Year 28 - J.L. Mac Page 0,54

could walk away so easily—not from this.”

“C’mon, Sy don’t start picking this apart.” I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger with my eyes shut.

“You tellin’ me you don’t feel anything?” he asks almost shyly, and it slashes across my heart sending fresh hurt oozing out in hot, sticky, red rivulets that stain. I turn my attention away and breathe deeply as I begin scooting away from him in search of something to wear. My clothes are still damp so I grab a shirt and some pajama pants from his dresser and leave the room. I hear Sy opening and shutting drawers behind me and I walk aimlessly through his cabin. I pick up my wet clothes and shoes.

“Wait a damn minute,” he huffs. “Raegan!” He’s hot on my heels but so is my ratcheting up anxiety attack. I drop my sodden clothes and storm outside. I hurry down his porch steps and walk across his yard, rounding his cabin with my hands on my hips. The ground is squishy and wet under my bare feet and it feels gross but it doesn’t deter me. I can’t be here. I can’t breathe.

Abort, abort! Anxiety shouts.

“Goddammit, Raegan!”

“What, Sylas? What?” I yell over my shoulder as I keep walking aimlessly toward the rear of his property with no particular plan in place but feeling the urgency to get away. Huffing air in big gulps, I internally plead for my pulse to slow down.

Leaving the squishy yard for the gravel drive has my bare feet aching as I walk over tiny rocks that are digging into the soles of my feet. I come to a vehicle covered in a tan car tarp. I plant my hands on the trunk and gulp humid lungful after lungful of air, fully hyperventilating by now.

You know you’re the actual worst, right? Practicality directs her remark at Anxiety who I agree is definitely the actual worst part of me.

“You’re having an anxiety attack,” he says in a way that is neither question nor statement.

I don’t bother denying it. The cold sweat on my brow and the hyperventilating is pretty telling. “Breathe, baby. You’re okay, Rae. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’re in control,” he coaches like a true pro and it breaks my heart that he knows about these things. Who has been there for his meltdowns? Anyone? He consoles me, touching me gently, talking softly in my ear for several minutes. He waits patiently for me to gain control again. I wipe my face and take a deep cleansing breath feeling suddenly exhausted. That’s one of the worst parts of anxiety attacks. Aside from the pounding heart that convinces me I’m dying once it’s over I am left completely ragged. Bone-tired exhaustion sweeps in like twilight.

“Why are you trying to run? Where are you going to go? Why won’t you just talk to me? Look at yourself. You’re a goddamn mess, Rae.”

“Sylas,” I warn balling two fists into the tarp under my hands.

“Why?” he asks and very simply but my defenses are locked in place. He can ask questions until he’s blue in the face and I’d give him nothing. He started this ball rolling all those years ago when he deceived me, betrayed me. “Why this? Why did things fall apart back then?”

“Sy, I don’t want to rehash things that happ—”

“I’m not trying to poke old wounds but don’t you think I deserve an explanation? I figure, hell, five minutes ago I was deep inside of you watching you fall apart with me and just that quick,” he snaps his fingers crisply, “you’re already shutting me out and I know you said you don’t want to talk about old shit but fuck it. You’re already walking away so I may as well ask, right? I deserve to know.”

I narrow my eyes at him then motion my chin toward his chest where the Marine Corps tattoo he got is inked. “You could start there,” I clip, turning away from him. My eyes catch on a red bumper peeking out from beneath the tarp concealing the car. I glance at him and pull the tarp back further. Sy groans and rubs his fingers into his temples.

“My car,” I mumble, glancing back at him completely dumfounded. I walk along the side of my old Mustang, pulling the cover off as I go. I stare mindlessly at the car for a long moment before looking back to Sylas. He has his hands