Page 72 of Rise Above

“No, Talon. I can’t. Every time I open up, people

leave me. It’s my burden to carry and my burden alone.” Tears streamed down my face. “No one else should bear the weight. It’s not fair to others. This is my life, my albatross. Everyone thinks they can handle it, but they can’t. There are days I can’t even handle it.” I was shouting now.

“Aife,” he said as his eyes widened.

I scrambled from his lap. “You just got injured. You

shouldn’t even care about my shit! You should focus on you. Fuck, maybe Davis and Zeke should take care of you. What am I doing?” I was in full freak out mode now. Something had triggered my trauma, and I couldn’t stop the spiral. Fear roared through my chest, turning my breath ragged, pained.

Talon looked scared, like I was crazy. It was a look

I was all too familiar with. I was self-sabotaging; I always did this with men. People couldn’t get close to me. I was dangerous, toxic. My burden suffocated people. My breath was ragged. My cheeks were flushed and hot, tears still streaming down my face. It was hard to take air into my lungs. My throat constricted, burning as I tried to breathe.

One large hand encircled my wrists before I was

pulled into a solid chest. My feet left the ground, and we were headed to my room. Talon pulled the covers back before cuddling with me. He said nothing as he scratched my back and allowed me to cry. I felt out of control. What the hell was happening? Fear and hurt grappled in my body, causing me to flail, kicking out.

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“Breathe, Aife.” He rubbed circles into my back as

a weight came down on my legs. “When my dad died, I freaked out a lot too. I would have panic attacks and go into rages. It felt so unfair and like everything was out of control. I’d get mad at the wrong people. There was no good outlet for my bad emotions.” His voice soothed, gentle but firm.

I sniffled again. “I’m sorry.” It came out croaked, as

broken as I felt—as I was.

“It’s okay.” He traced small circles around my waist

and up my back. “You have post-traumatic stress disorder, don’t you?”

“How…” I lifted my eyes, catching those blue ones. “My brother has it. When he gets triggered, he

reacts nearly the same way. What triggered you?” His voice stayed even.

Taking a shaking breath in, I tried to remember

techniques I told patients. “Honestly, I’ve been triggered since we went to the ER. Before you berate me—you had a broken wrist. It wasn’t about me.”

“Why the fuck did you go?” Talon sounded

irritated, maybe even mad. My eyes fell to my hands, and the fear kicked back in.

“Because I care about you.” The words came out of

my mouth faster than I could stop them, and I peeked up at him.

Every one of his features softened. “Darling, what

aren’t you telling me?”

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“You’ll think I’m broken, Talon. I…I am broken.