I swing the front door open, half expecting to find Maverick and Olivia running around the house together or sitting on the couch watchingDexter,but instead, I’m met with deafening silence.
I scan the kitchen and find crusty jelly on the floor. An open jar of peanut butter still sits on the counter. I’ve only known Olivia for about two and a half weeks, but I’m pretty confident she wouldn’t just abandon a mess like this.
I peer into the guest bedroom, which still has the door open, and find Olivia, crumpled in a ball and covered in both a blanket and a protective German Shepherd.
I rush toward her and am met with a curled lip from Maverick. Doing my best to ignore him, instead of making him feel challenged, I drop to my knees by Olivia’s side. When I sweep my hand gently over Olivia’s forehead, he backs off.
I scoop her into my arms, noting her shallow breathing. My touch seems to draw her out of her cocoon. When she looks up at me with those amber orbs I’ve already become so fond of, they’re stained with tears. I’ve never seen someone have a panic attack before, but I imagine this must be it.
I rub my hand gently on her back. “It’s me. It’s Rhett. It’s okay now. I’m here.”
She goes stiff when realization hits her. “Rhett? What… are you… doing… here?” She’s still gasping.
“I came to check on you.”
“Please… go… away.”
“No, I’m going to stay right here with you until it’s over. What can I do for you?”
“Just… hold me… please.”
I lift her onto her bed, wrapping my arms around her with firm but gentle pressure, letting her know I’m here without restricting her ability to take in air. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
As her breathing slowly starts to sound regular again, I remain silent, allowing her to have whatever space she needs to calm herself down. Just when I think we have made it out, she takes a sharp inhale, wheezing again. Without even thinking, I hold her tighter and nuzzle into the crook of her neck, whispering. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here. I’ve got you. Breathe.” The words come out sounding confident, but inside I’m a wreck. I hate seeing the strong and fierce woman I know be torn down by her thoughts.
I take one hand and smooth it gently over her hair, sweeping it away from her face as her breathing begins to slow again. I don’t relax until she finally says, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I whisper against her ear, afraid to shatter the calm that has finally settled upon us.
We sit there quietly for all of thirty seconds until she regains her bearings and realizes she is practically sitting in my lap. She scrambles from my arms, eyes wide.
“Can I do anything for you? Do you want some water?” I ask, trying to look nonchalant after what just happened. I don’t want her to feel judged. I just want to make sure she’s okay.
“You have done plenty already. Thank you.” After a pause, she admits, “Water does sound nice though. I can grab us some glasses.”
As she attempts to rise from the bed, I yank her back down, wrapping her up tightly in my arms. “Olivia Parker! It’s okay to be vulnerable once in a while. Let me take care of you. When was the last time you let someone take care of you without fighting it?”
She keeps her mouth clamped shut, which is all the answer I need to suggest she has no recollection of a time that she accepted help from someone else.
“That’s what I thought.” I slowly release her from my grip and get up from the bed, slipping into the kitchen. I pull out a single glass and fill it with water, narrowly avoiding the jelly mess still on the floor.
I wipe it up with a paper towel, and as I come back into the room, I ask, “Maverick didn’t try to eat this?”
“No, he is the least food-driven dog I’ve ever seen. I can drop whatever I want on the floor, and he won’t touch it. I guess you need to spend more time with him if you don’t know that yet.”
“Or I’m just not as messy as you.”
“No way! Have you seen the dirt you track through the house from your cowboy boots? Don’t even get me started on the way you smell right now.”
A smile slips onto my face. My fierce girl is back. I mean not my girl. Definitely not mine. Even so, I sit back down on the bed extra close to her. I’m worried. I knew she was struggling, but it’s one thing to know it and another to see it.
“Here,” I say, handing her the glass of water.
“Thank you.” She takes a sip. “You know, it was just a panic attack. It doesn’t mean I can’t get myself water. I deal with these alone all the time.”
“I’m sorry you have had to go through these alone.” I know what it’s like to do hard things with no one to support you. My heart aches for her. “I hope you know you don’tneedto be alone. Your parents would be there for you if you let them, and you wouldn’t be a burden to them. It’d probably actually help make them feel like they’re still needed. I—I could be there for you while you’re here… if you ever need it again. I don’t have much experience with panic attacks, so I’m not sure the right way to help, but I can learn to be better?—”
“Rhett, you don’t need to be better. You were great. I was very thankful to have you here.”
