I caught her just as she went down. Her shirt had ridden up, and her skin clammy and cold against my own. Not delicate but weak, not strong but brittle. None of this fit Nina.
“Jesus, Nina.” My throat closed around her name. I hooked an arm under her knees and lifted her. She sagged into me, head falling, sweaty temple against my chest. Each breath rattled sharp and wrong against my ribs. I didn’t understand what was happening, only that I needed to move faster.
I carried her past the bathroom and into her room, laying her down on the bed, my palms slick with her sweat. “Where? Where’s your medicine?” My voice came out frantic.
She raised a shaking hand toward the duffel bag on the dresser. I tore it open, shoving and pulling things aside until she rasped, “Bag…. Inside pocket.”
There it was. Her precious life-saving clear plastic bag of medicine. I shoved it into her hand, and she got one of the inhalers out, but her fingers shook so badly she dropped it. I picked it up and guided it to her mouth. Two fast puffs,then another. I sat there counting her breaths, every second stretching, until finally her chest eased. The hitching slowed, and the color seeped back into her cheeks.
Relief ripped through me so hard my legs wanted to fold. I raked a hand over my face, staring at her. “You scared the shit out of me. What the hell was that?”
She clutched the inhaler. “I overslept… missed my morning dose,” she whispered, voice scraped raw. “And… I’ve been skipping the nebulizer at night, only using it if I felt off rather than daily. Air’s been better here. Thought I was fine.”
We sat in silence for a second as she caught her breath, and I worked through my thoughts.
“Why would you skip it?”
Her only response was her coughing and rasping. I watched her chest stabilize, rising and falling how it did when she slept. Moldy apartment, unemployed, living with me, someone she didn’t trust. Money. That’s why.
It hit harder than the sound of her wheezing. This had been her life, hadn’t it? A gamble between her breath and everything else. I stared at her, my brain lagging behind, trying to imagine the weight of measuring air in dollar signs.
“I don’t—” My throat tightened. “I don’t understand. You were fine yesterday. You were fine an hour ago. And then you couldn’t even stand.”
I dragged a hand through my hair, the image of her clawing toward her room burned into me. How could something so invisible, so quiet, flip in an instant and leave her gasping in my arms?
I shook my head. “What are those inhalers?”
“That’s my rescue inhaler,” she explained between shallow breaths. “For when I get destabilized.”
“I need one of those.” The words came out rough, urgent. “I need one in my room, in my car—hell, one to take everywhere we go. This could happen anywhere, couldn’t it?”
Her eyes softened, the corner of her mouth tugging, not quite a smile. “Lincoln, it’s fine. I know it’s scary to see, but?—”
“No.” I shook my head. The coldness of her skin still clung to me, damp and chilly where her shirt had ridden up. “It’s not fine. You were in my arms, fighting to breathe?—”
Her lashes lowered, but not in softness. She’d gone into protection mode. “You don’t need to make this your problem. I’ve been dealing with it for years—on my own.”
She was putting a boundary around herself with barbed wire, and I wouldn’t stand for it. I wasn’t studying this woman to miss this part of her. The familiar coiling behind my vocal chords wrung tight, then snapped. “Well, too fucking bad. You’re not on your own anymore. Sowe’regoing to deal with it. Your life isn’t worth your pride.”
Nina’s eyes widened and her jaw clenched. Through heavy breathing, she pushed out the words “Pride? You think it’s pride? That’s your fucking privilege talking.” She drew in a breath, hands trembling. “I wish it were as simple as pride.”
The coldness in her words poured over me, dousing my anger. This was one of those make-it-or-break-it moments. I focused on her furious gaze—on who she was. To her, this was another thing she’d always handled alone; she’dlostpeople in more ways than one. The way she kept Lynnie at arm’s length told me she didn’t expect anyone to be permanent.
My chest tightened. I brushed a strand of hair from her damp cheek, and she slapped it away.
“I get it. I’ve been managing alone for a long time, too. Let me manage it with you. Please.”
She shook her head. “These are expensive, Linc.”
“I couldn’t care less about money.”
Her expression darkened.
I’d logged into my bank, seen the balance. Hell, even through my leave, I was paid. She was right, my privilege showed.
“I care,” she stated, her voice scratchy. “Because I’m the one who’s been counting dollars at the pharmacy counter.”
The words stung, but I didn’t back off. “Not anymore you’re not.”
