Page 17 of Sacrifice Bunt

The panic was building again, so he focused on his breathing and spent another ten minutes meditating before he felt composed enough to head to the locker room. Inside, his coach was talking to the whole team, and he gave him a slight head nod as he entered. No one paid attention to him as he joined the circle of players to listen to their coach.

When the talk ended, Noah took a quick shower before dressing and headed for the team bus. The ride back was quiet, thanks to the loss, and Noah was glad. He never really liked conversation too soon after a panic attack. He needed time to readjust.

At the hotel, he pressed the button in the elevator for his floor but, at the last second, hit another button.

The one for Zara’s floor.

He wasn’t sure what prompted him to do it, but something inside him wanted to see her. Wanted to explain.

Which was fucking scary.

When he reached her door, he stood there for several long minutes wondering what he was doing and why. She was nothing to him, even if he wanted her to be. He didn’t owe her an explanation, nor was he comfortable giving her one.

But something was telling him he needed to do this. Both for her and himself.

So he knocked.

And when she opened the door, any panic that had been coming on at the thought of telling her dissipated.

Seeing her made him calm. It soothed something inside him.

That should be freaking him the fuck out. But it wasn’t.

“Wha—what are you doing here?” Her eyes held fear, but also concern.

“I wanted to explain earlier.”

“You don’t have to explain anything.”

“I know I don’t, but I want to.” That was the truth. “Can I come inside?”

She bit her bottom lip, uncertainty in her eyes. After a quick look behind her into her room, she nodded. “Sure.” She stepped aside, holding the door open.

He stepped into her room, taking in everything he saw. She had her computer out on her bed and was obviously working. There were clothes strewn about the room and several pairs of shoes on the floor. A room service tray with a bottle of wine that looked mostly empty sat on the table.

His first thought was that the impeccably dressed and gorgeous Zara Dewan was messy.

The second was that he hoped like hell she wasn’t drunk.

The click of the door closing had him turning to face her. “I’m sorry you had to see that earlier.”

She put a hand up. “No, I’m sorry. I should have said something as soon as you walked into the room. Made a noise or, I don’t know, thrown up a flare. I infringed on something private, and it’s none of my business.”

Her humor made him smile. “You had no clue why I came in there, so why would you have said anything? I should have looked around better. I normally do.”

Her eyebrows raised. “This happens a lot?”

“Often enough.” He looked behind him at the bed, deciding to sit on the edge. “I have panic attacks.”

He watched her eyes, hoping like hell she didn’t feel sorry for him. He could take anything but that. Her eyes were clear and full of questions, but there was no pity.

“How long has this been going on?” She stayed where she was, standing almost in front of him but still a few feet away.

“Since high school.” He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell her about his dad, so he left it at that for now.

“And you’ve found something that works?”

He nodded. “I did the therapy and still do. That’s where I found that meditation helps to keep the panic at bay.” As does apparently being near her.

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