My heart pounds in my ears, my breathing coming in harsh gasps that burn my lungs. I'm dimly aware that everyone has frozen, that the conversation has stopped, and that there are voices saying my name. But I can't process any of it. I can only hold myself, rocking back and forth, trying to make myself smaller so that I can disappear.
I tense the moment Wyatt’s scent brushes my noise and I hold my breath, bracing for pain that I know logically isn't coming, but my body expects anyway. This is when Vincent would grab me, haul me up, shake me, and demand to know what was wrong with me, why I always had to be so dramatic, why I couldn't just benormal.
"Back off for a second, fuck."
Dylan's voice cuts through my panic, the citrus scent retreating. "Hey, sis." Dylan's voice moves closer now. "It's just me, okay? That was a glass. Just a glass that fell. An accident. He's not here. Vincent's not here. He's not getting here. You're safe."
I look up slowly, my tear-stricken face feeling hot. From beneath the table, I can see that everyone is standing frozenaround the kitchen, save for Dylan, who’s crouched inches from me. The shame is almost worse than the panic.
"I would like to go home, please." My voice comes out small and broken, nothing like how I want to sound. Nothing like a functioning adult who can handle being a nanny.
"Absolutely," Dylan says immediately, no hesitation in his voice. "Can you walk?"
I nod, even though I'm not entirely sure it's true. My legs feel like jelly, my whole body shaking with aftershocks of adrenaline and fear. But I need to get out of here before I humiliate myself further.
I push to my feet, keeping my eyes down, unable to see the pity or concern or worse, the realization that I'm too broken to be around their kids. My voice is barely a whisper when I speak. "I'm sorry for ruining dinner."
"You didn't—" someone starts, maybe Silas or Wyatt, but I just shake my head.
Maddox is suddenly at my other side, hovering but not touching.
"Mads is going to take you home, alright?" Dylan says. "I'll be right there."
I nod again, clinging to Maddox's arm when he offers it. I'm vaguely aware of the kids asking questions and Dylan explaining something as we move toward the door.
The cool evening air helps a little to calm me, cutting through some of the panic fog. But I feel sick to my stomach with humiliation, shame, and the crushing weight of my own brokenness. I can't even sit through a normal dinner without falling apart. How am I supposed to take care of anyone else when I can barely take care of myself?
I haven't had a bad reaction like that in days. I thought I was getting better. But apparently, all it takes is one unexpectedsound, and I'm right back to being that terrified woman cowering on the floor.
Maddox guides me to the car, opening the passenger door, and helping me inside. He gets in the driver's seat and starts the engine, but doesn't put the car in drive yet. Instead, he turns to look at me. "Just breathe with me, okay?" His voice is soft, his breathing exaggerated and slow, so I can follow along. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. There you go. That's good."
I try to match his rhythm, forcing my panicked gasps into something more controlled. It takes several attempts, but gradually my breathing starts to even out. The shaking doesn't stop, but it lessens to something manageable. "I'm not sure I can go back," I whisper, voicing the fear that's been growing since I got up from under that table. "I can't do this. They need someone who can actually handle things."
"We're going to figure all that out after we get you back in your nest," Maddox says firmly, putting the car in reverse. "Right now, we're just focused on getting you home safe."
They'll find someone else. Someone better. Someone whole.
"Your only job right now," Maddox continues, "is thinking about what color pajamas you're going to change into. Just think about that. Nothing else. Just pajamas."
It's such a simple thing, such a mundane focus, but it works. I close my eyes, picturing my pajamas. The soft blue ones with the clouds. The pink set with the shorts. The oversized t-shirt I stole from Dylan years ago.
Just pajamas.
I can do that.
I can think about pajamas.
Hunter
Silas took the kids upstairs about ten minutes ago, their confused questions following him up the stairs. Riley kept asking what happened to Miss Sterling, why she was so scared, and if she was coming back. Isaac wanted to know if he had done something wrong.
The guilt in their voices was like a knife to the chest, but right now I need answers more than I need to comfort my children. Wyatt will handle that later, or I will. Right now, I need to understand what the hell just happened in my kitchen.
Dylan is still standing by the doorway, looking torn between staying and leaving to check on his sister. Maddox took her out to the car, and through the window, I watched her trembling form disappear into the passenger seat. The sound of her scream is still echoing in my ears, raw and terrified in a way that spoke of real trauma, not just being startled.
Now it's just me and Wyatt with Dylan, the broken glass cleaned up, but the tension still thick enough to choke on.
"What the fuck was that?" The words come out harsher than I intend, but I can't help it. I need to understand. "You said she came from a bad situation, but I've never seen someone scream like that just because someone dropped a glass. That wasn't just being jumpy. That was full-blown terror."
