Page 46 of Hunt for You

“Bridget, breathe…Bridget, fucking breathe!”

The world spun as he flipped me over and I found myself laying on my back, staring up the sky, the sunlight anglingthrough the hole in the treetops above. Then all of it was shadowed by ahugeguy, leaning over me.

For a split second my eyes widened—was I going to see his face? But I should have known. When his face came into view it was shrouded by some black mesh facemask—some kind of protective gear for sports, I thought. It circled his entire face and was strapped on underneath his hood. I couldn’t see anything but the shadow of his features under it, which was disappointing. But not the most important point of fact in that moment.

I needed to fucking inhale.

My chest began to pump in and out, but my lungs wouldn’t inflate. And my heart was racing so fast I wondered if it was finally going to give out.

“Bridget, look at me. Is it your heart?”

I shook my head and thumped my chest awkwardly with a shaking hand, but I wasn’t sure if he knew what I meant.

“Shit.Shit.”

He’d kept his voice in that low rasp—half whisper, half growl. But I thought I heard a hint of his real tone when he swore the second time.

All sense of danger and predation dropped from his posture and suddenly, he was nothing but business. With another muttered curse he leaned down and shoved an arm under my shoulders, pulling me up to sit with low, firm instructions.

“Your diaphragm is in shock.”

Not the kind of diaphragm I had hoped you’d shock for me,I thought and wished I could say. Wished I could see if he smiled under that mask.

“You need to sit up—brace your hands on the ground… Good. Now, lean forward.”

I did as he said, but my lungs still wouldn’t inflate. I clawed one hand into my hair, the other into the dirt under me.

“It’s just a muscle spasm. Don’t panic.”

I wasn’t. I was still eerily calm. But my vision was beginning to tunnel.

“See if you can cough—hard. Push airoutso your diaphragm will reset.”

I tried, but it seemed I didn’t have any air left. That second impact on the ground after he tackled me had taken care of the last of it.

Then my heart pinched,and for the first time, a trickle of fear entered my bloodstream, because my heart would do all kinds of crazy loops, skips, and dips, but it didn’t usuallyhurt.

One of those calloused hands flattened on my back and began to rub, first in firm-but-slow circles, then from the base of my spine, up, then back down.

“You need to relax, Bridget,” he graveled. If I could have breathed, I would have giggled because it occurred to me that he sounded like Batman. “Let your shoulders drop. Relax your hands—don’t grip. Tell your body that you’re ok—”

Suddenly, without warning, as my chest fought to expand, my lungs caught and I sucked in a huge wheezing breath.

“Oh, thank God. No, don’t sit up—stay leaning forward. Just breathe. Concentrate on keeping it slow and deep, in through your nose for a count of four, out through your mouth. The last thing you need is to hyperventilate now…”

He continued issuing instructions in that deep husk of a voice, but I stopped listening.

The moment I caught my breath my vision cleared. My hands were still shaking, but I thought that was from the adrenaline more than anything else.

I kept my head down just like he said, but as soon as I was breathing normally, I started to plan. Five more breaths, then I was going to run.

But then he started checking my vitals—fingers pressed at my carotid artery as he watched the timer on his phone and counted the beats of my heart.

He got close and peered into my eyes, touched my forehead. He lifted my hand and checked the color of my nails.

“I think you’re okay… I think you’re okay.” He soundedrelieved.

“I know you’re s-supposed to k-kill me, but I didn’t think it would b-be this quick,” I quipped breathlessly.

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