Page 57 of Script Swap
He nodded.His eyes drifted halfway shut.He took more of those thin, awful breaths.
Another thing about those big emotions?Sometimes, Bobby had panic attacks.(It’s probably a surprise to nobody that I’m usually the cause.)
Although, a little voice in me noted, I’d been in danger plenty of times before and Bobby hadn’t—to use a medical term—freaked out.The panic attacks had almost always been when other things had already pushed Bobby to the brink of losing his famous self-control.
Like, oh, I don’t know—a huge, confusing, inexplicable fight with your boyfriend, after which he then literally runs out of the house and almost gets mowed down by a maniac.
“It’s okay.Slow.Deep.Take those breaths all the way into your tummy.”
For some reason, that made him smile—a watery, slanting expression that drained away almost immediately.But he did deepen his breathing.He sat up straighter.And after a couple of minutes, he gave my hands a softer squeeze, and he blinked tears away.They didn’t fall—he got rid of them, reabsorbed them, something.That pretty much sums up Bobby.
“I know you want to help Fox,” he said.He sounded exhausted.Helookedexhausted.“I know they’re your friend.I know you care about them.And I know I have no right to tell you what to do.”
For once in my life, I managed to think before I opened my mouth.I’d put Bobby through so much.And tonight, we’d reached a new pinnacle in Bobby’s climb to sainthood for putting up with me.So, I said, “If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.Yes, Fox is our friend.Yes, I want to help them.But you’re my boyfriend, Bobby.You come first.Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
Bobby’s thumbs bumped across my knuckles.Crinkles deepened at the corners of his eyes.And finally he murmured, “I think you actually believe that.”
“Excuse me?What’sthatsupposed to mean?”
“A little quieter,” he said, but he smiled as he ran his fingers through the hair above my ear.And then, the smile growing, he said, “Dash, I left you alone for five minutes, and you broke into a murder victim’s apartment.”
I made a sound that I hoped communicated the ineffablerudenessof what was happening right now.
Bobby’s smile broadened.
“I didn’tbreakin,” I said.
“Look me in the eye.”Bobby touched my chin, tilting my head.“Tell me that window was already open.”
For lack of anything better, I made that sound again.
“Uh huh,” Bobby said.
“You know, a lot of couples don’t tell each other everything.They keep secrets.It adds spice to the marriage.”
Bobby isn’t exactly the kind of guy who goes for dramatic facial expressions.But right then, his eyebrowsdiddo a thing.
“Um,” I said.
He didn’t say anything.
“Okay,” I said.“That wasn’t—”
Still nothing.
“You didn’t hear what you think you heard,” I explained.
“I thought I heard you describe our relationship as a marriage.”
I laughed.To show how funny that was.I scooted backward.I did some more laughing.I got to my feet.Of course I was laughing because this was such a funny situation.
“Oh my God, notmarriage.Carriage.”
“Couples keep secrets because it adds some spice to the carriage,” Bobby said.
“It’s slang.All the kids these days are saying it.The relationship carriage—that’s what they say.”And then, in a fit of inspiration, I added, “It’s on Instagram.”
“Uh huh,” Bobby said again.He smoothed out the pair of mesh shorts he was wearing, straightened them along his thighs.“Dash, about earlier—”
