“Focus on my hand,” he says in his deep baritone. “The strength and the warmth. I’d wrap my arms around you but I’m not sure it’s appropriate.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I could really use a hug.”
So he does.
And it’s not creepy or inappropriate or anything else.
He’s my friend.
And I really need it right now.
Someone from outside my inner circle who doesn’t have a stake in anything I do. Someone who just wants to be my friend with no opinion on babies, touring, or timing.
“Whoa…hey, you okay, Lex?” Jonny comes in and skids to a stop.
“Anxiety attack,” Sam says quietly. “Give her some space.”
He rubs his hand up and down my back.
“Oh, shit. What can we do?” Jonny sinks into a chair on the other side of the lounge.
I’m too shaken up—and embarrassed—to respond.
“Guys, are we—” Mick comes in and pulls up short. “What’s going on?”
“Anxiety attack. Sit down and shut up.”
If my heart wasn’t racing and my stomach roiling, I would have laughed at Jonny’s ferocity.
“Oh, no. Did we do something?” It’s unlike Mick to be so self-aware—he’s by far the biggest playboy and party animal in the group—it makes me want to smile.
Except I feel like puking.
“You’re safe here,” Sam says quietly. “We’re your friends, and if you need us to call someone, we will. Or you can just hug me until you feel better.”
Slowly, the nausea fades and my heart rate goes back to normal.
Why the fuck does this keep happening?
I haven’t had a panic attack in years, not since I was with Special Kay, which had been a disaster.
And we simply sit here.
Sam, Jonny, Mick, and me.
Until I feel better.
I eventually pull away and feel a twinge of embarrassment.
“I’m sorry, guys,” I say quietly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Hormones?” Sam suggests.
“Yeah. Probably.”
“Are you pregnant?” Mick asks.
Jonny kicks his foot. “Dude.”
