A broken sound rips out of me. My body twists, trying to get away from something that isn’t here.
His hand tightens at my waist, holding me in place but not trapping me.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and sharp at the same time. “You’re here. Carly. You’re here.”
I’m shaking. Harder than before.
I turn without thinking and press into him.
I bury my face in his chest like I need to hide there.
He goes very still.
His heartbeat is steady under my ear. Strong. Unshaken.
“I saw them,” I whisper against his shirt. “I could feel them.”
“They’re not here,” he says. No softness in it. Just certainty. “Nobody’s touching you.”
My hands fist in the leather of his cut, fingers curling into the thick edge of it like I need something solid to anchor to. I’m trembling so badly my teeth almost knock together.
His palm slides up my back once. Slow. Grounding.
“Breathe,” he says.
I try.
His chest rises under my cheek. I match it. In. Out.
His hand is moving in small circles between my shoulder blades.
It shouldn’t feel like this.
It shouldn’t feel safe.
But it does.
Gradually, the shaking lessens. My forehead rests against him now instead of pressing in. I’m aware of everything again.
How close we are.
How my thigh is hooked over his without meaning to.
How his arm around me has tightened.
His breathing is no longer as even as before.
I realize at some point I’ve climbed over him.
Heat rushes through me.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“For what?”
“For… this.”
His jaw shifts against my temple.
