“What’s wr—” I cut myself off when I looked up to see Zeke standing in front of us.
He was frowning, his black eyes scanning my face.
“What’s wrong with you, pretty boy?” I was almost certain there was a hint of concern in his tone.
“He just needed some air,” Brax explained, his apprehensive gaze bouncing back and forth between me and Zeke.
The dark slashes of Zeke’s brows didn’t shift. Clearly he wasn’t convinced.
I pointed toward the sky. “I’ve got an issue with apartments,” I admitted. “Gonna take some getting used to.”
“What kind of issue?” His words came out slowly, as though he was still wrapping his head around the term.
I shrugged and Zeke looked at Brax.
“He has an issue with confined spaces. Apartments to be very specific. As we just learned.”
“You claustrophobic?”
I shook my head. “No, actually. Well, I hadn’t thought so. It’s the idea of being locked in a box with no means of escape.” It sounded stupid even as I tried to explain it, although deep in my soul I knew I was admitting something I’d never admitted to anyone before.
“There’s an elevator and stairs,” Zeke stated, as though I hadn’t already thought of that.
“I know.” I shrugged again. “I’m sure it’ll pass once I get used to it.”
“You ever live in an apartment before?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Visited one?” he questioned.
“Well, yeah. But most apartments in Texas have exterior doors.” And stairs that led down to grass.
“You’ve lived in Texas your whole life?”
“Nope.” I did the math in my head. I was twenty-eight. We moved there when I was fourteen. I smiled. “Just half my life.”
Whether Zeke was buying my excuse or not, I couldn’t tell. However, he did glance at Brax, who held up his phone. “I was going to get coffee.”
Zeke nodded. “There’s a dog park around the corner. Meet us over there when you’re done.”
Brax glanced at me. I nodded, not sure what else to do.
“Sure. Can I get you anything?” he offered.
“I’m good. Get the pretty boy some water.”
“Will do.”
Zeke’s eyes narrowed and Brax must’ve realized how he sounded because he quickly amended his response with a “Yes, Zeke.” Without looking back at me, he took off down the street.
I didn’t know what to do or why Zeke felt it was necessary to split us up, but I was still focused on taking deep, cleansing breaths. My chest was looser than before, the panic abated, and my hands had stopped trembling. I considered that a good sign.
“Were you coming back?” I asked. It made sense because Zeke had been walking toward us.
“It doesn’t matter. Walk,” Zeke commanded and I did. “How long’ve you had this problem?”
“Just today,” I told him. “Seriously. It’s only this building. I’m not big on the city, and I guess it closed in around me.” I was sure I was being overly dramatic. Then again, I hadn’t faked the panic attack. “I probably just need some sleep. It’s been a long couple of days.”
“Interesting. I would’ve pegged the cowboy to have issues with the city.”
Yeah. Me, too. After all, Brax’s family did live on a small farm, complete with goats and pigs and a couple of horses. I loved spending time at his parents’ house, helping with the animals. I hadn’t grown up like that, but the suburbs always felt like home for me. Less people.
We made it half a block before things opened up. The buildings gave way to trees, concrete morphing into an abundance of grass. I finally managed to relax, the tension in my shoulders easing.
What the hell was I going to do? How the fuck was I supposed to live here if I couldn’t even go inside the apartment? I knew Brax was only doing it because it was free rent, and until we got a feel for the area, he didn’t want to find a more permanent residence. Not that I blamed him.
Brax was the rational one in our relationship. He managed our money with the skill of an accountant, investing when necessary, saving as much as he could while still allowing us to live a comfortable life where we enjoyed being able to do things.
“Sit,” Zeke commanded.
I did and it was about the time my ass hit the park bench that I realized he had been talking to Tank, not me.
“Obedient.” He chuckled.
Yeah. It appeared I was.
FIVE
ZEKE
SEEING THE PRETTY BOY’S PANIC-STRICKEN face brought back memories of my mother. The first time I recalled her having a claustrophobia-induced panic attack had been when I was twelve. My baby sister—two at the time—had been sick with a weird, almost strangling cough. Croup, I think they’d called it. My mother had asked me to go to the doctor with them to help out. I was big at twelve and carried Jamie around almost everywhere we went.
It was a regular trip, nothing out of the ordinary. We piled into my mother’s Ford Taurus. Although she was worried about Jamie, she was in good spirits, chattering on about nothing, a smile on her face. Right up until we walked into the building and approached the elevator. I’d known immediately that my mother wasn’t eager to get in. Perhaps it had been a premonition, but a few minutes later, we got inside, the doors closing securely behind us.
