“Mia.” His tone was soft but firm, somehow cutting through the panic.
I tried to straighten, to calm myself, to pretend this wasn’t happening. “I’m fine,” I gasped, the words tumbling out too fast, too high. “I just needed a minute. Just one minute. I’ll be right back at my desk. You don’t have to stay. You can go. I’m good, really. Just needed some air.” The words spilled out between shallow breaths, making me sound exactly as not-fine as I felt.
Without a word, Jack lowered himself to the floor beside me. His shoulder brushed against mine, warm and solid in the chilled air of the server room.
“You’re having a panic attack.” He said it quietly, stating it as a simple fact, not a judgment.
I wanted to deny it, to salvage what little dignity I could, but all I could manage was a jerky nod.
“Give me your hand.”
I lifted my trembling hand and his fingers wrapped around mine with gentle firmness. He drew it toward him, pressing the back of my hand against his chest. Through the fine fabric of his shirt, I could feel the steady thump of his heart, strong and even.
“I’m going to touch your neck now, okay?”
I managed another nod, and he reached behind me. His fingers slid beneath my hair to find a specific spot at the base of my skull, applying gentle but firm pressure to the soft hollow there. The unexpected intimacy of his touch might have shocked me in any other moment, but now it felt like an anchor, keeping me from floating away into the panic. Something about the precise pressure of his fingertips sent a wave of relief cascading through my nervous system.
“Breathe with me, Mia,” he instructed, his thumb moving in small circles at the base of my skull. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Feel my chest rise and fall. Match your rhythm to mine.”
His voice was so damn soothing. I focused on the solid warmth of his hand cradling my neck, the steady beat of his heart against my knuckles. Tried to follow the measured pace of his breathing.
“That’s it.” His voice was a low, easy rumble I could almost feel through our connected hands. “You’re doing well. Keep going.”
Slowly, incrementally, my breathing began to sync with his. The vise around my chest loosened, one notch at a time. The tingling in my extremities began to recede.
I couldn’t say how long we sat there in the dark, breathing together, but gradually the room stopped spinning. The pounding in my ears quieted to a manageable thrum.
When I finally felt like I could speak without gasping, I whispered, “How did you know where I was?”
Jack’s thumb continued its hypnotic movement against my neck. “I saw you leave your office. You looked... not yourself. When you didn’t come back, I got concerned.”
The simplicity of his answer made my throat tight. He’d noticed. He’d worried. He’d come looking.
“How did you know what to do?” I was suddenly aware of how close we were sitting, of his fingers still curved around my neck, of my hand still pressed to his chest.
His reply was simple. “Experience.” He offered no further explanation.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak again. Embarrassment was beginning to replace panic as my primary emotion. My boss had just found me huddled on the floor having a complete meltdown. Over what? A text from my mother? God, how pathetic.
As if reading my thoughts, Jack said quietly, “This doesn’t make you weak, Mia. Everyone has limits.”
The gentle tone of his voice made me look up at him. In the dim red glow of the server room, his expression was softer than I’d ever seen it, a glimpse behind the professional mask he typically wore.
“Come on, let’s get you up.”
He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, then extended his hand to me. I took it, grateful for the leverage as I attempted to stand. My legs, however, had other ideas. They trembledbeneath me, still weak from the adrenaline crash, and I swayed dangerously.
Jack’s hands immediately went to my waist, steadying me. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice so close I could feel his breath stir my hair.
For a heartbeat, we stood there frozen, his hands firm on my waist, my palms pressed against the solid wall of his chest. Then, as naturally as breathing, his arms slid around me, drawing me into a proper hug.
I should have stiffened. Should have pulled away. Should have remembered every rule we were breaking in this moment. But my body, still raw from the panic attack, recognized only safety and warmth, and I melted against him without hesitation.
His hand moved to cradle the back of my head, tucking me securely against his shoulder. I could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my ear, feel the rise and fall of his chest against mine. The scent of him—clean cotton, expensive cologne, and something uniquely Jack—enveloped me.
In that moment, in the strange red twilight of the server room, nothing existed beyond the circle of his arms. Not my mother’s cruel words. Not the company’s expectations. Not even my own stubborn insecurities. Just quiet, and safety, and a peace I hadn’t felt in longer than I could remember.
“Thank you, Jack,” I whispered.
