“Leo! Come on, a few more photos!” a paparazzi I recognize calls. “She’s been gone for months!” I give him a grin, wide and mischievous, playing into the role of all-knowing publicist with a plan.
“We’ve got to keep you guessing,” I say, winking to make this seem strategic, though it’s anything but. They laugh and jeer, granting us time to get Willa inside, but before more questions come, I slip through the doors, rushing to catch up with Gabe guiding Willa. I’m keenly aware of the large windows exposing us to the still-shouting paparazzi as I hurry after them.
“What’s going on?” I ask, panic coursing through me freely now. Something is not right.
“She wanted to skip the press line,” Gabe says, trying to mask the confusion and hint of worry in his words and failing. My eyes move to Willa, who looks pale and small as she stands in the luxurious hallway. Her shoulders curve inward, and her chest rises and falls quickly with short, shallow breaths. Her eyes are glazed and wide, her lips parted, and her pointer finger is scratching at the edge of her thumb rhythmically.
“Willa, what’s going on?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.
“I—” she says, but can’t seem to get the words out, her breathing growing quicker as her eyes shift towards the windows. She needs to get behind closed doors, somewhere she feels safe, to come down from her panic.
“I have to move the car,” Gabe says nervously, glancing at the door and back to Willa. The plan was always for him to get her inside safely, then move the car to the parking garage—a safetymeasure Jaime enacts since a valet could plant a tracker if alone with her car. “But I can’t leave her.”
“I’ve got it,” I say, handing the keys to him and moving Willa to a nearby room without another word. The meeting room is usually empty, but when I see a cleaning woman inside, I nod toward the door.
“Get out,” I say firmly. The woman, Fran, looks at me wide-eyed. I’ll send her flowers and a gift card later, but I don’t have the luxury of niceties now. “Get out now.” She nods frantically, pulling her small cart out behind her. I lock the door and move a now-shaking Willa to a chair.
“Willa, honey,” I say, my voice much calmer than it was a moment before, squatting a bit to get on her level as she stands there, dazed and breathing heavy. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” she says, but it’s obviously not the case. In fact, she’s lost even more color now. The side of her finger is turning an angry red from her nail scratching at it. Then she shifts her head to look at me fully, and my heart falls further. Panic is written clearly across her face, now mixed with guilt. “I’m so sorry, Leo. I’m sure you guys wanted me to take pictures. This was my shot after not seeing me for so long. I think I forgot what it was like. It was so much. It was so loud and?—”
“Hey, hey, hey, Will. Don’t apologize. I do not care. What I care about right now is you. Are you okay?” Her eyes are starting to water, but that only seems to make things worse.
“This is why I need my stupid routines!” she says, making absolutely no sense at this point. “Now everyone’s going to be so mad at me. I’m going to let them down. Jackie and you and Mom and Jefferson and…Jackie—oh my god, Jackie’s going to kill me. I’m, I’m, I’m…” Her breathing becomes choppy and more irregular as the panic consumes her.
I do the only thing I can think of, sitting next to her and pulling her into my lap, her legs draping over mine. But with ourcloseness, her breathing slows a bit, easing the pressure in my own chest.
“What do you need, Willa?”
She closes her eyes and takes a shaky breath, holding it for measured moments, then releasing it slowly before speaking.
“I just need to get it together. I just need…” Her voice is breathy, not her own, “I need to get myself in check.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says, her voice anything but. I’ll be fine. This is—” She’s still shaking, but her mind is trying to convince herself she’s okay. “I’ll be fine. It’s just that I haven’t done that in a while. I didn’t prepare.” She takes a deep breath. She starts to calm, and my own pulse slows with hers.
It’s all going to be fine.
That is, until a familiar voice can be heard through the door, Willa’s head snapping in the direction, and that look on her face going panicked once more.
“Where’s Willa?” we hear called from the other side of the door, and without thinking, I put my hands to her cheeks, pulling her face to look at me once more. Her eyes are haunted, but that dazed look is gone, at least.
The fear isn’t, though. The fear and panic are still there, stark, and I hate seeing it on my sweet girl’s face.
“I need to go, Leo,” she says, trying to stand, but I hold her steady. “I have to go see her. She’s going to be so mad I messed up the paparazzi walk. She’s going to freak. She’s going to, she’s going to—” her breathing gets more and more frantic, and I know that bringing Jackie in right now will only make things worse.
She doesn’t need Jackie right now. What she needs is a distraction, and I’m going to be the one to give it to her.
And when her head snaps to mine, a bit of the light returning as I confuse her just enough to distract her a bit, I know I need to continue.
Right now, I am not Leo Sinclair, Willa Stone’s publicist.
Right now, I am Leo, and she is my Willa, and I need to do what I have to do to calm her down.
My mind runs through a dozen ideas and solutions, things doctors and therapists taught me for managing a panic attack, ways to quickly overcome one, and landing on a single idea that is just as stupid as it is effective.
I shift my hand on her face and pull her into me, pressing my lips to hers.
Instantly, her body melts, and relief moves through me.
