Corbyn’s gaze moved shakily around their surroundings. “The… the brick wall,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “A green door. You.”
“Perfect. Now, what are two things you can hear?”
He closed his eyes briefly, listening. “Your voice. Traffic from the street.”
“And one thing you can touch.”
He turned, leaning his shoulder against the wall, one trembling hand reaching out to brush a stray lock behind her ear. Sadie felt tears prick her eyes as she leaned into the touch. Her hand came up to cover his, where it rested against her cheek; she could feel the warmth of his skin against her own.
His throat bobbed. “The fire,” he whispered suddenly, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t get out. The door was jammed, and the smoke was so thick, and I thought… I thought I was going to die.”
Sadie squeezed his hand gently, her heart breaking for the terror he’d endured.
“But you didn’t die,” she said firmly. “You’re here. You survived.”
“Sometimes I can still smell it,” Corbyn continued, the words pouring out now as if a dam had burst. “Burning rubber and leather and…” He shuddered. “I wake up choking on smoke that isn’t there.”
“I know,” Sadie said gently, and something in her tone made him look at her more closely. “I know what it’s like when your body remembers trauma your mind tries to forget.”
“You do?”
Sadie nodded, thinking of the nights she had been jarred awake at the sound of a door slamming, confident Nate was coming for her. The way her hands would shake when men raised their voices, even in casual conversation. The hyper-vigilance that had left her exhausted.
Corbyn’s breathing had steadied now, his hand slowly dropping back to his side as he asked, “How do you make it stop?”
“I don’t think it ever truly stops,” Sadie said honestly. “But you learn how to bring yourself back to the present, how to calm your mind. You learn that you can survive it.” She studied his face, seeing exhaustion and vulnerability there. “You’ve been dealing with this alone for four years?”
“Mostly,” Corbyn told her, turning to lean his back against the wall and running a hand over his face. “Ellie knows, of course. And Edie suspects. But I’ve gotten good at avoiding triggers, at controlling my environment.”
“Until tonight.”
“Until tonight,” he agreed with a humorless laugh. “I’m fine now, you don’t have to stand here trying to take care of me.”
“I don’t mind,” Sadie said, and realized she meant it entirely. “We take care of each other. That’s what…” She paused, unsure how to finish the sentence.That’s what friends do? That’s whatpeople who care about each other do?Neither felt adequate for what was happening between them.
The silence hung in the air between them, loaded with meaning she hadn’t allowed herself to truly examine. In the distance, they could hear sirens approaching. Still, the sound seemed muffled and unimportant compared to the intensity of this moment—Corbyn’s defenses completely down, Sadie’s own walls crumbling as she recognized how much this man had come to mean to her.
Corbyn turned to face her once more, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. His thumb traced along her cheekbone, making her breath catch, and he leaned his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, and they both stood there, lost in their moment of stillness.
A siren wailed past the mouth of the alley, the sound making Corbyn tense reflexively. But when Sadie squeezed his hand, pulling him gently back into the here and now, he relaxed again, his shoulders settling as she saw his eyes focus on her face instead of the distant emergency sounds.
“We should go back,” Sadie said, though she made no move to pull away from him. “Ellie will be worried.”
“I know.” Corbyn took a deep breath, steadying himself. “Just… give me another moment.”
They stood together in the quiet alley, foreheads pressed together, processing what had shifted between them. The careful boundaries they’d maintained for weeks now completely swept away, replaced by this raw honesty that felt both terrifying and inevitable.
“Are you okay?” she asked, studying his face for signs of lingering panic.
“Getting there,” Corbyn replied, his color slowly returning to normal. “The attack… it was bad, but not the worst I’ve had. Having you here… It helped. More than you know.”
“Good,” Sadie said simply, giving his hand one final squeeze. “Ready?”
Corbyn nodded, pulling away, and she could see the toll the panic attack had taken in the way his shoulders drooped. As they walked back toward the street, his hand found hers, fingers intertwining like it was the most natural thing in the world.
When they emerged from the alley into the harsh riot of emergency lights and gathering crowds, Sadie realized that whatever came next, they would face it together.
March 15, 2025
