Page 18 of Filthy Little Regrets
Mace’s gaze darkens, and the dangerous aura surrounding him blooms. “What’s happening?”
The walls close in, trapping me. I have to get out of here. I glance toward the door, but the room widens, and the distance from where I’m still pressed against the wall and the door grows to an impossible length. My legs are so rigid, I don’t think I can walk even if I tried. A strangled gasp slips from my lips.I need my medicine. I have to try.Clumsily, I take a step away from the wall, but my knees buckle.
“Fuck.” He catches me before I collapse. “Breathe,” he commands.
I fucking want to, I want to scream, but I can’t even speak. Shallow sips of air is all I can take, and even though I know I need to relax, to breathe in, I can’t. Oxygen tastes like poison in my lungs, bitter and potent, and my body forces out the very thing I need to live. Black dots dance across my vision and the room wavers.
“Tell me what you need.”
“My purse,” I rasp, clinging to him. The irony of wanting to run away from him only seconds ago isn’t lost on me.
Mace helps me take a seat at the table and crouches down, gaze meeting mine as he tugs his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll text Remy.”
I know how crazy I must look, since he’s refusing to leave me alone.That, or he’s worried his new wife will run away.
He taps out a message, then glances back at me, his lips pressed into a firm line,forehead creasing.
Through the frantic breaths that have my chest heaving, I manage to say, “Disappointed . . . your wife . . . is broken?”
The dark expression that takes over confirms as much. I want to laugh, but the pressure in my chest is too much. My eyes flutter closed, and I try to focus on counting my breaths. It’s impossible. Blood roars through my ears, my jagged inhales and heavy exhales reverberating throughout the room so loud that I don’t realize someone’s come in until I hear Remy’s voice.
“What happened?”
Opening my eyes, I meet Remy’s concerned gaze through the haze of tears in my eyes. My skin is so tight and hot, I want to rip it off.
“I’ll explain later.” Mace digs through my clutch, snatching an orange pill bottle I keep with me at all times.
Remy shakes his head. “Rose?—”
Mace whips around, scowling at him. “Distract her. I’ll explain later.”
There’s a weighty pause where I think Remy just might punch Mace, but the bodyguard’s attention drops to the medicine in Mace’s hands, and his frown lines deepen. “Fine. I’ll tell her you took Cassia home, but you need to call Rose and explain later.”
With that, Remy pivots and storms out.
Mace shakes out two pills into his palm and grabs the water bottle at his feet. Remy must’ve brought it. My mind is a mess. I don’t even know what to think as he pushes the medicine past my lips. The pills hit my tongue, bitter notes filling my mouth. Bile threatens to rise, but he gently presses the lip of the water bottle to my mouth and tips it. Cool water trickles into my mouth. Mace coaxes me into swallowing, stroking my throat with his palm, helping mybody do what feels impossible. My throat bobs against his hand.
“Good girl.” Mace’s brow is wrinkled, but I don’t know him well enough to understand if it’s worry or annoyance. Setting the water aside, he searches my face. “What do you need?”
Honestly, I need to go home, but I don’t want to seem even more pathetic than I already am. I don’t know how to explain what’s going on. I can’t even begin to explain that I need to bury myself under blankets and suffocate beneath the weight of them until the worst of the panic subsides.
Mace’s irises contract, something in the way he looks at me stripping me down to the bone, exposing every broken part of me. He nods in understanding, even though I never spoke aloud.
“I’ll drive,” he says, shoving the pill bottle back into my clutch. “There’s a service elevator we can take so you won’t have to see anyone.” Standing, he holds my bag and offers me his hand. The silent demand is clear.Come.
Legs trembling, I let him lead me to the service elevator, which takes us to a parking garage, and focus all my energy on counting my breaths while I wait for the medicine to work its magic.
Mace opens the passenger door to a black Range Rover. I climb in and settle into the seat. A chill douses me, and my teeth chatter from the emotions overloading my system. He leans into the car, buckling me in before I can do it. His fingers graze over my chest as he straightens out a twist in the belt, gaze lifting to meet mine.
A crushing wave of embarrassment crashes over me. “I’m not that incompetent.”
“Never said you were,” he replies smoothly, stepping back and shutting the door with a soft click.
I press my lips together and dig my nails into my palms, despite the pain, desperately trying to get it together. The last thing I want is for someone to witness how much of a disaster I am. The worst thing of all is that Mace is surprisingly aware of what I need and how to handle me in this state.
I don’t like to let people see me like this. Rose has, but I try to shield her from it. No one should have to play caretaker. Though, when Mace gets behind the wheel and puts on one of my favorite bands, part of me is thankful I’m not alone, even though I know it’s selfish. I shouldn’t burden other people with my instability. My anxiety is my problem. Not his.
He does something on his phone before setting it in a cupholder and pulling out of the parking spot. My seat warms beneath me, and my eyebrows bunch together. I didn’t see him turn on the seat warmers, but as the heat seeps into my body, I’m thankful that he did, even though it’s the middle of summer.
