Page 37 of The Best You've Ever Had

Together we sit in the front seats, breathing in unison. Her hands cradle my face, thumbs swiping gently over my cheekbones in reassurance, grounding me like an anchor in choppy waters. Part of me is mortified she’s witnessing this, while the other half is grateful she’s here to talk me down from my mental ledge. This isn’t the first time I’ve had a panic attack. It’s the same reason I didn’t leave my house for days after finding out Mick’s diagnosis. Shame kept me bound to the safety of my home, where I could hide from reality and pretend I wasn’t falling apart at the seams.

Her eyes scan my face as my breathing begins to return back to normal. “How long has this been going on for?”

“On and off for years.” There’s no sense in lying about it. I was diagnosed with a panic disorder when I was a teen. “Can we forget this ever happened?”

“I won’t mention it. But so you know, there’s no need to be embarrassed. Everyone has their own struggle.”

“You seem like you have it all together.”

She laughs once, short. “Thanks, but I definitely do not. I’m all kinds of fucked up. But it’s okay, I’ve accepted it. And you should accept yourself, as is, too. It’s a part of you, but it doesn’t define you.”

Everything she says soothes a deep wound of embarrassment I’ve carried regarding my panic attacks ever since they first started. It’s a side of myself no one has ever seen or known about. Leave it to her to take something that has loomed over me and neatly categorize it into something more bearable.

Stepping out of my car, I walk around to her side and she extends my keys out to me.

“I better get going. I’ll have my mom pick me up,” she tells me, her breath coming out in a visible puff in the cold night air.

I grab the keys out of her hand and pull her snug against my chest, holding her as if it’s the last time, even though I know I want to do this a thousand times more. Her body tenses before relaxing, caught off guard by my embrace. After everything tonight—the party, the kiss, the hospital—a hug doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

I can’t even fathom the thought of her leaving, the thought of sleeping without her next to me. I need comfort. And I need her.

I bury my nose into her hair, breathing her in and feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine. “Stay with me, Lay.”

She’s silent, but the pounding of her heart against me is all the indication I need to know that she heard me. I let her consider it as she calculates the outcomes and risks associated.

Tucking her arms between her chest and my abdomen to warm herself, she looks up at me and finally answers. “Okay. I will.”

Wrapping my arm around her small shoulders, I lead her into the house. I flick on the light by the front door, and we’re immediately greeted by Hank, who stretches out his long limbs with a wide yawn.

Layla sits down beside him, causing him to purr like a thunderous day. I stand there, watching her take off each strappy heel as she groans with relief. “Obviously I made a horrible shoe choice tonight,” she whispers to Hank, scratching him behind the ears as he stares up at her with stars in his eyes.

I sit down beside her, dead tired, but wanting to do anything to make her feel better.

“Hand me your foot,” I tell her.

She stares at me with round blue eyes, and deadpans, “Why? You have some kind of foot fetish?”

“Nope. But I do give pretty awesome foot massages.”

“That seems awfully like something a person with a foot fetish would say.”

“Lay. Foot.” I wave my hand up, indicating to give me her damn foot already.

She tentatively puts her small foot in my hands, watching me like I’ve got a third head.

Unable to resist the urge of teasing her, I make a show out of inspecting it. “Wow, your feet are gorgeous. You sure you don’t want your toes sucked?”

“Oh my fucking god, Iknewyou were a weirdo.”

She begins to pull herself away, but I hold her foot in place, and dig my thumb into her arch. “I’m teasing. There will beabsolutely no toe sucking from me.” Giving me a solid dose of side-eye, she releases a heavy exhale in relief. The more I massage her sore muscles, the more she relaxes and her eyes grow heavy with the need to sleep. Any trace of hesitation melts off of her like hot wax dripping from a candle.

Lifting her other foot into my hands without having to ask her, she lies down flat on her back, and pulls a waffle knit throw blanket over her torso. “I think I’m going to sleep here, but feel free to keep massaging as long as your little foot fetish heart desires.”

I smile at her jab. “C’mon, you can sleep in my bed.”

“Do younotremember what happened last time we slept in the same bed?”

“You make it sound like you didn’t have a great time, when Iknowyou definitely did. In fact, Itastedwhat a fantastic time you had.”

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