Behind him, Henry was struggling to pull air into his lungs, chest heaving, still trying to fold in on himself.
“If you want to be useful,” Ethan said, flicking his eyes toward the table beside us, “hand me the ice in that glass and shut the fuck up.”
I blinked.
Mateo moved first, grabbing the ice and placing it into Ethan’s outstretched palm, then stepping back quickly. Ethan lowered his forehead to Henry’s, speaking softly as he pressed the ice to his wrists, rubbing slow circles.
What…
“Panic attack,” Mateo said beside me. His voice was low, like he was trying to make sense of it too. “That’s clever—the ice…”
That familiar pang of uselessness hit me—hard. Tight. Suffocating. Like the room had shrunk without warning.
As Ethan kept talking, Henry slowly started to calm—bit by bit—while I stood there, doing nothing.
The air felt too thin. My pulse too loud. My grip on the moment slipping through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to lock it down.
You didn’t keep him safe.
“Ethan,” I said, a tremor in my voice I hadn’t expected slipping through.
He tilted his head toward me, anger gone—replaced by worry. “Can you get us a car?” Then to Mateo, “Is there a back exit or something?”
“Yes,” Mateo said immediately.
“I can’t leave. I have a date,” Henry tried, voice shaking.
That tone—fuck, that tone—made my hands unsteady.
“She’s a big girl, Henny,” Ethan murmured. “She’ll get back safe. Let’s go home, okay?”
Mateo stepped closer. “I’ll make sure she does.”
Henry still wouldn’t look at him. He just stared at Ethan’s chest and gave a stiff nod.
Like hell Mateo didn’t do anything—then why the fuck was Henry acting like this around him?
“Ash,” Ethan said. His eyes were bright and pleading. “Call the car.”
I nodded once and pulled out my phone, making sure the driver would be waiting right outside.
The seconds stretched longer than they should have.
Ethan helped Henry to his feet. He swayed a little, but he looked better already.
“They’re outside,” I told them.
Mateo walked us to the back door. Ethan and Henry huddled together behind me, and he held the door open for them.
“Henry,” Mateo said quietly.
Henry still wouldn’t look at him. “I’m sorry. Not right now.”
Ethan leaned into the Spaniard, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you know how he is in a little bit. Don’t worry too much—he’s okay.”
I frowned at that exchange.
Henry got into the back seat. Ethan was about to climb in after him but stopped when I reached for the passenger door.
