thudding of the phone stopped.
What in the world had she done?
“I’m so sorry,” she said to Liam, who still looked as shocked about what she’d done as she felt. “You were on the phone nonstop and it reminded me of Hawaii, so I snapped. I’m sorry.”
He nodded slowly, then swallowed, his hand flexing in front of him. A bead of sweat popped on his forehead, and his jaw tightened.
“Is it happening again?” she asked, feeling a little panicked herself. He looked how he had after they’d run into that mob of tourists.
He nodded his head once. Crap. Why had she been so impetuous, taking his phone from him like that? Even now, they could hear the vibrations reverberating against the metal from wherever it landed, alerting them to another text.
“This is stupid,” he said, sounding out of breath. “I can buy another phone.”
“I’ll go look for that one. It’s probably within arm’s reach of the opening of another duct.” She went to rush out to the lobby to find the basement entrance, but his hand reached out and grabbed hers, stopping her.
He was breathing through his nose quickly. Last time, he’d said that distraction helped him, and she tried to think of something to tell him.
She met his eyes before tearing them away to look around the room. “You asked me last week why I like this building so much, and I didn’t tell you the entire truth. I do love it, and I have wanted to get my hands on that paint outside since I got my master’s degree, but it’s more.”
He was looking at her, his breathing coming at less rapid intervals. Good. She kept talking.
“One of the only memories I have of my dad and mom is coming to this theater. I could only have been four years old, and I sometimes wonder if I actually remember it, or if Grandma has told me about it so many times that it’s ingrained in my mind.”
“Where are your parents?” Liam asked, his words still a little breathy.
“Who knows where my dad is,” she replied. “After my mom died of cancer, he stuck around for a few months, but then he split town, and Grandma and I haven’t seen him since. Almost twenty-five years now.” She hated admitting that her father had left her when she was so young, that he hadn’t bothered to stick around. She’d been to enough therapy to know that it was about him and not about her, but it was still something she hated telling people.
“But before he left and before Mom died,” she continued, not looking at Liam and not giving him a chance to respond, “we came to this theater and watched a movie together. I can’t even remember what movie it was now, but I remember sitting in those velvet seats and being sandwiched between them.” She’d had no idea what was coming. It was one of the last times Viola would be so innocent about hurt and loss.
Liam’s grip on her hand had loosened, and he seemed to be more or less back to normal, though he stared out the dingy window now instead of looking at her. “I’m sorry I reacted that way over a stupid phone,” he said. “Thank you for telling me that story about your family.”
She debated saying something more, not wanting to accidentally send him into another spiral, but in the end, it needed to be said, and she was a fountain of stories for distraction if she triggered another panic attack. “Liam,” she started softly. “Are you seeing anyone for this? A doctor or a therapist?”
He shook his head slowly. “I’d convinced myself that I just needed more rest. But I think I have a real problem.”
She wondered if he even realized that he still held her hand, his thumb absently brushing along the inside of her palm in a steady motion, making it impossible to think clearly. She cleared her throat. “I just want you to feel better, whether that’s meditation, medication, or therapy. Or probably all three for a while.”
He nodded. “You may be right.”
“There’s a therapist in my office building.” She paused, considering. “Although you can probably afford to go to the best therapist in the country.”
“I probably could.” He smiled wryly. “Poor little billionaire, right?”
“Hey.” She stopped him with a squeeze to his hand. She’d seen all the headlines that said something similar. “Having money doesn’t mean you stop having problems. Your dad died last year, and you’ve had a