Not with Jacob or for Jacob.
For myself.
When I suggested doing long distance so I could build my own career, he called me selfish and egotistical. Naive for thinking I could make it in science, with the small number of publications tacked to my name.
Job change after job change, and rejected grant after rejected grant, I told myself that he was wrong. That I had what it took, and that the last thing I needed was a man by my side to get there.
Except, maybe all that confidence was just a shell to hide behind.
Maybe I’ve been wrong all this time. Maybe Jacob was right, and I really don’t have what it takes. The thought spins around and around in my brain while my lungs work overtime.
Because I’m still as unsuccessful and alone as Jacob predicted, while he has moved on big-time. I’m miles behind where I thought I would be, pushed to the sidelines and watching everyone else race ahead while my feet are stuck to the ground.
Outside, on the corridor in front of Vivienne’s office, Lewis looks at me, dumbfounded. I stare back, my heart tumbling over itself and skin slick with heat while I tell myself to breathe.
Instead of ripping his hand away like I expected him to, Lewis ducks his head lower to match my eye level. “Frances?”
“Something… I… Something’s wrong,” I stammer, guiding his hand up to where my heart isthisclose to sprinting out of my sternum. He flattens his palm over it, as if to catch it. When my own hands drift back to my sides, they’re trembling.
“Are you in pain?” he says, voice low but urgent, and I manage to shake my head.
“Okay.” He swallows as his eyes flick between mine, down to my hands, and up again. “If you’re not in pain, you might be having a panic attack.”
Over something like my ex being engaged? Something that should be insignificant? The way I’m taking the news makes me feel evenmoreinferior—
“Frances, come back here,” Lewis orders gently. “Let’s try to get you out of your head. You’re breathing, that’s good. Keep doing that but, hey, look at me.” He takes an exaggerated deep inhale, then lets the air out again. “Slow it down.”
I cling to the sounds of his breaths as I watch his chest expand and deflate slowly, his thumb drawing grounding circlesover the collar of my T-shirt. Whenever my mind drifts off, I tell myself to focus on the warmth of his hand, the prick of air against my nostrils.
Lewis stands by me silently as I ride out the tail end of my panic. I’m not sure how long it takes, but gradually my breaths even out, and my pulse slows, leaving my ears to pick up the chatter of students drifting in from outside, the sound of a keyboard from Vivienne’s office, and the creak of a door somewhere in the building.
“I think I’m okay now,” I finally whisper, using the heel of my hand to wipe the sweat off my forehead.
“Are you sure?” Lewis scans my face, as if to check for himself, before he moves his hand away from my breastbone. “Have you gone through something like this before?” he probes, worried.
“I haven’t. Except maybe on the plane yesterday? But I’m okay now.” I gulp, and when I realize that he’s become my human comfort blanket for the second time in just as many days, a blush heats up my cheeks. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he mutters. “Can I get you anything? Some water? Do you want to sit down?”
“No, I’m good—I brought my own.” I dig through my bag for the bottle of water I carry everywhere.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks as he observes my every movement.
“Yeah. I’ll just have a sip.” I give him a brief smile, hoping it convincingly portrays that I’m fine. I’m mid-swig when my capacity for rational thought returns, and I finally absorb what just happened.
What I just did.
Because it sounded like Vivienne thinks Lewis is my boyfriend. And, instead of clearing up the misconception, I seem to have confirmed it.
My eyes widen. “Did I just…”
“Yep,” he confirms, popping thep.
“Shit,” I say under my breath, then look up at Lewis. Anger brews in the dark of his eyes, the depth of his frown and the twitch in his jaw.
The human brain is a mysterious, awe-inspiring organ, really, because mine makes a split-second decision and rattles off motor commands to the muscles in my limbs before I realize that Lewis has just uttered the words “So now that you’re okay, let’s talk about—” much too loud and echoing for this awfully empty corridor. But at that point I’ve already clamped my hand over his mouth and pushed him toward the staircase, decidedly not willing to let Vivienne hear any discussion we’re about to have.
When we’ve reached the stone plaza in front of Schermerhorn Hall, he shakes me off.
