Page 7 of The Healing Touch

Dimitri showing up on her doorstep, demanding she go because he trusted her, made her anxiety hit the boiling point. She did want to help him. She wanted to be able to go to his signing with him, smile, help where he needed her to. Because they were friends, and friends did shit for each other.

But she couldn’t do it. Her anxiety wouldn’t let her. And she hated it. Hated herself for not being able to do something this simple without the panic gnawing at her.

She fell, unable to find the inhaler from her half-crouched position on the floor. This was so bad. If he came in here and found her like this, it would lead to questions—questions she didn’t want to answer.

To her horror, the door opened, and Dimitri walked in. She couldn’t see him, but she heard him walking toward the bed. “Becca?”

When he found her lying on the floor, barely breathing, she saw the panic on his face. He rushed to her and dropped down. “What’s wrong?”

“Inhaler,” she managed to wheeze out and pointed to the nightstand.

He found it then helped her sit so she could pull the lifesaving medicine into her lungs. Almost instant relief. Her lungs opened, and she started to drag air in. Dimitri hauled her up so they were both sitting on the bed, his hand stroking her back in soothing circles as she worked to breathe.

“What’s wrong,Krasivaya?”

“Panic attack.”

Dimitri wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. A panic attack? What the hell caused her to have a panic attack? He had no clue they were like this. His papa suffered from them, but he’d never witnessed one. It was jarring, to say the least.

“What can I do?” He felt helpless. It was yet another thing he wasn’t used to but was being forced to accept, thanks to his legs.

She shook her head. Not knowing what else to do, Dimitri sat with her and rubbed her back for over an hour. It took her that long to finally calm down. Her head landed on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Want to tell me what brought that on?”

“You.”

“Me?” What the hell had he done to cause her to have a panic attack?

She tilted her head and looked up at him, incredulous. “You’re not serious?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I knew.”

“You really are dumb sometimes.”

For once, he was going to agree with her because he had no clue what he’d done.

“Dimitri, I told you I couldn’t go with you. This is why I can’t go. I get panic attacks even thinking about all the crowds, the people. This is what happens to me.”

Well, damn. He really was a dumbass. Not once did the thought of him asking her to go cross his mind as the reason for her panic attack. No wonder she’d quit. This was serious shit.

“It’s not that I don’t want to go. I do. Really, I do. If I could help you, you know I would, D. That’s why this attack was so severe. I felt so guilty about not being able to help you, and that made everything worse.”

Now he felt like a shithead. He’d been arguing and trying to make her feel guilty, but he’d had no idea this would happen. He wasn’t going to make her do anything. Neither of them would go.

“I’m sorry,Krasivaya. I didn’t know. We won’t go.”

“Just because I can’t go doesn’t mean you’re not.” The fire was starting to come back into her, and he was relieved. He hated seeing her in any kind of pain. It ate at him.

“Yeah, Becca, it means exactly that. I can’t go and risk someone finding out about my legs any more than you can go and have another panic attack. Will you tell me when these started? You’ve never said anything before.”

She sighed and fell backward, unaware that her nightshirt had ridden up and all that gorgeous pink lace was on full display. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from it. The urge to slide a finger along the top nearly choked him.

“It’s stupid, really.”

“It’s not stupid if it affects you like this.”

He hoped she’d sit up because he’d soon have to sit on his hands to keep from touching that damn lace. God, when had she developed a body Aphrodite would weep to have? He wanted nothing more than to explore every inch of it, but dammit, this was Becca. He would be a good lad if it killed him. Her next words brought his attention back to the subject at hand and not the exposed silky flesh currently on full display.

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