They’re not a group of fans anymore—they’re a mob, pressing in from all sides. Someone’s elbow catches my ribs. A hand grabs at my sleeve. The air gets thicker, harder to pull into my lungs. I take a step back but hit the bar’s edge, trapped. I shuffle sideways along it, looking for space that doesn’t exist. My chest goes tight like there’s a belt wrapped around my ribs, cinching tighter with each breath I try to take.
“Hey!” Niall’s voice cuts through the chaos. He shoulders his way between me and a teenage boy whose hand is reaching for my arm, probably for another photo.
But the room is already starting to blur at the edges. The faces become smears of color. The voices distort like I’m underwater. I spin around, desperately searching for an exit, for air, for space—and in that same motion, searching for Devin. She’s the one familiar anchor in this place besides Niall, the one person who knew me before I became “Oliver Paxton” in capital letters. But she’s nowhere in the sea of strangers.
There—an exit sign glows red above a door near the bar’s end.
I make a beeline for it, booking my ass around the bar and under the exit sign as fast as I can without actually running. Behind me, someone’s shouting at the crowd to calm down, to give me space, to not follow, but I don’t recognize the voice. Everything sounds like it’s coming through a tunnel, distorted and far away. The whole world tilts off its axis.
The door flies open under my push, and December air hits my face like a slap. I gasp, expecting the cold to fill my lungs, to break whatever invisible hand is squeezing my throat. But nothing happens. The air won’t go deep enough. I lean against the brick wall, its roughness catching on my sweater, sucking in breath after breath that won’t satisfy. It’s like trying tobreathe through a cocktail straw. I’m drowning in the middle of a New Hampshire alley, surrounded by air I can’t seem to access.
The decorative snowflake lights strung across the alley start to pulse and glow, taking on an unreal quality like they’re radioactive. Everything warps, nothing to be trusted. I’m floating up and out of my body, disconnecting from?—
“Oliver.” The voice could be from right next to my ear or across the street; it’s impossible to tell.
“Hey.” Niall’s face materializes in front of me, brow furrowed with concern. “You okay, man?”
“I’m fine.” I close my eyes. Drop my head against the building.Inhale, one… two… three… four. Exhale, one… two… three… four.
Slowly, incrementally, things start to feel real again. The snowflake lights dim back to normal. When I open my eyes, I take in my friend, trying to hide his concern but doing a shit job of it.
“Can I get you anything?” His smile is forced and wobbly. “Water?”
“No. I’m okay, thanks.” I straighten up. “It happens sometimes.”
He hesitates for a moment. “You have panic attacks often?”
I wince. Hearing it named out loud makes it real in a way I’ve been avoiding. I’m caught between gratitude that he recognizes what just happened—saving me from having to explain—and disappointment that it was so obvious.
“Sometimes.” I cross the alley to a bench someone has placed between two shops. The cold metal seeps through my jeans.
“Have you told anyone about them?”
“My therapist.” My eyes stay fixed on the pizzeria’s door, half-expecting it to burst open with the crowd following me out.
“Don’t worry.” Niall reads my mind, nodding toward the door. “The manager came out and told everyone to leave youalone unless they want to get kicked out. It’s half-off wings night, so I don’t think anyone wants to risk it.”
I chuckle, not sure if he’s joking or if cheap wings really are a stronger motivator than celebrity sightings. “Thanks.”
He nods. “So you’re seeing a therapist. That’s great.”
I shrug. “It hasn’t helped much with the… episodes. She’s the one who recommended the move, though.” I look down at my clasped hands and snort. “It’s supposed to be a fresh start. Comical, huh? Turns out there’s no outrunning my past. No matter where I go.”
Did Devin see me panic and flee? The embarrassment sits heavy in my gut. But underneath it, something worse bubbles up—the recognition that this is exactly the kind of thing I used to dismiss when she had panic attacks. When she’d freeze up before appointments or struggle in crowds, I’d tell her it was mind over matter. That she was giving in to her feelings.
No wonder she stopped telling me when things got bad. I made her feel weak for something she couldn’t control, just like I can’t control this.
Niall’s lips twitch with sympathy, and I hate that I’m the receiver of it. If I could wave a magic wand and just get my shit together, I would. Of course, I know it’s not that simple. Some things you can’t tough it through.
“What would you like to do?” He slaps his palms on his knees. “I’m guessing you’ve had enough of the pizzeria for the night.”
“You go back in. I can?—”
“Hell, no. I’m not going in without you.” He stands. “My place is walking distance from here. What do you say? It’s the perfect stroll to burn off a buzz. By the time I get home from here, I’ve had one drink instead of three.”
Chuckling, I stand. “That sounds good, but uh…” I glance over my shoulder, at the street beyond the alley’s mouth. “Is there a way that avoids busy roads?”
I’ve had enough of people for the night. The only ones I want to see are Niall and his wife.
