“No, no,” I protest feebly. Little does Jake know that he’s closer to the mark than he realizes. “But I do smell what is probably your laundry detergent. Stinky garbage. And...fries?”
“Great. Now, three things you hear.”
“Honking. Talking. Your voice.” Jake’s rich baritone voice sends tremors down my spine and simultaneously warms me up like a good glass of wine.
“Three things you feel.”
I’m feeling so much right now, but I know that’s not what he means. “Sweat. The curb. Your hand.”
Somehow, I’ve never let go of his hand. His long fingers remain laced with mine, steady and sure, and I hang on for dear life.
As my breathing starts to slow, I notice the faint dusting of dark hair along his toned forearms. My cheeks flush from his closeness, and suddenly my nerves are firing for an entirely different reason.
My gaze lifts to Jake, pulled by something inexplicable. His gray eyes are clear and concerned, his lips curve as if he is begging me to smile at him. It’s as if he can sense that I’m calming down, and this pleases him.
I’m immediately taken aback by that thought. Jake grounds me, making me feel calm and safe. With Weston, I was always on high alert. For the first time, I wonder if he even enjoyed my jumpiness and my desperation to please. These are thoughts that never occurred to me while I was with him. Maybe I was too busy trying to survive.
Basking in Jake’s gray gaze, I’m overcome with an impulse to touch his face. Our fingers are already connected, but I want so much more. But just as I’m about to reach for him, he eases back to arm’s length. Coming to my senses, I also pull away, letting go of his hand.
What am I even doing? This isn’t the right time or place. We are literally sitting next to a pile of trash after an incredibly embarrassing interaction. If I need any more proof that Jake and I aren’t meant to be, I’m not paying attention.
“How do you feel now?” Jake asks, eyes searching.
“Better. I don’t even know what that was! One moment I was fine, and the next, I felt like all the air left the room. That’s never happened to me before.” I stare at the gravel by my feet.
“The technique I just showed you seemed to help, so maybe it was a panic attack?”
I shake my head, reeling at the information. The fact that I lost control like that—in front of Jake, no less—makes my skin flush with mortification. I sidestep quickly, grasping for a safer topic. “How did you learn how to do that?”
“I used to have anxiety attacks when I was younger. A very nice therapist taught me how to manage my breathing. She also guidedme through some exercises to reorient my focus and break me out of the spells. I’ve never done this with anyone other than myself, so I hope it worked okay.” Now that I’ve calmed down, Jake looks flustered and worried.
Jake is such an interesting juxtaposition of contradictions—he was so calm and confident when I was melting down, but now he’s tentative and uncertain. Both sides of him are incredibly appealing to me. “You seriously are a lifesaver. You talked me through that as if you’ve been teaching people for years.”
Jake blushes. Even the tips of his ears redden, and I wonder if they would be hot to the touch. “You don’t have to tell me why you panicked. But I’ve been told I’m a decent listener,” he says.
I take a deep breath and tell myself to be brave.
“Tanya, the woman in Room 16, has a broken arm. It wasn’t an accident. Someone hurt her. Someone that she cares about.”
Jake just remains quiet, his warm gaze never wavering. Somehow, Jake makes me feel like I can speak without judgment.
And to my utter surprise, I’m opening up about Weston for the second time today.
“I wasn’t in the greatest relationship. Five months ago, he became…violent. I wasn’t hurt because I was lucky. But I could have been.”
“But it sounds like you left him?” Jake holds my gaze. I wonder if he’s asking for more than one reason.
“Yes. It took a few times, but yes.” I stare off into the distance, willing my body to relax.
“I’m so sorry, Lucy,” Jake says. “I can’t imagine what that was like for you. But the fact you left him…that wasn’t just luck. That took a lot of guts. You should be proud of that.”
Glancing upwards at Jake, I see that he’s being serious. For the past few months, I’ve been berating myself for staying in that relationship for so long. But maybe I should restructure how I think about it; I’m not with Weston anymore, after all.
“Thanks,” I murmur, hugging my legs to my chest. I’m relieved my skirt is longer than what I typically wear. Even so, I feel incredibly naked and vulnerable after revealing such private aspects of my life to a literal stranger.
We sit undisturbed for a moment, until I say, “Well, even though we could sit out all night in this stinky ambulance entrance, we probably should get back to work.”
“You gonna be okay?” Jake asks.
