in the bedroom.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, surprising the both of us with what I just said. She stares at me with wide eyes, I’m sure reflecting the look of my own.

Silence stretches for a heartbeat, then two. The air thickens and I can’t tell if it’s from the heat, the strong woodsy scent of the candles she has burning in every room, or the tension brewing between the two of us. Maybe a lethal combination of all three, and it’s shooting straight to my head.

She doesn’t need me hitting on her right now; she needs a friend.

Does she, though?

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