“No, I can’t—”
“Madison.” His voice drops an octave, vibrating right under my ribs. “Look. At. Me.”
I want to look anywhere but the man witnessing my unraveling. But his light follows my face. He steps into my personal space until there’s nowhere left to go.
“Hey. I need to see those eyes. Look at me.”
A stray tear slips out, hot and humiliating. I hate this. I hate that my body is a traitor. Most of all, I hate that he’s the one holding the flashlight. When I finally meet his gaze, it’s a collision of green and brown. He catches the tear with his thumb, the contact brief but grounding.
“Focus on my voice,” he instructs. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
“I can’t breathe,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“You can. In. Now.”
It isn’t a suggestion. My body, desperate for a pilot, finally listens. I suck in a shaky, shallow breath.
“Good,” he says. “Again.”
I try.
“Out. Slow.”
I blow it out. It stutters, but the edges of the panic are starting to blur.
“Again.”
The gallop in my chest slows to a heavy trot.
“You need to sit,” he says.
“I can’t sit,” I snap, the fear flaring again. “If I sit, I’m stuck. I have to be ready to run.”
“You’re not running anywhere, and you’re going to pass out if you keep locking your knees. Your back is already shot.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. Sit.”
“It’s really hurt this time,” I finally admit, the exhaustion winning.
“I know. I’ll help you down.”
“I’m not—”
“Madison. Sit. Now.”
There it is. The doctor voice. The one that expects obedience because it’s the only thing standing between you and a disaster. My pride puts up a fight, but my legs give in first.
He moves in close, supporting my arm with one hand and bracing my back with the other. The contact is clinical, and yet it makes my skin feel five sizes too small.
I lower myself to the floor, legs bent awkwardly. The pain is brutal, but sitting takes some of the fight out of my muscles.
Beckett crouches in front of me, the phone light angled to illuminate his face. “Stay with me. You’re okay.”
“I’m not,” I breathe, the truth finally leaking out. “Ican’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.” He doesn’t break eye contact. “In through the nose. Out through the mouth.”
