Page 27 of Lost and Found

“Let me get you some water.”

When she returns, she doesn’t kneel beside my feet again. She sets the water on the end table next to me and sits herself down on the ottoman across from my lap.

“Sorry. Think my heart rate was already high from working out and the combination of the alarm and the smell. . . . It all got away from me,” I explain.

“Are they all like that?” she asks.

“No. No, not quite,” I say. Then, “Kinda. Yeah.” The attacks I’ve had at work have all had obvious triggers, too, other than fire and smoke. The loud pop of a snag, the unexpected thud of a falling tree. The ground giving in a bit too steeply under my foot. This one hit me hard and fast, but it also felt like it was over fairly quickly. Time always seems to flatten and compress when I’m stuck in that space. I have no idea how long or short that was.

I whisper a curse. “I gotta do something about that.”

“Hey,” Bea says. She grabs one of my hands and waits for me to look at her. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

I take in her stern face and don’t have the heart or balls to tell her she’s wrong. That I’m expecting a call from theFast & Furiousfranchise after the way I fled that group meeting and that I threw myself into a crisis wondering if she liked mywindow treatments.

Christ.

I feel the tips of her nails in my palm, her fingers curling up as she holds my hand harder. I really should pull it back for what it’s doing to my heart rate.

I clear my throat when I eventually do. “How’d you know about the counting thing?” I ask. “Counting the red things in the room during an attack?”

“Merritt had a few,” she says. She slides her hands under her thighs and rocks slightly. “And I looked up what to do after you told me about them. After the wedding.”

I don’t know why this makes me flush all over. Part embarrassment, part gratitude. I stand, plucking my shirt away from my chest and fanning myself.

“Well. Thank you. I appreciate it,” I tell her. We fall into an awkward silence, each shifting in place like we want to shift the subject.

“You busy right now?” she asks. “Now that I’ve burned my grilled cheese—” She gestures wildly at the room and then at me. “And you look hot”—her eyes immediately clench shut—“like,sweaty. Like it’s actually a nice, semi-hot day outside. Maybe we could go somewhere and get out for a bit.” She says the last words like they irritate her, and I have to bite back a laugh. I look down at my clothes and let myself think it’s the lack of them that’s got her ruffled. Some old cutoff and a pair of shorts I should probably retire. I have to wrestle with myself to not think it’s that she’s seeing more of my scars than she’s seen before.

“What did you have in mind?”

CHAPTER 9

One Night, Eight Years Ago

Bea

Silas fixes me with a look, eyes flashing before that charming mask falls away. It’s serious and studious and makes me want to run my fingers over the shape of that face, rub my lips against his jaw until they burn.

“Are you—”

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” I beg him. “Please. I’m . . . I’m sure.” I am a little too sure, and I should feel guilty about it. Somewhere in the melee of my brain, I know that I should. I could tell myself I only want to walk him home to spend some more time with him, get caught up some more, and that nothing beyond that will happen. But I don’t want to pretend. I want to be out of my own head and wholly under my skin, and wanting this is the first thing in forever that feels right and true, after feeling uncertain about so much lately. School, what I want to do with my life . . . my changing relationship with my best friend.

Merritt can’t be mad, I think. Not when she’s been in love three times over since high school.

No. I need to banish all further thoughts of Merritt tonight. I don’t want to set myself up to lie to me, either.

It’s warmer here, being so much farther inland than Spunes, and come summer, I know I’ll be sick of it very quickly. But rightnow, during spring, after the grass and trees have cooked all day in the sun, the air is thick with the scent. Every breath I taketastesgreen.

Silas chats to me about his siblings on the walk over, and I wonder if they know how lucky they are to have him. Someone who is so keenly observant of them. Proud and loving.

“How’s Wren and Ellis’s kid?” I ask.

His face brightens even more. “Sam? Barely a kid anymore. Full-blown preteen.”

“God, that’s wild. I remember when they graduated. Wren’s little bump under her gown.”

“They’re incredible parents,” he says firmly. He looks at me askance, like he’s checking for any judgment from me.