Her hands tingled, and her breathing sounded too sharp, even to her. But Josh was so big, his arm that came up to wrap around her shoulder so reassuring, that she found herself nestling into him, tucking her head under his chin, her heart rate slowly settling. “It’s fine. I’m fine. We can go now, if you want.”
He rested his hand on her cheek and lifted her chin, tilting her to look at him. Straight into his eyes. And a sudden vision of intense blue eyes meeting hers across asphalt assaulted her: Josh, lying in a spreading pool of blood, his hand reaching for hers….
Her heart rate shot straight back up, and she shivered helplessly. What if he was hurt? What if they went for a drive and had an accident? What if?—
No. She forced that line of thought away, popping each new what-if like a bubble in her mind. She closed her eyes and leanedher forehead against his chest, reminding herself that he was with her. He was safe. And so was she.
“Speak to me, Ellie,” Josh’s voice was low and concerned.
She concentrated on slowing her breathing, sinking into the reassurance of his big body against hers. He’d wrapped himself around her, encompassing her in safety. She couldn’t remember another time in her life when she’d felt so securely held. And she found herself talking. Telling him the truth. “I started having panic attacks when I was in senior school.” She let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “I was a little obsessed with getting everything right, and when things didn’t… When I failed… It was terrifying. My father thought I should try harder to control myself. You know? Like if I wanted to, I could stop panicking. And I really tried.” She blinked against the prickle in her eyes as she remembered. “But it just made it worse.”
His arm tightened, holding her even closer. “He seems… I mean?—”
Ellie sighed softly. “Yeah. He grew up with nothing. His father was a coal miner who lost his job during the pit closures. I think he never forgot what it was to be cold and hungry. Things got better and he was happy for a time. But then when my mother died, he just retreated back into his shell. He remembered to hate weakness in anyone—including himself—but especially in me.” She shrugged sadly. “I understand why money and success are so important to him, I do.”
And Ellie understood all about throwing herself into work, trying to live in the one place that she could control. But she was starting to realize how cold and lonely that place could be. She was determined not to follow that path. Not anymore. “I just…. I wish he could try to understand the things that are important to me.”
Josh grunted. “Youshould be important to him.”
He sounded so outraged on her behalf. So protective. And he was giving voice to the thoughts she’d held locked away for so long. As if he truly understood. It helped her continue. “When I left home, I found a therapist who helped me get my panic attacks under control. I didn’t have one for years. Although—” She gave a small smile. “I still have a bit of a perfectionist streak.” She rested her hand over his heart, letting the steady beat soothe her. “For the last few weeks, I’ve been having panic attacks whenever I try to drive somewhere.”
His frown grew deeper, but he didn’t let her go. “What happened a few weeks ago?”
She loved his complete lack of judgment. He didn’t tell her to try harder. Or that she was too sensitive. Or that she should know she was really safe. His tone held only empathy and an honest desire to understand.
“I was in an accident.” The words came out quieter than she’d intended, and she tried again, firming her voice. “I was cycling… and I was hit by a car.”
She’d been flying down the steep, narrow forest roads not far from her house. The air had streamed past her, the ground disappearing beneath her wheels. It was the closest a human could come to flying—no pressure, no demands, no one who needed anything—just her and the bike and the road. But then something started to feel off.
She was in the lead, the first of a large group, and she didn’t quite know how she’d come to be there. She looked back to see a dark blue SUV overtaking the other cyclists. It was moving far too fast. And right down the middle of the road.
She leaned into the curve. The ground shot past, the trees a blur at her side. She glanced back again. But now, somehow, the SUV was right up behind her. The road straightened; it was clear. There was plenty of space for the driver to go around her.
She slowed. Made space. The side of the road was rutted, carved into channels from rain run-off and littered with potholes. She stood on her pedals, using her legs as shock absorbers, pushing herself as close to the sandy curb as she dared. But the SUV kept coming closer.
The wind buffeted her. The smell of hot rubber surrounded her. She looked back, another anxious glance. The SUV was close enough that she could make out the driver through the darkened windshield. It was a man wearing dark glasses and a cap pulled low. And his face was turned toward her. Was he looking at her? He seemed to be.
And then he turned the wheel. Deliberately. Right into her.
She swallowed. “It was a hit-and-run. I went down. Hard. And then the cyclists behind me couldn’t stop. They all hit me. They all went down.”
God. What an understatement. The jarring wrench as the SUV hit her back wheel. Flying through the air, so fast, so helpless, and then crashing into the tarmac, sliding, ripping up the thin fabric of her cycle kit. Down to skin, down to blood and muscle.
She had opened her eyes to agony. The knowledge that something was broken inside her. Stabbing pain through her chest, radiating down her shoulder, the struggle to breathe. Her body feeling as if it had been through a shredder, her blood slowly seeping out onto the road from her torn-up hands and legs.
The nearest cyclist lay face down. His helmet had broken free, revealing dark hair matted with blood. She didn’t know his name. They’d all been introduced too quickly. Those happy, carefree greetings were a hazy blur, a lifetime ago now. She’d tried to reach for him, she called for him, he?—
Josh’s fingers swept up her cheek and down again, over her shoulders and back up again as if he was checking for injuries, and the movement dragged her back to herself.
“And you? Fuck. Were you okay?Areyou okay?” His words were low and tense, as if he was caught somewhere between reassuring her and reassuring himself.
“I am.” She pressed a gentle kiss over his heart. “I’m fine now.”
“What about then?” he asked roughly.
“Broken ribs, one pierced a lung, a really bad graze with a couple of deeper cuts that needed stitches, but those came out after about a week.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but his look of horror told her he wasn’t buying it.
“It took a while,” she admitted. “My ribs still ache a bit. There are some scars at the top of my thigh. But I got good care, and I had a great physio. They helped me get back on my feet.”
