It helped somewhat, but my chest still felt tight and I was light-headed.
“Beth?”
“I’m okay,” I repeated tearfully.
But I wasn’t.
I’d worked so hard to make something of Social Queens, just for someone with a bigger following to come along with their lies to tear us down, to take away everything I’d built, out of sheer pettiness. She was the one who hadn’t paid us for three months! And yet in my panic and anxiety, I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been my fault. Perhaps I should have been more careful, knowing this could be a consequence of pissing off someone on social media. I should have known better. I should have anticipated.
I’d failed.
Failed.
FAILED.
My breath caught as Amanda’s face flashed in my mind. A sob escaped my lips as I squeezed my eyes closed.No, no, no.
“Beth, please.” Callan’s voice was hoarse on the other side of the door. “I can hear you crying. Please, please talk to me.”
I covered my mouth to hold in the noise of my sobs.
“I … I know we’re not …that,” he said. “But I am your friend. Talk to me.”
I hadn’t wanted him to see this part of me. Yet it was out there now. And I couldn’t deny that right now more than ever, I wanted Callan’s arms around me.
Shoving onto my feet, my legs shaking, the room swaying a bit, I slowly crossed to the door. I unlocked and opened it.
Callan stood on the other side, his brows furrowed in concern. His gorgeous green eyes searched my face, dark with worry and tenderness. “Beth?”
I sobbed and threw my arms around his neck.
He wrapped his arms around me, his embrace tight. The scent of his aftershave, the familiar feel of his body, wascomforting on a level that surprised me. He felt strong and stable and safe as I pressed my cheek to his chest and cried.
“Will you tell me what I can do?” he asked, voice rasping with emotion as he ran a soothing hand up and down my back. “That was a panic attack, wasn’t it?”
I nodded, trying to get my tears under control.
“How long has this been going on?”
It took me a while to answer. But eventually, I lifted my head. I attempted to step out of his embrace, but Callan’s hand dropped to my waist, keeping me against him. And suddenly, I wanted to tell someone. Tell him. Everything I’d been holding together for years because I didn’t want anyone to know I couldn’t handle shit. Including my own bloody family who would cut off their own arms to help me.
All because I was terrified of failure. In any sense of the word.
Callan clasped my face in his palms, his thumb brushing along my cheekbones. “This will blow over. You know that, right?”
The thought of losing my company made my chest constrict all over again. I sucked in a shallow breath and Callan’s grip on my waist tightened.
“Talk to me.”
I nodded, took his hand from my waist, and threaded my fingers through his. Leading him into the living room, I grabbed my purse from the sideboard and drew him to his ugly-ass but comfortable couch. My legs shook the entire time. We sat, his thigh brushing mine he remained so close.
Fingers trembling, I dug into my purse and pulled out the packet of medication. I handed it to him.
Callan frowned as he studied it. “John takes these for his anxiety.”
Surprise shot through me. “He does?”
“Aye.” He handed them back to me. “He started taking them after his mum died of cancer.”
