A tree grew out of the hood.
“Someone, please!” Was that my voice? It sounded so far away.
It was cold for some reason. I shook uncontrollably. Sirens blared louder and louder. The door flew open. Finally, my rescuer.
Firm hands grabbed me by the shoulders. They weren’t rescuing me. They were restraining me.
I heard a voice calling my name, but it wasn’t him. It was that guy—Patrick. He adjusted a blanket over my legs. Did I throw up in his car? I was mumbling something.
He turned my shoulders toward him. “You didn’t throw up.” His voice was urgent. “Julia, can you see me?”
I blinked. I could see him. His brows were knit. Was he mad? I nodded.
“You keep saying that.” He gently squeezed my shoulders. “You didn’t throw up.”
I looked down at my legs. They weren’t crushed. There was no glass or vomit or trees. Flecks of salt and crumbs stuck to a blanket. Air blasted from the vents. I was trembling from head to toe.
The sirens had stopped, but colorful lights still flashed through the windows. My hands were curled into fists on my lap, squeezing the life out of the blanket. He lowered his hands to cover mine, and his soft voice pulled me back to reality. “You’re in my truck, Julia. You’re completely safe.”
I took stock of my labored breathing. Was I safe? Then why were my—wait, my legs weren’t hurting anymore. I was okay. I was just scared, that’s all. The horror started slipping away, and mortification crept into its place. I cursed under my breath.
Did I have a panic attack right here in his truck?
I met his gaze. Patrick’s intense hazel eyes bore into mine, and my moment of clarity dawned. He had been driving me home. Someoneelsewas in a wreck, and I had a freaking episode like an insane person. Hot tears stung my eyes, and I tore them away from his face. “Oh man, I’m so sorry.” My voice was wobbling, and I swallowed, working hard to control it.
“You’re okay. Don’t apologize.” He looked me up and down, searching. “You’re not hurt, are you?” His voice was so gentle, so concerned. The console between us was soaking wet. I looked up and realized water was dripping from Patrick’s chin and hair.
I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. “Yeah, I’m fine. But I am the most embarrassed I’ve ever been in my entire life.”
“No. Don’t be embarrassed.”
“I guess I had a—” I fumbled for the right words, not wanting to sound like a psychiatric patient. “—a panic attack, or something?”
“It’s alright. I’ve had my share of moments, too.” I must’ve released the blanket at some point, because my hands had slipped into his. Patrick’s were still wet from the rain and they engulfed mine. His grip on me was tender, but grounding, holding back the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Had he really had his share of moments? He was probably trying to make me feel better.
“Are you going to be okay if I drive?”
“Yeah.” My voice still sounded so shaken up. I hated myself for it.
Patrick turned back to the wheel, and my hands felt cold without his. I grabbed the take-out bag, embarrassed I’d let our food lie on the floor so long. He held back my shoulder when I leaned forward to gather the fries. “Stop. I’ll get all that.”
The rain had slowed, and the remainder of the drive lasted about ninety seconds. I couldn’t wait to get out of his presence and into the safety of my covers. Patrick cleared his throat. “Do you live with anyone? I feel a little weird leaving you by yourself.”
The concern in his voice would’ve warmed me had I not been so humiliated. “I’ve lived by myself for years.” I sighed, not sure what details to give and which to leave out. “Unfortunately, I’ve had those things happen before. I’m always fine after.” I waved my hand in the air like it was no big deal. No big deal! Right! I’d just had a full-blown episode while he was busy being a volunteer emergency responder.
My stomach twisted in embarrassment again. I never even asked if the people whoactuallywrecked were okay! “Oh,” I tried to play off my self-absorption as forgetfulness. “Were the people behind us okay?”
“Not sure. One of them was injured pretty badly, but the paramedics arrived to fix him up.” He flipped his blinker on. “What building?”
Patrick pulled as close as possible to my apartment door. He barely had the truck in park before he dashed around to the passenger’s side, opened my door, and offered his hand to help me out.
Perfect. Now he thinks I’m an invalid.
The gesture was sweet though and despite my reservations, I genuinely smiled and received his strong hand into mine. Turned out I was still shakier than I realized.
After dropping me off at my door, his head disappeared into the passenger’s side. He returned with my burgers, salvaged fries, sweatshirt, and debit card. He passed the items to me and furrowed his brows. His hair stuck out in odd directions, and he did his best to smooth it. “Look, I don’t want to risk coming off as a creep, but here’s my number.” He shoved the dinner receipt into my free hand. “Just—only if you, like, need help or something. Not sure if you talk to the neighbors—just want to make sure you have someone to call.”
My heart flipped. I glanced at the paper. His name was writtenPat.“You prefer to be called ‘Pat?’”
