Page 29 of Lost in You

“Why don’t you do your exercises and burn off some energy?”

I pick up my mug and take a sip. “I will, but first, I want to know what all of your symptoms are.”

“No thanks, Dr. Dickhead.”

She’s the definition of headstrong. This time, I’m not giving up, though. If there’s something serious going on with her, I need to know what it is.

“You do realize that in the past twenty-four hours, you’ve cooked me a meal, flirted with me, yelled at me, thanked me and called me a dickhead?”

Her lips part and for a couple of seconds, she seems too shocked to speak. “Flirted with you? You arrogant asshole.”

“Oh, come on. We both know you were teasing me during your bath last night. Talking about how good it felt in that sexy voice, asking me if I have a girlfriend.”

She balks. “That was me being polite. How could you possibly have a girlfriend when you treat women like this?”

I set the mug down again, walking over to the bed. “I’ll stop pushing your buttons if you’ll just tell me what’s wrong with you.”

She gets out of bed and stands face to face with me, having to tilt her head back to meet my eyes because of our height difference.

“What’s wrong with me is you.” Angry tears fill her eyes and I feel a stab of guilt. “You bitch when I’m in a bad mood and accuse me of flirting with you when I’m in a good mood. I can’t win.”

I try a softer approach. “I see you cringing when you don’t know I’m looking. It’s making me crazy not knowing what’s going on with you. Will you just tell me? I don’t care if it’s a...I don’t know, a menstrual thing or whatever, just tell me.”

Her laugh is unamused. “A menstrual thing.” She presses against her temple. “Look, I’m sure this will pass soon. And in the meantime, I’m fine.”

Exasperated, I finally blow. “Fucking talk to me! I’m responsible for your safety and I can’t help you if--”

“It’s serotonin withdrawal, okay? That’s why I’m sick. I’ve been on medication for anxiety for years and it was in my bag when the plane went down. Any other deeply personal things you feel entitled to know about me?”

I close my eyes and drop my chin, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve never been so sick,” she says, sounding defeated. “It’s hard to eat and I feel horrible, plus my anxiety is raging.”

I shake my head and meet her gaze. “You don’t have to tell me anything more. I was wrong to push you like that.”

She shrugs. “You know now, so at least I can stop pretending I’m fine.”

I left her to go look for help when she needed me here. She was sick and probably helpless and I just left. That’s even worse than the way I pushed her to reveal something personal.

Now that I know what’s going on, though, I no longer have a lead ball of dread in my stomach. It’s not something life-threatening.

“How can I help?” I ask.

“Stop being such an asshole?” A smile quirks on her lips.

I laugh. “I deserved that.”

She takes a deep breath. “There’s nothing you can do. I’m hoping the serotonin withdrawal will pass soon, and then I just have to do my best to cope with my anxiety until we get out of here.”

We’re standing so close I can see all the shades of her eyes—dark green with flecks of amber and brown. Her long hair is loose around her shoulders and I feel an urge to reach out and touch a section of it.

She’s Dalton’s sister, though. I have to remind myself of that several times in a row as she looks up at me, her vulnerability so sexy it’s making me hard. I want to be there for her, but I have to draw the line at things turning physical.

“You can talk to me,” I say softly. “About your anxiety. Or whatever. When I got drafted to my first team, one of my teammates had depression and anxiety. I saw what a bitch it can be.”

She looks down and then back up. “I didn’t want you to know because you’re so strong. I already feel so weak from my ankle. I don’t contribute much.”

My hand itches to reach out and cup her cheek, but I can’t. One touch won’t be enough.

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