Page 82 of The Betrothal

I tightened my grip on him, but he didn’t react. The fact that he still held me was the only positive I could glean.

“Will people outside the system be subject to the same expectations?” Ben asked.

The silence that greeted him was answer enough.

I felt a tiny tremor in his hand. His breathing had started to become laboured; he drew in a deep lungful of air before blowing it back out and doing it again. It was as if he couldn’t quite get enough oxygen.

Then he simply stopped trying.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ISABELLE

“Benji.” Seb launched himself from his seat and across the room, grabbing Ben’s arms.

I tried to release Ben’s hand so Seb could take it, but he wouldn’t let me go.

Panic spiked at the sight of him. He had turned ghostly pale, his eyes glazed over and distant – lost to some thought or memory – he was definitely not here with us.

“Breathe, Benji!” Seb urged with a tiny shake.

Ben drew in one jagged breath, then stilled.

“Benji!” Seb shook him harder, and I moved with the force of it. “Benji, you fucking breathe for me. Now!”

Ben took another paltry breath.

Alex had rushed to help, then thought better of it, allowing Seb to take over. Now he stormed back and forth across the rug, his hands ripping at his hair.

“Ben,” he tried. “Please. Talk to us. Tell me what I can do?” He halted his pacing, then resumed at Ben’s silence, Seb muttering urgently the whole time.

“He’s not even breathing, Alexander, so he can hardly fucking speak to you,” Seb spat. “I told you. I told you! There were better ways to do this. But no, you had to have that goddamn TV on. Prove your fucking point.”

Seb was raging now, his face drawn with the strain of this situation. He refused to turn his attention away from Ben, although I could see him struggling to handle both Ben and Alex.

“Ben?” I tugged at his hand where he still held on to me, and his head snapped up, his ice-blue eyes locking with mine.

“Ben?” I had no idea what I was doing, but I needed him to listen to someone. “Ben, honey?” He simply blinked at me. “Please, can you breathe for us?”

I saw his lips part and chest rise with a solid breath. A spark of hope flickered at the movement.

I waited a second for him to repeat the move, but he stalled.

“Another one for me?” I pulled his hand up against my chest, cradling it in both of mine, holding it so tightly.

I wanted to draw his pain out of him, carry it so he didn’t have to.

“Ben, please.” At my plea, he followed my instructions, then froze once more.

“I need you to keep going for us, Ben. I need you to breathe.” I dragged myself closer to him, pressing myself to his body, legs against his, shoulders brushing, until he was cocooned. Seb at his front, me at his side.

His chest lifted and dropped before, very slowly, it began to rise and fall more steadily. Not deeply, but consistently.

I swallowed the surge of gratitude, my eyes beginning to prick at the pain now creasing his features, the defeat curling his shoulders in on himself.

“You got this, Benji, breathe for us.” Seb’s hand came up to clasp over where I still held Ben’s.

A low, distressed moan left him, and a tear splashed over my lashes onto my cheek. Ben watched its progress. I wouldn’t release his hand to wipe it away. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be releasing my hold on him.