something?"
Matt Thomas was leaning close. She glanced sideways and saw genuine concern etched on his face. It struck her as funny that a complete stranger was able to read her better than her own husband had been able to lately. That realization did not comfort her.
As her tears flowed harder, a sudden urge to get the hell out of the club consumed Rachel. She should have sat in the back where she could exit without detection. Everyone in the club would notice her leaving if she got up now. Ethan had taken her coat and her purse.
A bitter anger struck, and she found herself resenting the fact that she had to grow up and worry about such tactical things. She longed for the days when her Daddy thought of her every need, showering her with love and care. All she'd had to do was submit.
She knew it was irrational, but she felt the need to mourn the changes in her marriage. Baby girls couldn't have babies. Only women... mothers... had babies. She had changed, and there could be no going back now.
"Rachel, what's wrong? Do you need a doctor? You're hyperventilating," Matt said.
Panic. It had been almost five years since she'd had one, but she was having a panic attack. It was like riding a bike. It was coming back to her with clarity, and yet she was helpless to stop the waves of dread from washing over her.
The roaring in her ears had started. It wouldn't be long now before she was in a full-out attack. She needed fresh air. She needed to stay calm.
I need my Daddy.
Chapter Two
Rachel
She managed to whisper his name between her panting breaths. "Derek. I need my Daddy." Her plea was punctuated by a sob.
The next few minutes were a blur for Rachel as she became light-headed. She vaguely heard Matt Thomas interrupting the show, shouting out Derek's name to get his attention. Ethan arrived first, looking frantic and begging her not to have the baby on the floor of The Punishment Pit. Other members rushed over as the house lights went on.
Nothing helped until Derek was there, kneeling in front of her, a look of sheer terror on his face.
"Rach, what the hell? When did you get here? What's happening? Are you in labor?"
Her fearless protector was falling apart before her very eyes, which only made her feel worse. They were quite the mess.
She gulped in enough air to be able to squeak out one word. "Panic." It took Derek a few long seconds to understand, but once he did he took charge, scooping her into his arms and rushing towards the exit, shouting orders over his shoulder. "Ethan, find me a paper or plastic bag. Bring it to me. Right away."
She heard Ethan shouting, "Should I call an ambulance?"
Derek looked down into her eyes, trying to assess how bad it was. She couldn't speak, but she was able to shake her head.
"No. Not yet. Just bring the bag."
He was almost running with her in his arms by the time they burst out into the alley. The cold October air blasted them. She was instantly shaking from the frigid temperature, yet the fresh air seeped into her lungs.
Derek leaned his back against the brick wall of the building, sliding down until he was sitting beside the door, cradling his wife in his arms, rocking her gently, as he had hundreds of times in the past. Rocking her to sleep, feeding her a warm bottle... this was home. The love and concern shining back at her through his brown eyes told her she'd been a fool to panic.
By the time Ethan arrived with a brown paper bag, Rachel didn't need it. Members began to congregate, concerned for her. She felt like a complete fool for having disrupted the entire show with her irrational meltdown.
Derek held her close, trying to ward off her chill while he barked orders at employees to bring her coat and purse, and for someone else to bring his car around from the parking garage.
In less than five minutes her husband was carrying her to the already warming car, laying her gently into the passenger's seat, and lowering the seat back so she could lie comfortably.
They didn't speak one word throughout the entire fifteen-minute drive to their house. Rachel dared to peek at his profile several times and couldn't read him. His locked jaw and tight grip on the steering wheel were the only indication of how tense her husband was.
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