Page 104 of Everything But Mine

Her breath warms my ear. “I don’t.” She pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. “I can’t be your partner if I’m left in the dark. And Eric, I’m done playing games.” She tugs at my hair so I don’t break away from her eyes. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re here.” She soothes my scalp. “You’re talking now. You scared the hell out of me today, but… you followed your treatment plan.”

I tighten my arm around her waist. “I’m worried it won’t be enough,” I whisper, the words raw against her skin, as if speaking them out loud will lock them in place. “I feel—” My breath shudders out, warm against her throat, and goose bumps rise beneath my mouth. “I’m on a deadline to be ready for him and you, and I⁠—”

“You need more than the two hours a week Val can give you.”

I nod against her and hiss when the movement pulls at my split lip.

Amanda pulls back immediately, both hands cradling my face. Her mouth tightens when she gets a better look at the bruise already darkening beneath the blood. “He got you good.”

I nod once. “He knows what he’s doing.” I glance away, shame dragging heavy in my chest. “And I deserved it.”

She slips off the bed carefully, one hand instinctively steadying the underside of her stomach as she disappears behind the doorway. Something opens and closes in the kitchen. I barely have time to register her absence before she’s back with a washcloth.

Without hesitation, Amanda climbs onto the bed and settles across my thighs, warm and solid over me. She gestures for me to lean back against the headboard before carefully pressing the cloth to my mouth. The chill from the ice inside it pierces through my skin, and I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, though she doesn’t pull away.

The cold burns at first, then numbs. Meltwater slides slowly down my chin while Amanda holds the compress there with impossible gentleness, her fingers brushing my jaw every time I flinch. It’s one of those moments when I fall in love with her all over again, as if I wasn’t already a goner.

“It’ll bruise,” she murmurs.

“Ice will keep the swelling down.” I have to do better.

She holds my gaze then, serious and unbearably soft. “You’re not on a deadline, Eric. I get the pressure, but I don’t expect you to never get overwhelmed or need a minute.”

Her weight rests against my lap while my thumb drifts slowly along her forearm, tracing absent circles against warm skin. For the first time all night, the shame locked in my body goes from boiling to a low simmer.

“What do you need?”

I stare down at the washcloth in her hand. “I need to… not disappear when I’m in crisis.” My throat tightens around the admission. “When I spiral, climbing is all I’ve got, and I⁠—”

“That’s not true, Eric,” she counters. “You’ve got Diego. Me. Hell, you have Val.”

A smile pulls at my mouth before the bruise protests. “I do,” I say quietly. “But it’s not enough. I still slip too far inside myself.” I flex my fingers against her hip. “And when I do, it’s not just me I drag into it anymore.”

Amanda wets her lips nervously. “There’s a facility we work with for some patients.” Her voice changes slightly when she says it, measured and therapist-like. “It specializes in trauma and abuse survivors.”

I tense beneath her immediately, muscles locking under her weight. Trauma survivors. I stare past her shoulder immediately, jaw tightening beneath the ice pack.

“You were abandoned,” she says softly after a moment. “That’s a trauma.” She brushes her index finger against my jaw. “Somatic therapy is a big component. Body regulation work. They even have climbing on site.”

Amanda watches me carefully, like she’s trying to figure out whether I’m shutting down or actually considering it.

“How long?” I ask.

“Forty-five days.”

I lean my head back against the headboard and stare at the ceiling. “Damn.” My fingers tighten absently against her thigh. “That’s expensive. I wanted my savings for the baby⁠—”

“They work with our university,” she rushes out. “You’re insured with them. It’d be in-network, so mostly covered.”

“And it’s far away?”

Amanda nods once, her thumb brushing nervously over the edge of the washcloth now. “Also…” She hesitates long enough that my stomach tightens. “And this is me speaking as a therapist, Eric. Not as”—she drops her hand on my chest—“us.”