He breathed along with her and she followed, her mouth twitching with skepticism.
“Perfect,” he said. “Tell you what. Let’s do it on the floor.”
She double-blinked.
“And by that I mean ‘totally relax.’ Crumbs, Samira. The places your mind goes to...”
She laughed. He took her hand and led her to a rug in front of the sofa. Shite, now his mind was going to places it shouldn’t.Settle down,caporal.If he left her with one thing when he returned to the Legion, he wanted it to be this. Not regret.
“Now,” he said when they were lying side by side, “do the same hissing thing, but when you’ve run out of hiss, make no effort at all to breathe in. Instead, totally relax. Don’t fight your body, don’t instruct it, don’t force it to do anything.”
“Not even breathe?”
“Not even breathe.”
“I hope you have a defibrillator in that first-aid kit.”
“I’m a walking defibrillator—and it won’t come to that, I promise.” He kept a couple of fingers linked with hers. “Follow my lead. After you hiss all your breath out, just become an outside observer, let go of any need to control. Don’t force anything but don’t stop anything, either.”
He audibly breathed in, and she followed. He hissed his breath out and then let his torso expand. This time, after her hiss ran out, she didn’t take a panicked gasp.
“So,” he said, propping up on his elbow, their fingers still linked. “How was it for you?”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. It worked. My lungs filled on their own.”
“Automatic, wasn’t it? Like a whoopee cushion.”
“A what?”
“One of those rubber fart cushions. They inflate automatically after you sit on them.”
She shook her head slightly. “I don’t understand how this helps me.”
“When you’re hyperventilating, sometimes the problem is that you’re not letting enough breath out, not making space for fresh oxygen. So rather than desperately trying to inhale, maybe focus on exhaling and trust your body to do the rest. Worth a try next time. Or your money back.”
“But I can’t think clearly when I’m having an attack—that’s the problem.”
“I know.” He threaded his fingers through hers. “When it comes to the human mind and its impulses, Samira, there are no on and off switches, no guarantees.”
She smiled, sadly. She knew he wasn’t talking just about her panic attacks. Far easier to preach than practice.
“I bet you were a wonderful doctor,” she said with a sad smile. Her sincerity stabbed at him.
“Not to be.”
Her eyebrows dived together. God, it’d be so easy to lean in and kiss her. As if she read his mind, her gaze dropped to his lips. He felt himself drawing in. Magnets. Before he had time to rationalize it, his lips were on hers, her hand was sliding up his back.
She lurched to a sitting position, almost taking his nose out with her skull, and snatched her hands away. “I need a shower.” She pushed up to standing, strode to the rucksack and picked it up. When she reached the bathroom she turned. “Jamie, I can’t do this. I’m recovering from one broken heart. I can’t risk another. Not when you’re going to run away again.”
He dropped his focus to the rug, its fibers still carrying her imprint.
I won’t break your heart, he wanted to say.Give me a chance. We can work it out.
“I understand,” he said.
She stayed rigid for a minute. Waiting for something he couldn’t give? The bathroom door closed behind her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
