I’m suddenly hot.
I put my eggroll down and get to my feet.
“I need air,” I whisper to Zaan, and then practically run out of the room.
It’s hot outside, but it’s quiet, and I find a spot in the shade where I can lean against the wall and…breathe.
Holy shit.
I nearly had a panic attack in there.
What the hell is wrong with me?
You’re pregnant, dummy, an inner voice whispers.
Fuck.
I don’t like how this feels.
I’m anxious and insecure and completely out of sorts.
I close my eyes and try to talk myself off the ledge.
“Babe?” Zaan’s voice penetrates my chaotic thoughts, but I’m rooted in place. “What’s wrong?”
Warm hands cupping my face.
“Baby? Open your eyes. Please? Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m having a panic attack,” I whisper.
I don’t have to say anything else.
My strong, empathetic husband pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly. “I’m right here,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. Nice and slow. I’m not going anywhere.”
Thank fuck I believe him.
I burrow against his chest and hang on tight.
“It’s going to be okay. I know you’re scared.” He rubs a hand slowly up and down my back. “I’m a little scared too, but we’re going to figure it out together.”
I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling.
Fear, anxiety, excitement, depression, and a bunch of other things all wrapped up in one overwhelming wave of emotions. I want to cry and laugh and scream. I also want to curl into a ball and hide under the covers for the next seven months.
“Hey, Lex, do you—” Jonny comes out and pulls up short. “Uh, never mind.” He turns and hurries back inside.
“Shit,” I mumble. I don’t want the band to think this has anything to do with them.
“Whatever it is, it can wait,” Zaan says patiently.
“I don’t like being scared,” I admit after a moment.
“I know, baby. Me either. But we’re going to figure out whatever’s bothering you.”
“I know what’s bothering me,” I say. “I just don’t like the fact that I’m helpless to do anything about it.”
“Can you tell me?”
