And also that my mom tried to commit suicide shortly afterward.”
Ford slid his hand over hers, his voice softening. “Victoria . . . ”
“It’s fine,” she said defiantly, out of habit. “It was a long time ago, it happened, and my mom and I dealt with it. It’s just that there was this moment during the break-in, when I was on the phone with the 9-1-1 dispatcher, that somehow stirred this stuff up all over again. But I don’t want you to think that I’m this person who went through this big tragedy, and that that means—”
He cut her off right there. “What I think is that a lot of people have shit they have to deal with from their childhood. And sometimes, that shit messes you up a little, whether you want it to or not.”
She went quiet as the words fell between them.
He was right. She was messed up. Sure, on the outside, she looked like she completely had her shit together. That was what she wanted people to think, after all—the only side of her she allowed them to see. Yet here she was, the supposedly tough, unflappable, confident Victoria Slade, so afraid of losing control that she’d sent herself into a full-fledged panic attack and had actually blacked out in front of an entire train of people.
Yeah, not exactly “unflappable” there.
She laughed humorlessly, her words dry. “Wow. I could’ve saved myself a ton of money in therapy bills and just talked to you instead.” She slid her hand from Ford’s grasp and stood up. Walking toward the windows, she ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled.
She heard him get up as she looked out the window, and closed her eyes when she felt his strong arms come around her.
“If you and I were alone for an hour in some therapy room, I’m not sure how much actual talking would’ve occurred,” he said.
She felt a bittersweet pang, knowing that he was trying to get a smile out of her. And of course that’s what he would do. As much as it killed her to admit it given their less-than-auspicious start and his quite healthy ego, he was a good guy. A great guy, actually. In addition to all the things she’d told Dr. Metzel, he had a protective streak a mile wide for the people he cared about—and it was that quality, not his eyes or his incredible body or even his wicked, sly charm, that she found most attractive of all.
In an alternate universe, albeit one where a lot more was different than simply the night they’d almost met at The Violet Hour, she could imagine that Ford would be exactly the kind of man she would— Well . . . anyway.
Taking a deep breath, she turned around and met his gaze. “Here’s the thing. After what happened today on the train, I think . . . I probably need to focus right now on this panic stuff and getting my act together.”
“I agree that you should take care of yourself.” He smiled. “But even with the ‘panic stuff,’ you have your act together more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
If you only knew. “No, I mean I need to focus on just these panic attacks. And work, obviously.” She paused. “Meaning, this probably isn’t a good time for me to be involved with anyone.”
For a long moment Ford said nothing, simply studying her with those piercing blue eyes. “You just decided this now?”
She tried to sound nonchalant. “Well, yes.”
“Why?”
“Like I said, after this panic attack, I think I should focus on therapy and—”
“—work,” he finished for her. “Right. The same therapy and work you’ve been doing these past few weeks, the whole time we’ve been involved. But suddenly, now, you need to focus exclusively on that.”
The comment put her on the defensive. “Did you see what just happened to me on the train? Oh, I’m sorry, it must’ve been somebody else who had to carry me off when I was unconscious. I think it’s safe to say that whatever I’ve been doing these past few weeks, it isn’t working.”
She tried walking away, because once again he was too close and she needed to get away from his knowing reporter eyes. But he caught her hand, stopping her.
“Victoria.” He moved closer.
She thought about backing up, but then it really would look like she was running from him. So she held her ground, forcing herself to remain stoic and stifling the urge to lean into his hand