God, I tried.
But my chest seized again, breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts that barely counted as oxygen. My heart felt like it was trying to escape my ribs.
“I—” My voice cracked uselessly. “I can’t—Wyatt, I can’t?—”
“I know,” he said immediately. No hesitation. No disbelief. “You’re having a panic attack. You’re safe. You’re not falling. I’ve got you.”
His hands slid around me fully then, pulling me flush against his chest, my face buried in the solid plane of him—warm, steady, immovable. The scent of soap and clean cotton and Wyatt filled my lungs, the only thing my body would accept.
I clutched his shirt, fingers fisting hard enough to wrinkle the fabric. I needed the pressure. The proof.
“Breathe with me,” he murmured, his mouth close to my hair. “Not deep. Just slow. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. I’ll set the pace.”
He inhaled deliberately.
I followed, ragged and uneven.
He exhaled.
I tried again.
My body shook violently, adrenaline flooding my system like I’d just survived something catastrophic—even though nothing had actually happened. My knees threatened to give out, thedelayed tremor of fear ripping through me now that the initial shock had landed.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, humiliation burning hot through the panic. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t think it would be this bad?—”
“Stop,” he said gently but firmly. “You don’t apologize for this. Ever.”
Someone said my name nearby—Natalie, I thought—but the sound barely registered. The world had narrowed to Wyatt’s arms, his chest rising and falling against mine, his voice anchoring me when my own thoughts turned feral.
Wyatt lifted his head just enough to look past me.
“This interview will have to wait,” he said calmly, the kind of calm that didn’t invite argument. “She’s not okay.”
There was no irritation in his voice. No apology. Just fact.
Natalie responded immediately, her tone sharp with concern. “Of course. Absolutely.”
I felt movement around us—people stepping back, space clearing—but I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t. The moment I did, I was terrified the bridge would swallow me again.
“I need to get her off the bridge,” Wyatt continued, already shifting his stance. “Now.”
“Do whatever you need,” Natalie said.
Wyatt didn’t hesitate.
One moment I was barely upright, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
The next, I was weightless.
He scooped me up without ceremony, one arm under my knees, the other firm across my back, lifting me easily against his chest like this was instinct, like my safety mattered more than decorum or witnesses or explanations.
I buried my face against his neck immediately, eyes squeezed shut, breath still coming too fast but finally, finally coming. Hishand cradled the back of my head, holding me there, shielding me from the world.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, low and constant. “You’re okay. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
I believed him.
It wasn’t rational.
