And goddess… It worked.
I inhaled, shaky but real. Exhaled, trembling but steady. Again. Again.
The storm ebbed.
Slowly, painfully, but it ebbed.
I breathed in his scent—mint, chocolate, ice cream and something sharp and sweet that was just him. It filled my lungs, drove out the panic, left me dizzy with relief and something else I didn’t dare name.
And with every breath, reality trickled back in.
What I’d done.
What he’d seen.
The panic attack wasn’t just mine anymore. It was ours. He’d witnessed every second, every gasp, every crack in the mask I’d spent years perfecting.
And now there was no hiding it. No pretending I wasn’t broken.
The towel clung to me, plastered against skin slick with water. His arms were iron around me, his shirt—or what was left of it—drenched, clinging
