Arms snake around my waist, and a deep voice says, “Woah there.” Knowing that Teddy is the person holding me does nothing to stop the ice from spreading down my spine. My breathing grinds to a halt as my heart goes into overdrive. My vision whites out. Instinctively, I pull away. My butt meets the tile, and I scramble back until I hit the wall.
I know I’m overreacting. I know I’m safe. I know. I know. I know. But my body refuses to acknowledge what my mind is telling me.
Hands.
Sweat.
Grunts.
Pain.
Tears.
A crisp, clean scent tickles my nose. The smell of bergamot and something warm and salty, reminiscent of a sunny day at the beach, drags me back to awareness. Warmth touches both of my cheeks, and I realize they’re wet. I’m crying in real life, not just in my memories. I open my eyes and find myself staring at the ocean. I stare for a minute before it registers that I’m looking at blue eyes that have a navy outer ring that fades into seafoam green, with a hint of brown around the pupil. This blue is unique to the only home I’ve ever known.
My chest begins to hurt from my labored breathing. That deep voice from earlier pushes through the haze, and I fight to focus on the words.
“Breathe in. Hold. Two. Three. Four.
Breathe out. Hold. Two. Three. Four.”
The instructions are repeated until my breathing returns to normal. My vision clears and all I can see ishim. Red hair that is shockingly bright. Those eyes that are achingly familiar. Broad shoulders. Arms that are thicker than my thighs strain against the fabric of his navy scrubs. As my eyes trail down his arms,I realize the warmth on my cheeks is coming from his hands. Hands that are touching me.
Before my breathing can get away from me again, I manage to whisper, “Don’t touch me. I can’t. Just. Please.”
Everett
The please is whispered but filled with so much desperation that my heart shatters. I’m not sure what happened to Cooper in the time we’ve been apart, but it’s obvious from the way he reacted so viscerally to an unexpected touch that it was nothing good. I quickly pull my hands away from his face and apologize.
“I’m so sorry. I should have asked first.”
The look he gives me is cautious. He angles his head to the side, avoiding my gaze now. “It’s okay. I know you were trying to help. I just have an aversion to being touched,” he says in a soft voice.
“I promise not to touch you again without your permission.”
“Thank you.”
His posture relaxes after I move back to sit on the floor, giving him more space. We sit there for a while, awkwardly staring at each other and trying to pretend we aren’t. After we accidentally make eye contact for the fifth or sixth time, a snort of laughter escapes Cooper, drawing a grin out of me.
“We are absolutely ridiculous,” he announces, climbing to his feet.
“I guess some things never change,” A small groan escapes me as I stand as well.
“A lot has changed. Even more has happened.” There’s a hint of darkness in his tone.
Before I can respond, there’s a knock at the door. An elegantly dressed man stands there observing before focusing on Cooper. “Mr. Sorenson, my name is Dr. Peter Krazinski. I am a psychologist here at Kingston General. I’m here to escort you to the psychiatric unit so we may have a chat.” He takes a step forward and holds his hand out.
Cooper takes two quick steps backwards and tucks his hands into his armpits. Dr. Krazinski pauses before dropping his hand. “My apologies.”
He stares at the doctor for a minute before turning his attention to me. “That’s his polite way of saying my grippy sock vacation awaits,” he says with an eye roll. Returning his gaze to the doctor, Cooper continues. “This ain’t my first rodeo, Doc. No need to be so formal. Lead the way so we can get this shit show on the road.”
My heart lurches as visions of last night fill my mind. The realization that this isn’t his first attempt fills me with a need to protect him. To be there for him. To not lose him. Again.
“Hey, LB,” I call out before he can make it out of the door fully. Cooper stops and looks at me over his shoulder. “Would it be ok if I was here when you get to go home?”
The snark is gone from his tone when he finally replies. “I’m not really sure what kind of condition I’ll be in when the time comes. I might not be the best to be around.” His eyes are filled with sadness when they meet mine.
“It sounds like you could use a little niceness then. And someone once told me, ‘It sure would be great if we could be nice to each other forever.’”
