Page 25 of Those Two Words

twelve

JOHANNA

The first time I had a panic attack, I was seventeen.

It was three weeks after my beautiful mom passed away suddenly in her sleep. No warning. No goodbye. No time to prepare for the indescribable loss and heartbreak. One second, we were laughing at dinner together, the next we were grieving her. When I look back, I don’t think I ever got to that fifth stage of grieving. I stuck with the first, thinking that denial was the best solution, because if I didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist.

I’d been falling asleep with my mom’s robe wrapped around me every night, quietly crying myself to sleep so I didn’t worry my dad or upset Harriet. Only that evening, I’d gone into my room and couldn’t find her robe. Within seconds, my room was in disarray. And the next moment, I was lying on my bedroom floor, hands clutched to my chest as an invisible fist squeezed so tightly, I was certain I was having a heart attack. Ice filled my veins. Cold sweat coated my skin.Everything was trembling uncontrollably.

And then it was over.

Convincing myself I was coming down with something or that it was a normal reaction to losing a loved one, I shrugged it off. I continued to do this for another decade, and it was only at twenty-eight years old that I finally acknowledged it for what it really was.

As I stand with my shaking hand pressed against my chest, I know this isn’t a panic attack thanks to years of experience, but I still beg my body to calm down. I glance around the eerie parking lot, and once I spot the blue Ford Explorer under the streetlamp, my thumping heart finally slows.

“And five,” I whisper, my lungs deflating with a whoosh of air.

“Five what?” a deep voice asks from behind me.

His sudden appearance doesn’t startle me, it makes me mad. It’s about time he made himself known. He’s not as stealthy as he thinks, hiding in the dark corner of the bar. I wondered why my gaze felt drawn to that side of the room, and when my eyes landed on his broad form, face all serious and solemn under the poor lighting of the bar, I’d hoped he was here to join us.

Only he stayed tucked away for almost an hour, and I cursed my stupid heart for being so reckless with its affection.

My eyes remain fixed on the midnight blue sky as I hear the crunch of gravel under his feet. The moon is out in all its glory tonight, reminding me why I love living in a small town, away from all the light pollution that smothers the twinkling stars. The Milky Way is teasing us tonight, so I concentrate on the smudge of white and yellow, rather than the tingling sensation building at the back of my neck.

“What were you counting?”

“Nothing.” I don’t look at him, even as his shoulder brushes against mine. Keeping my eyes skyward and hoping he doesn’t notice how my breath hitches at the subtle touch.

“Are you okay?”

I drag my gaze away from the twinkling lights and turn my head toward Patrick. I hold back my laugh at his awkward posture; boots dragging across the loose stones and eyes flicking from me to his toes. He’s spent weeks avoiding me, so why is he here now? I voice that exact question.

“Why are you out here, Patrick?”

It’s only as his head shoots up that I spot genuine concern in his eyes, alongside what looks like guilt. “You ran out and, umm…left your stuff. I wanted to check you were okay.” I glance at his hands to where he’s clutching my bag and coat.

He slowly raises them toward me, but when my hand wraps around the coat, he doesn’t loosen his grip. I frown at him in question as his eyes bore into mine. “Johanna, I need to know. Are you okay?”

His concern doesn’t stop the emotions from bubbling over, spilling on the dusty stones between us. The professional and unaffected mask I’ve been wearing falls to the ground too—everything I’ve been holding in bared to the world.

“You don’t need to know anything. Don’t act like you care. No one is around for the act.” I pull at my coat again, but he doesn’t budge. “Are you really making me play tug of war for my stuff?”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not an act.”

“Oh, good to know. At least I know the hate you have toward me is genuine.”

“You know that’s not true.”

I tug. He pulls.

“Could have fooled me.”

The hold on my coat slackens, and the fractured look in Patrick’s eyes halts my movements. “Do you really think I could ever feel that way about you?”

“Then what is this? Because whatever it is, it’s tiring. I know this isn’t easy. Believe me, I know. Do you really think we can continue going on li?—”

“You left.”

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