He looks handsome today, in his black suit pants and a black button down, the two buttons at his neck and collar undone to show off the sharp lines of his clavicles and the dip between them. His thick framed glasses shield his dark eyes since the glare of the lights bounces off the lenses, but I can sense his eyes on me regardless. He’s a man who is comfortable in his own skin, who can walk into a room and own it with his presence alone. He terrifies and excites me all in the same breath. And that only means trouble.
“Got it,” I drag my eyes away and back to his daughter.
He hesitates for a moment, but when I don’t give him my attention, I hear the scuff of his shoes on the hard floor and then the tap of them as he walks away.
“Your daddy is scary,” I whisper to the little girl on the couch.
She blows a bubble in response.
I’ve been lagging all day, trying to keep myself busy as I sit with Lily and keep her entertained. She’s a happy little girl, despite the circumstances that got her here. I always forget how resilient babies are when the world sees them as fragile and breakable. But now it’s just after three, and rain has started beyond the window, the gentle pitter-patter of the raindrops against the glass a soothing melody to my tired brain.
“Just a minute,” I whisper to Lily who has just finished her midafternoon feed and is looking sleepy herself in my arms. She gives me a slow blink before her eyes turn droopy. Without placing her down, I lean back on the couch. I have no more energy to do anything else, I’ve been searching for little things for us to do once I get settled into the job and signed us upfor a social group that’s put on at the library around the corner starting next week.
My eyes sting as I lay there, Lily already passed out in my arms, and I fight to keep them open. I still have some time left here for the day, but a quick twenty-minute power nap seems like a great idea right now. Adjusting Lily, I stretch out on Dean’s plush couch, pulling the blanket from the back to cover us both. She slots against my body, not waking even for a second as I get myself comfortable. The rain continues to tap against the window, and sleep comes quickly and heavily, dragging me under in a matter of minutes.
But it doesn’t last.
It feels like I haven’t slept at all when a gentle hand shakes me awake. I jolt, securing my arm around Lily only to find she isn’t there, and my eyes snap open, panic coming over me. My heart thumps wildly inside my chest, and I bolt up on the couch only to come face to face with Dean as he stands there with a still sleeping Lily in his arms.
“You’re okay,” He whispers, his head cocked to the side as he watches me. It’s then that I notice the darkness beyond the window, the rain still coming down heavily enoughthat I hear it on the roof.
“What time is it?” I rub at the sleep in my eyes, glancing around to find a clock.
“A little after seven,” He says.
My eyes bug out of my head, “What!?”
I kick out of the blanket, the thing getting tangled up in my legs as I do.
“Hey,” Dean tries to soothe, but it goes straight over my head, “It’s okay.”
“Fuck!” I finally get free of the blanket and try to smooth down my hair, but it’s all messed up from where I was sleeping on it. “I’m so sorry!”
It doesn’t feel like I slept all that long, especially not four fucking hours!
“Sloane,” Dean reaches for my arm, but I flinch away from his touch, wrapping my arms around me as if that could somehow stop the vortex of panic consuming me.
“I swear, I didn’t mean to.” I shake my head, struggling to get air in. I fucking hate this. My anxiety attacks come without warning, and they have ever since my attack. The simplest of things seem to trigger me, like right now, I can’t get a grasp on it. There’s a pressure on my chest and a tightness in my throat, which is making it too hard to breathe.
Not here, I beg inwardly. Not in front of him.
“Sloane,” My name sounds as if it’s being said beyond a window, muffled against the roaring of my blood in my ears.
“Breathe, Sloane.”
I clutch at my chest, my vision fuzzy, my head swimming.
“I can’t breathe.” I gasp.
“It’s okay,” I know it’s Dean. I know he’s close, but I can’t place myself. The floor feels as if it’s caving in beneath me, the foundation splitting and fracturing, and there’s no way out.
It’s going to bury me alive.
“Breathe in for me, Sloane,” The order is gentle, but there’s no denying the authority underlying the tone. Quick and sharp, it makes me want to obey.
“Breathe in for five and out for eight,” He demands.
He begins to count as I attempt to suck in air.
