Page 78 of That Girl is Trouble

I snort. “Yeah. With Kat, there’s always fucking trouble.”

22

It’s a long walk down the third-floor hallway to my room.

Not my room, I guess, but rather the one I’ll be crashing in for the weekend. It’s an important distinction, because the last time I called a room in this place mine was when I was sharing one with someone else.

His room. Our room.

Everything kind of stops for a second as I pass it, my feet suddenly glued in place.

The door is closed, but that same red glow from Jesse’s neon Budweiser sign pours out from under it, making my heart stutter.

Sometimes when I think of him, my body just… does this thing. I can’t explain it. It’s like my heart falls into my stomach and I forget how to breathe. My nerves twist, my pulse an erratic staccato banging on my eardrums. Every molecule in my body screams at me to cut and run.

Prior to tonight, I didn’t understand what that feeling was. But as I take in that door, the red glow lighting up the floor, I think it might be panic.

Thinking of him makes me panic.

Mourning him, grieving him, makes me panic.

Being in this place, the rush of all these feelings, makes me panic.

Jesse. On the floor. Skin pale. Covered in blood. His eyes are open, but he’s not looking at me.

A throat clears behind me, and I jump.

“Jesus,” I hiss, slapping my hand to my chest as I lock eyes with Axe. The thrum of my heart kicks up another few decibels, and my chest squeezes tighter. I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?

Axe has my oversized floral travel bag slung over his shoulder, my pillow shoved under his arm, the extra boots I brought hanging from his hand. A deep crease forms between his eyebrows, and he frowns. “You… good?”

“Fine,” I squeak, my voice caught in my throat. “You just… scared me.”

His gaze drifts to the door and then back to me. Slowly, he closes the distance between us, that soft look he seems to save just for me sliding over his face. He drops my bag, my boots, and my pillow at his feet and presses his hand to my chest. My heart thrashes against his palm, and he adds pressure, as if willing it to slow.

“Five deep breaths, Kat.”

“I said I’m fine,” I snap, batting his hand away.

He steps closer, arresting me with a look so deep I could get lost in it, and plants his hand back on my heart. “Five,” he says.

Despite my protests, I pull in a big gulp of air, filling my lungs until they feel like they might explode. I release, and with the huff of air I expel, some of the tension in my body unwinds.

“Four.”

I do it again, deeper this time, as my heart slows and my lungs give in to the rush of oxygen flooding into my chest.

“Three.”

Another one. The tingle in my legs stops, and the urge to flee recedes.

“Two.”

My mind empties, Axe’s voice a soothing melody to my fraying nerves. The fist I didn’t know I was clenching releases.

“One.”

I let go of my final breath, and with it, a calm settles over me. Like a weight’s been lifted off my chest.

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