The drive to Oklahoma City is short, but we expected as much since the weather has been a bit on the unsafe side today. Last night, we agreed to keep today’s drive limited because of the chance that there would be more ice than snow heading further west, and boy, we were right.
The snow is falling in rapid flurries, mixing with sleet that smacks against the windshield as I drive. It’s a little hard to see, even with the windshield wipers at max speed, but the hotel is two minutes away, so I don’t panic. Ican’tpanic, more like.
Maeve is nervous, and the only reason I know this is because her entire body is rigid in the passenger seat next to me. Her fingers dig into the leather seat as she holds on, her eyes trained on the road as if she looks away, something might happen. I haven’t seen her like this before, and I don’t like it. My chest squeezes with the urgency to comfort her somehow, but I don’t know how to do that.
The wheels slide lightly, pulling me from my thoughts and making her squeak in surprise, her right hand releasing its death grip on the seat to hold onto the door.
“Tate,” she rasps.
The hotel is only a mile away now, soIknow it will be okay, but that doesn’t help Maeve right now.
“It’s okay,” I say.
The roads are slick, I can feel the way the tires slip every so often against the ice, but I know we’re right there. I’m nearing the entrance to the hotel parking lot. The steering wheel jolts in my hand again, but I squeeze it tighter to keep control.
As I’m turning into the parking lot, the back end of the truck slides a little, and her other hand flies over to clutch my jacket in her grasp.
“Tate.” She sounds like she could cry.
“It’s okay,” I repeat.
Is that all you can say?
If there was ever a time to man up, it’s now.Come on, Tatum.She’s practically hyperventilating in the seat, gripping onto my coat so tightly that her knuckles are the same color as our surroundings.
“Just breathe,” I coax.
“I can’t,” she breathes.
I know what this is. I used to have panic attacks when I was younger, especially when I knew one of my mother’s boyfriends was going to hit me. They always surge when your anxiety is high or when you feel out of control, like now. She’s just scared, and she needs me.
Say something.
As soon as I pull into a spot and shift the car into park, I turn to face her, my knee lifting into the seat as I do. What I don’t expect is the violent flinch that coils through Maeve’s body at my sudden movement, and almost immediately, my stomach churns uneasily.
She just flinched because of me.Awayfrom me.
What the helldid that guy do to her?
“Sorry,” she whines, her brows furrowing as she shakes her head and presses her fingers to the cinched spot, as if she’s trying to make it go away.
This side of her is different; her happy façade is slipping. Like a mask falling from her features. It was bound to happen with us being around each other every day like this; she can’t keep the mask on the whole time. I don’t want her to.
“Don’t be sorry,” I tell her.
Reaching up slowly, I put my hand over hers, still gripping onto my jacket. She’s panting as I give her hand a gentle squeeze, brushing my thumb across the back of it in steady, soft strokes.
“I can’t…”
“Take a deep breath,” I encourage. “Slowly. In… Out. In… Out.”
“Ican’t?—”
I tug her fingers from their grip on me, placing her palm against my chest, surprising myself as I hold it there and take a deep breath.
“Follow my breathing. Breathe with me. In…Out. In…Out.”
We breathe together for a while, her hand on my chest, mimicking the rise and fall of it as she tries to keep up with me weakly. After a few minutes, the tension in her hand fades and her fingers relax against me, her shoulders sagging as she realizes everything is going to be okay.
