I’m just about to head out when I hear what sounds like a faint gasp from inside the office. I knock again.
“Hey Blondie, you in there?”
I hear the gasp again, louder this time, and then another one.
“Julie?”
No answer. The gasp again.
Dread pools in my stomach. Instincts honed from years of reading defenses scream that something isn’t right.
Mind made up, I call “Blondie, I’m coming in,” and push open the door.
Chapter Eleven
Asher
Isee her the second I open the door. She’s sitting on the floor in a black pantsuit and heels, surrounded by a sea of paper. Her knees are drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, fingers drumming out a beat on her thigh. Her long blonde hair is tangled around her face, and I can hear her breath coming in short gasps, back heaving as she tries to take in air. Seeing the strong and extraordinarily capable Julie Parker making herself as small as she can while struggling to breathe shatters my heart into a million pieces and has me snapping into action.
I gently close the door, knowing Julie wouldn’t want anyone to see her like this. Then I’m beside her in two strides, dropping down to the floor.
“Hey, Blondie, what’s going on?”
Not wanting to startle her, I keep my voice light as I lay a hand on her back, rubbing in circles. Her body jerks like she didn’t realize someone else was in the office, but her breathing doesn’t slow. If anything, it speeds up, coming in rapid pants.
“Asher,” she manages. “I can’t…I don’t…I can’t breathe,” she finally whispers. “I think I’m dying. Am I dying?” Her voice is ragged and laced with panic and confusion, her face as white as the paper scattered all around her on the floor and filled with terror.
I’ve seen this before. I know what this is.
As gently as I can, I pull her between my legs, so her back is pressed against my chest and my legs bracket hers. I wrap both my arms around her and hold tight. Her heart thunders violently against my arms, and her entire body is shaking.
“You’re not dying, Julie,” I say into her ear. “I know it feels like you are, but you’re not. I promise. You’re having a panic attack, but you’re going to be fine. Sweetheart, I want you to breathe now. We’ll do it together. Feel me breathing and do it with me, okay?”
She lets out a jerky nod. Tightening my arms around her, I feel a throb of pain in my shoulder—the injection I gave myself this morning is wearing off, but I ignore it. Nothing else matters but getting Julie to breathe. I take deep, slow breaths until I feel her breathing start to slow ever so slightly. I drop a kiss on her shoulder and start to talk quietly.
“You’re doing such a good job. Keep breathing with me, Blondie. Look around. Can you tell me some of the things you see?”
She takes in a shaky breath and looks around. When she speaks, it’s like she’s forcing the words out. “The couch.”
“Sure looks like a comfortable couch. The kind you could take a good nap on. What else?”
“My diplomas on the wall.”
I glance up at them, surprised by the name written in ornate cursive.
“Juliette?”
“My great-grandmother’s name, but no one calls me that.”
I turn the name over in my head. “It suits you.” And somehow,it does. It’s both soft and powerful, just like the woman in my arms. “What else do you see?”
“The window. Is that…is it snowing?” Her voice is steadier, stronger. I press a kiss to her hair and lean my forehead against the back of her head. She’s coming back to me.
“Sure is. It started about an hour ago. It’s not heavy, but it’s not flurries either. It’s…”
“The perfect snowfall,” she whispers.
“The perfect snowfall,” I agree.
