Page 97 of Win Big

Her eyes open and her eyebrows snap together. “What? No.” Then her eyes widen. “You think I’m drunk?”

Telling her I thought she had an alcohol problem might not be a good idea right now. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any signs of that since then. “No, no.”

She gives me an incredulous glare, then closes her eyes again. “Shit.” She takes a few deep, even breaths. “Okay, fine. I’m having a panic attack.”

I frown. “Huh?”

“I know I don’t look like I’m panicking or freaking out. But this is how it is. I get a buzzing in my ears. It gets worse and then I get dizzy and nauseous. My heart is racing.” She lays a hand on her chest. “It almost feels like I’m choking, my heart is beating so fast.”

“Oh man.” I stare at her with concern. I have zero experience with something like this. “Does this happen often?”

“Not as much anymore. I’m on a medication. It helps. Usually.”

“What happened? I mean, what caused this?”

“Nothing.” Her lips twitch as she almost smiles. “It’s never one specific thing that triggers it. It just happens at random times.”

“Is this what happened at the banquet?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to tell you what was happening. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” I object. “I don’t know much about panic attacks, but I don’t think you can control them.”

“That’s true.” She sighs. “The first time I had one, Mom took me to the emergency room. I was so embarrassed. I thought I was dying, and they told me it was a panic attack. I was all, ‘I don’t have panic attacks.’” She snorts. “But that’s what it was. I figured I should be able to just get over it. But... I can’t.”

I pick up her hand and hold it. “I know.” I pause. “What can I do for you? Anything?”

“I... uh... would really like a Slurpee. It’s nice and cold.” She bites her lip adorably.

“I’ll go get you one.” I jump up and pull my keys out. “Where’s the nearest 7-Eleven?”

“Santa Monica and Sixteenth, I think.”

“What kind do you like?”

“Lemonade, if they have it. Or orange.”

I could probably walk there just as fast, but I make a speedy trip there and back, returning with a jumbo Slurpee.

“That’s so nice of you.” She sips through the straw. “Mmm. So good.”

I make a quick call to cancel our dinner reservation, then ask her, “Anything else I can do?”

“No. I just need to rest until I feel better. I know how it goes. In a while, it’ll settle down, but I’ll have a killer headache and need to sleep.”

“Oh man. Okay, I can do that. Do you feel like eating?”

“Not really. You go ahead, though.”

“I’ll order pizza. I can heat some up for you later, if you feel up to it.”

“Okay.”

Christ, I hate seeing her like this. She’s clearly miserable, and miserable because she’s miserable, frustrated that she can’t control this. I wish I could do more to make her feel better. At least I can be here with her and make sure she’s okay.

“How about a back rub?” I offer.

Her eyes open. “Really?”

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