Page 39 of Unravel Me

“Wrap those thighs and arms around me. No excuses.”

My thighs are spread wide to accommodate his muscular frame, but I do my best to tighten them around him before running my palms around his sides and hugging him snugly. Sawyer pulls out of his driveway and the ride is just as good as last night. I relax against his back and watch the world fly past us in a blur.

We pull up to Bean Haven and park a few stalls down on Main Street as the panic starts to rise in my chest. Sawyer pats my leg, signaling it’s time for me to climb off this beast. I do my best and stumble a bit, because of course I can’t do anything gracefully. He hops off in a much more dignified manner. He reaches his hands up to remove my helmet, but I shake my head out of his reach.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to go in, Sawyer. Please. I changed my mind.”

“Ivy. Trust me?”

Do I? My immediate reaction is yes. But I know I shouldn’t. I can’t.

Why did I come here?

Why did I let him take me here?

I can’t believe I’m standing on Main Street with Sawyer.

Holy shit. Ms. Nettie is yards away.

I look side to side and see people moving about, opening their shops, kids walking to school with their parents.

I can feel my pulse thrumming throughout my body at a rapid pace as the world closes in on me. My hands start to sweat as I twist and knead them in front of me.

My mind starts to spiral, and I take a step back from him and then another. A car flies by behind me as Sawyer reaches out, his hands grabbing both of my arms and yanking me into his firm chest. The top of the helmet bounces off his chin and he grunts. I gasp for air, the weight of the panic attack suffocating my lungs.

“Fuck, Ivy. Are you okay?”

Sawyer puts enough space between us to reach for the helmet again, and this time I let him remove it. His eyes dart all over my face in search of injuries that aren’t there, reading the panic that’s raging inside me. I see concern and fear written all over him. His hands reach down to brush the hair out of my face before he pulls me back into his chest.

Air. I need air. I close my eyes to focus on the breathing technique my therapist taught me. Five counts in, hold for five, out for five.

“That’s it, baby. Breathe for me. You’re okay.”

His voice is so calming. I instinctively relax into his chest and rest my head where his heart sits. He threads a hand through my hair, holding me close while the other hand continues to rub up and down my back in firm strokes.

Five in.

Hold for five.

Five out.

He continues to shower me with praise as the world disappears and all that’s left is the sound of Sawyer’s strong heartbeat, his deep, comforting voice, and the smell of cedar and maple.

“Keep breathing.”

“You’re doing so well.”

“You’re safe, I promise.”

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

I take one last deep breath before I’ve composed myself enough to look up at him.

“Thank you.”

“You did all of that yourself. I’m proud of you. When did you start having panic attacks?”

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