Page 8 of Unsteady

He can, he’s breathing right now, but I’m no stranger to a panic attack. My mind settles, the focus of someone else always a welcome torrent against the endless screaming in my own head.

“Hey,” I call, a little harsher, even while I plaster on a pretty smile; trying my best to look sweet and calm, hoping it will bring him down from whatever dangerous precipice of panic he’s hanging from. “Look at me.”

He does, brow furrowing lightly, brown eyes glistening beneath.

“You can breathe.”

Something wrestles in his eyes, before he shutters and grips his half-on practice sweater in a death grip like he’s going to pull it off. My hand closes over his, releasing his grasp and stopping him from nearly choking himself on the collar in his desperation.

“I’m s-s-sorry.”

I need to get him off the ice, but I know I won’t be able to lift him alone, and it’ll be at least an hour before anyone else shows up.

“C’mon, hotshot,” I try, hedging for something between gentle exasperation and flirtation in spite of my own racing heart to, hopefully, relax him.

“You’re okay,” I say, kind of like telling a baby they’re fine when they fall to calm them. “We’re gonna have to get you off the ice. Can you stand?”

“Y-yeah,” he offers, his breaths labored and too fast at the same time. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, just help me, okay?” I reach around the middle of him, grabbing onto the padding of his hockey pants on his lower back and using it to hold him steady as he slowly finds his footing again.

“I don’t know if I can skate,” he mutters between shuttering breaths, his eyes squeezing closed tightly. “I—”

“You’re fine. I’ll use it as an excuse to get my hands on you,” I say, my nerves fried and mouth stumbling with anything to distract him. “Just stay upright on your skates. I’ve got you.”

He looks at me again, brown eyes still dilated as he locks onto my gaze. A little nod lets me know he’s as stable as he’s going to get, and I dig my skate into the ice to press off, slowly with his added weight.

God, he’s heavy, tall—albeit lankier than most hockey players his height.

Still, it takes almost a full minute to make it to the gate with my careful skating and carrying double my weight. He doesn’t peel his eyes off my profile the entire time, I can feel them almost searing the side of my face. I slowly manage to set him on the bottom step of the short bleachers nearby.

His hands reach down for his laces, finger shaking so hard they keep missing the loops until he’s sawing out a curse beneath his breath with a bitter expression of hopelessness. But I’ve been a caretaker my entire life, and no amount of annoyance can keep me from kneeling before him and taking his hands in mine.

“Focus on slowing your breathing,” I offer, before he can open his mouth for another pitiful apology. My fingers are numb, but make quick work of his laces and pull on the tongues so he can slip out of them easily.

I draw the line at pulling the no doubt foul-smelling hockey boots from this stranger’s feet.

“You got it from here?” I ask, rocking back on my skates and looking up to see his eyes still locked heavily on my face.

“You’re Liam’s mom.”

I snort.Closest thing to it.

“Sister, but yeah. We met. Sadie.” I smile brightly at him, praying that he doesn’t really remember meeting me.

“Rhys.” He puffs a few breaths, almost like he might laugh if he could catch his breath. “You wanted to knock me on my ass,” he says with a smile and I see the peek of a dimple on his other cheek.Knew it.

“Yeah, well… you did that all on your own today.”

Another one of those light, huffing laughs leaves his open mouth, hands and arms still trembling. It’s silent again, only the buzzing hum of the lights and systems as the background to my second perusal of him. I want to speak, to fill the space with comforting words, but I find myself empty of them.

“You’re the figure skater that looks like fire.”

My brow furrows. “What?”

He huffs and smiles lazily, looking more like a sleepy drunk. “Nevermind.”

Why is he here? What happened to him on the ice?The questions are piling up, pushing against my lips to fly out. But one look back at his lax, vulnerable body position and I clam right back up.

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