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“Then I’ll go wherever she is. Is she over in town? Is that why you live out here? Or is she farther away?”

Somehow, she made it to the foyer without stumbling. Her vision must have grown accustomed to the perpetual lack of light.

When she stepped off the porch, rain fell in big, fat droplets, soaking her instantly and beading on her lashes, making it hard to see.

Reaching the car, she turned her head in his direction, ready to ask him about the keys again. She’d expected him to be right behind her, but he wasn’t there. Only the rain and the swaying trees kept her company.

“Oliver?” Confused, she did an about-face before spotting him in the doorway, his face leeched of color and his eyes wild. She’d never seen him in this state before. “Oliver? What’s wrong?”

It took him a few breaths to wrestle whatever demons had gripped him. Even then, he hadn’t managed to control the tremor in his voice. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Concerned by the sweat beading his brow, she inched closer. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

When she attempted to touch his forehead, he reared back. “Come inside, Yarrow.”

The man looked like he was about to hurl. Rather than arguing, she followed him into his shadowed cave and closed the door.

Oliver didn’t stop until he reached the living room couch and sank into the cushions, resting his head against the back, his breathing heavy.

Had he caught some sort of bug? Even in the dimness, she could tell he looked green around the gills. “What happened? Are you sick?”

“No. Not sick.”

The rapid rise and fall of his chest concerned her. Was the man having a heart attack? Should she call someone? What was the Irish version of 911?

Unsure what to do, she ran to the kitchen and brought him a glass of water. “Here.”

His hands shook as he reached for it.

Sinking to the sofa next to him, she helped him bring the glass to his mouth. “Oliver. What’s wrong?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered, squeezing the empty glass hard enough to crush it. The tumbler miraculously held. “Fucking hell.”

Taking the glass away from him, she laid her hand on his clammy cheek, just above his beard. “Oliver? Tell me what happened.”

Pain flashed across his features. The words that fell from his lips were so quiet they barely reached her. “Nothing happened. Everything fucking happened.” A visible tremor rattled his body. “Ever since I got to this fucking place, I can’t make myself leave it.”

Her hand slipped from his cheek to squeeze his shoulder in reassurance. “Why won’t you leave?”

“It’s not that I won’t. I can’t.” Clasping her hand, he set it away from him. “Fuck it. I can’t, okay? Every time I’ve tried, I feel like my heart is about to explode into my lungs. I can’t. I can’t leave this house.”

“What?”

“I can’t even go on the porch.”

That made no sense. “How did you make it here?”

“Determined to find your brother, for one. My buddy said I could use his car, drive where I needed to go. But I can’t seem to manage taking a step out that fucking door.”

“Oliver.” Interlacing their fingers together, she waited for him to protest, to shake her off, but he didn’t. “I didn’t know.”

She had panic attacks too, after Kyle. She could barely get in a car for months after their accident.

He took several shaky breaths before speaking again. “When I landed in Ireland, someone recognized me at the airport. Took a picture. I started having a panic attack right there in the customs line. I almost threw up, but I held it together until I got outside. Imagine if I hadn’t? I could just see it… the photos of me passed out on the airport floor. I’d be back in the headlines. Then I got here and haven’t been able to leave. Every time I even approach that door…” He pressed a fist to his chest. “I can’t breathe. I start sweating so hard it stings my eyes. I came all this way to confront your brother, and I can’t leave this house.”

“Holy shit, Oliver. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m already fucked up physically. Why would I want you to know I’m fucked up mentally too?”