Page 8 of When You're Gone
“Is the pain worse, better, or the same now?” he asked.
"It’s better,” she admitted. “It’s not good, but it’s not blackout level like it was. It feels achy now, like pushing into a bruise. I didn’t mean to overreact like that, I just…”
“You’re okay,” he encouraged, taking her face in his hands to look into her eyes.
She knew he meant well. Knew he was trying to help her calm down. But every time Fielding insisted she was okay, her body revolted with another tremor of adrenaline. She felt his concern in the depths of her being, but she was too deep into shutdown mode to take any comfort from it. When she finally gave in, she burst into tears.
“Tori,” he groaned. “I can’t hug you and risk hurting you right now. What can I do for you? What do you need?”
She gasped in a quick breath, fearful that trying to inhale too deeply would lead to another spike of pain. When that breath didn’t burn, she instinctively inhaled again, then again.
“Hey. No, no, no, don’t do that. You have to breathe normally.”
She searched his face in a daze of confusion.
“Look at me,” he demanded. “Breathe with me.” He raised up on his knees so they were eye-level. He held her gaze and inhaled, holding the breath in for a solid three seconds before releasing it. She tried to mirror him, but couldn’t hold it long enough.
“Again,” he demanded when she exhaled too soon.
Another slow, steady breath, and this time she was able to match his pace. They repeated the breaths several times before Fielding was satisfied.
“Does anything hurt right now?” he asked calmly.
She closed her eyes and inhaled again, doing a full body scan to try to center herself. “No,” she determined as she opened her eyes. That was the truth. The ache in her chest persisted, but it had dissipated enough that she was confident there was no real damage.
“Good. Do you want some pain meds? Can I get you some water?”
She shook her head in earnest. She wasn’t ashamed by her reaction—it had hurt like hell and scared the shit out of her—but she didn’t want to dwell on it now that it was over.
“I just want to call Rhett and go home.”
Fielding groaned and sat back down on the floor of his bedroom, running a hand through his mess of blond curls. “Wheeler’s going to be so pissed. And I think we’ve both had too much to drive.”
“I know,” she replied, acknowledging the truth behind both statements. “Jake will take me home when he gets off work. Can you text him and see how much longer he’s going to be?”
She had her phone in her hand already, her thumb hovering over her husband’s name.
“Hey, beautiful,” Rhett answered.
She had stopped crying by that point, but the sound of his voice inspired a fresh wave of tears. She hadn’t so much as sniffled into the phone, and yet somehow, he knew.
“Tori, what’s wrong?” he demanded.
“I’m okay. I just—I had a scare and wanted to call you.”
“What happened?” he growled. She could hear him rustling around through the line—was he already in bed? She hadn’t even thought to check the time before calling.
“I’m at the Valet House. We were just hanging out, then Anwar wanted to dance, and I lost my balance. He tried to catch me but he crushed my chest and…”
“What do you mean he crushed your chest? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His questions came as heated demands, anger and concern blending together in frustration.
“I’m okay now. Really. It hurt like hell, but it scared me more than anything.”
“V…”
“I’m okay,” she insisted again as she sniffled and swiped away a fresh batch of tears. Worrying him was the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn’t seem to reel it in. She felt Fielding shift closer to her on the floor, his shoulder and arm resting up against her leg. She knew he was trying his best to comfort her, too.
A dueling desire to downplay the whole incident raged against the bone-deep vulnerability that kept inspiring full-body trembles. She hated this. She hated feeling weak. Hated relying on Rhett, on Fielding, on anyone but herself.
