I can’t even find the words to tell him I’m pretty sure God gave up on me a long, long time ago. As he continues to pray, his hands gently cupping my cheeks, my breathing begins to slow, and the walls ease up.
When I can finally see clearly, I pull away from him. A chill runs up my spine at the sudden distance, but I don’t give in and lean back toward him.
Zane drops his hands.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” But my tone is anything but steady.
He dips his head in a nod. It’s hardly the first panic attack he’s helped me out of. In fact, there was a time when only Zane could save me once the fear kicked in. Seems that, too, hasn’t changed.
“Please leave the door open. Just step into the hall out of sight.”
Zane hesitates a moment but nods and moves out into the hall.
My dusty bed creaks when I take a seat to remove my shoes. As I do, I reach beneath my mattress and withdraw the knife I kept tucked safely away. Running my fingers over my name carved in the wooden casing of the pocketknife, more tears fill my eyes.
Another thing Zane gave me.
He was the first one to ever give me a Christmas present. And this was it. Not a single night went by that I slept without it. Until I’d decided never to come back to this place. I’d forgotten it in my haste to escape, but I’d never forgotten it. Or the kindness he’d shown me.
I set it aside on the bed and kick off my shoes. As soon as they’re on the floor, I take a deep breath and undo the buttons of my shorts. I lie back on the bed and start coughing when dust fills my lungs.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I bite out, then try to stand. With the injury on my thigh, standing on one leg to get the shorts off is going to be impossible. Fantastic. I tug the shorts back up over my thighs. “Actually. Can you help me?”
He moves into the space wordlessly, his muscular frame taking up far more room than he should have. “What do you need me to do?”
“Close your eyes and help me get the shorts off my legs. The bed is dusty and?—”
Zane shuts his eyes tightly and turns his face away. His large hands splay on my waist, and I suck in a breath as he quickly slides the shorts down over my hips. I grip his shoulders with both hands, giving him my weight as I lift each leg free.
Pain shoots up through my injured thigh, but as soon as I shift the weight to my uninjured leg, it becomes manageable again.
As I release his shoulder and steady myself on the dresser, Zane turns away completely. “What else?” he asks.
Everything. I shake the thought away. Needing anyone is a risk. But needing Zane? That’s a trap I can’t risk falling into. “I’m not sure I can hold myself steady enough to get the sweats on.”
Eyes still closed, Zane holds an arm out, so I take it and guide him toward my upper arm. He holds me, gaze turned away, eyes closed, as I slip into the sweats.
“Okay, thanks. You can open your eyes.”
He does, then moves out of the room again when I shrug out of my jacket. Thankfully, the injury to my thigh doesn’t cause me any issues as I change my shirt and put my hair up in a ponytail. After I pull my jacket back on, I limp back to the bed to put my shoes on.
“You can come in.”
Zane steps back into the room and immediately crosses to me before sinking to his knees. Without asking, he takes my shoe and slips it onto my foot.
“I can do that.”
“It’s easier on your leg if I do it,” he replies.
He’s right, but Zane Knox kneeling in front of me is too much for me to handle. Especially when he glances up at me through thick, dark eyelashes, his green gaze so bright it’s nearly blinding.
“Why didn’t you become a doctor?” I ask again, hoping that if we start this Twenty Questions game, we can get it over with, and I can move on.
“That depends on who you ask,” he replies.
“That’s not an answer.”
