Page 82 of Scoring Lessons

Me: That’s not fucking happening. I’d rather go to Vancouver if push comes to shove.

Michael (Agent): They’re not going to wait for you forever. You need to make a decision. It’s clear your time with the Strikers is over.

Nausea settled in my stomach as my breathing turned choppy. The usual dread I’d been carrying since this situation came about sunk its claws into me deep. It was burning and suffocating until I couldn’t tell where the pain ended and I began.

No matter how hard I tried to take a deep breath, it was no use. My chest turned tight. The overhead lights were too bright, too blurry. The ping in my ear was too loud and overstimulating, making my skin buzz uncomfortably.

The elevators were taking too long, and being in the middle of the hallway—when I desperately wanted to get back to my apartment—was making everything worse.

I reached for the exit door to the stairs. I lived one floor below Anderson, so this was the only way to make it back to my place in time before I completely lost it.

But each step I took was harder than the fucking last.

When I reached my floor, I leaned against the wall next to the exit door and shut my eyes. The beats of my heart were wild against my throat. My hands were clammy, and my body shivered while droplets of sweat ran down the side of my forehead.

“Shit,” I murmured.

It was too late. I placed my hands on my knees and leaned forward as my eyes burned and turned blurry.

The panic climbed my throat, tightening until even swallowing turned into a battle.

“Wesley?” The sound of my name was more like a faint echo. It was hard to figure out who was calling out my name with the insistent ringing in my ears.

“Wesley.” The voice was louder this time, but it was soft, with a raspy edge. I knew who it was by the way my pulse stumbled, like a match struck too close to something already burning.

Olivia.

But I couldn’t answer. My body was trying to outrun the panic that was already there. I was fighting back the tears as the ugly truth settled in every fiber of my being. Everything was slipping through my fingers, yet I kept fighting for a chance that wasn’t happening.

I sank to the floor inch by inch. A single tear slipped down my cheek.

It was pathetic. I was pathetic.

Olivia dropped to her knees in front of me and cradled my face. Her palms were soft and slightly cool against my overheated, damp skin.

“Look at me.” Her voice stayed gentle. “Please. I’m here.”

My gaze locked onto her ocean-blue eyes. They reminded me of open water after a storm—waves settling, sky clearing.

She placed my hand against her sternum. “Feel my breathing and mimic it. Okay?”

I nodded. I still couldn’t speak.

As she slowly inhaled and exhaled through her mouth, I did the same.

My fuzzy head started to become clearer after a few minutes. Her words were clearer. Colors turned to their normal brightness.

Our foreheads met as I continued to try to match her breathing. I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate on my other senses.

The way she smelled like spring, with an edge of something bold.

The way her voice had a kind of warmth underneath the roughness she normally carried.

The tightness in my throat loosened. My chest eased, each breath stretching a little deeper than the last.

“Thank you,” I murmured when I was able to finally form words again. Our faces were so close that if either of us made any sudden movements, our lips would brush.

She took a safe distance to meet my stare. Something in my chest sank because my hopeless heart thought the possibility of kissing her was real. Even for a moment. Even if the circumstances weren’t perfect.