CHAPTER 25
WREN
Someone is sittingon my chest. An elephant-sized someone is sitting on my chest and there’s no way I can get air in. Hudson is still standing there, making his presentation like my life isn’t about to be in shambles, like I am not ruined by this. Meanwhile, my stupid body has decided to rebel against me and shut down my lungs. Closed for business, no oxygen for me today.
I can’t even go into problem-solving mode like this. At one time in my career, I was the type of person who would look at something like this and all I would see were opportunities to fix it. I wouldn’t wallow in self-pity when something went wrong; I would make sure it would never happen again. But now, the oxygen deprivation is making my vision blurry and my ears ring, and all I can think about is getting the hell out of here. Finding fresh air again.
I sit in the stuffy chambers of City Hall long enough that I don’t run out in the middle of Hudson’s presentation, because as bad as my presentation was, it would look worse ifI up and left in the middle of his. We’re in damage control mode now. But as soon as he says the words ‘thank you’ and I hear the first smack of someone’s hands as they applaud, I beeline for the exit.
Fresh air, fresh air, fresh air.It’s like a mantra in my head as I storm through the front doors. It’s the one thing that helps. And when I can’t have fresh air, my stress ball. Some form of distraction so I’m not focused on trying to gulp down air. Damn, I wish I had my stress ball right now. This particular episode feels like it might call for both.
Instead, I find the bench I sat on with Emma, where she managed to get me out of this weird state by talking to me with her soothing voice. I barely make it to the bench before I fully pass out. Sitting down helps to stabilize me. I sit, kick my heels off, and pull my knees into my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing this to pass.
Who knows how long I’m there for—I’ve lost track of time.
Somewhere between five minutes or an hour later, my name is being called through the fog. The voice sounds like it’s coming from above the surface of water, and I am stuck floating underneath. Drowning.
“Wren, Wren,” it calls to me, but I can’t respond. I’m drowning. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m so sorry, Wren. Just breathe.” The deep, warm voice rumbles down in my core, and like a lifeline, it pulls me to the surface of the water long enough to realize it belongs to Hudson.
His thick arms wrap around my curled frame and pull me into a delicious warmth, a warmth I’ve felt before, awarmth I would stay in forever if I could. I try to relax into it, but my breathing is still ragged.
Hudson’s hand cups my jaw and turns my face so I’m looking at him. His blue eyes look like the ocean, not the drowning kind, the still kind. When the waves are calm and there isn’t so much as a ripple on the surface.
“You’re having a panic attack, Wren,” he says to me, and the words clang around within me, like a key turning the pins in a lock until they all line up and give me the answer I’ve been looking for. It’s not asthma, it’s not something wrong with my lungs. It’s something misfiring in my brain. A panic attack. I knew that other people dealt with things like this—anxiety, panic disorders, OCD—I never thought it could be me. I’m not weak. “You need to focus on your breath.”
Focus on my breath? The last thing I need to do is focus on my breath when I feel like this. Panicked. I’m having a panic attack. Before I know it, I’m inhaling with him, following his lead and his instruction.
In through my nose.
Inhale.
Out through my mouth.
Exhale.
I take a few more breaths like this, my eyes still glued to Hudson’s, as if I’m letting myself float peacefully on the surface of the still pools of blue. The waves within my chest finally settle into less crashing, rogue ones, and more gentle, lazy swells. The underlying anxiety is still there, but not as acute as it was.
“You’re good at this,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. Hudson tilts his head as he shrugs slightly.
“I’ve had some experience with this kind of thing. You’d be surprised how many people struggle with it, Wren.” Something inside me clicks again, the lock opening a new room within me. It’s at once comforting to know I’m not alone, and yet, this wall slides up my back, straightening my spine. I’m not like everyone else. I’m better. I’m aMiller. But it can’t be unheard, and now I wonder if I’m not special. If I don’t need to be the best. If I can just be me.
I let myself sink back into Hudson’s chest and he hugs me closer, kissing the top of my head and letting his face linger, buried in my hair.
“I want to go home,” I say, my voice muffled in Hudson’s T-shirt. I feel him nod.
“I’ll take you home.”
“I don’t want to be alone.” I squeeze my eyes shut, as if asking for help is physically painful. Because it is in a way, and asking for help from Hudson is even worse. I shouldn’t be letting him see me like this, let alone admitting I can’t take care of myself right now. But there’s something so genuine in the way he’s holding me, shielding me from the harsh realities of the world, the harsh realities in my own mind. It makes me want to trust him.
It makes me remember why I used to trust him in the first place. In fact, Hudson used to be the only person I trusted with my feelings, my deep, dark emotions that made me human, when all I was ever told to be was a Miller.
I trusted him with everything. Until I didn’t.
But I don’t have a choice but to lean on him right now. I don’t know who else I would ask for help. I don’t want toworry or burden Poppy. Ally is busy with her baby, and I don’t know her or Spencer well enough.
My thoughts are swirling around. I want to trust Hudson, but I don’t know if I can. I don’t want to be alone, and yet … Hudson’s hand comes to my face again, this time holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger so he can tilt my head back. I have nowhere to look but up at him.
“Miller, as long as I live, I will make damn sure that you are never alone.”
