Shiloh and I started for the door.
We didn’t make it far. Brick and Curtis were right behind us.
“You’re not walking away,” Curtis said.
Brick’s hand landed on Shiloh’s arm, tugging him around. Shiloh cried out in surprise, trying to pry Brick’s fingers from his arm, and my heart rate went through the roof.
I whirled around. “Don’t touch him!”
Brick sneered. “Oh, I’ll touch him as much as I like. I’ll touch himallover.” He tugged Shiloh closer, even as he struggled to break the grip, and groped at his side.
Seeing his hands on Shiloh, this man who had become so precious to me, was like seeing his hands onme. I snapped, charging forward with a roar and wrenching Brick’s hands off Shiloh.
Once he was free, I pulled Shiloh behind me, putting myself between him and Brick.
“Holden!” Shiloh exclaimed. “Wait, don’t?—”
It was too late. Brick shoved me. Two big hands landed on my chest, burning like brands, and pushed me into Shiloh. He stumbled back, half catching me, but that only made it worse. My body lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, every nerve sparking and sending warnings to my brain.
Danger danger danger.
Brick grabbed my coat lapels, shaking me. I broke his hold, pushing him back, and Curtis grabbed my arm too.
“No, stop!” Shiloh cried. “Please, you’ll hurt him. Let go now. Please!”
There were a few shouts from other bar patrons, and the door slammed open behind me—cold wind gusting against my back—and then Dalton’s voice rang out.
“Everyone, step back! Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Curtis and Brick backed off, raising their hands, but I still felt them all over me.
My heart thundered, my skin burning. A buzzing, like an electric shock, tore through my system. Fuck. Panic attack incoming, and it was going to be a big one.
Around me, people were talking, but I only caught snatches of the conversation.
“…is he okay?”
“Shoving and…”
“My fucking bar is cursed!”
That last one was Leo. I wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t make words. A fog descended, and my thoughts spiraled into dark places.
There was no stopping it.
“Holden, are you okay?” Shiloh’s voice.
“Bathroom,” I croaked.
I charged across the room, trying to run but managing more of a stumbling, weaving gait that probably made me look drunk. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t think of anything, except that I needed a place to get away. To hide. To ride it out.
I pushed through the bathroom door and immediately lost the contents of my stomach in the toilet. I dropped onto my ass, wheezing for breath, sweating, skin burning and tingling unpleasantly, and put my head between my knees, pulling out every coping mechanism I’d learned in the hopes that I wouldn’t pass out as dots danced behind my eyes.
I should be better than this. I should be past this. When will I be strong enough?
Why can’t I do it?
Why?
