“Please, let me go,” I beg into his shirt.
“Calm down, beautiful,” he says gently into my ear, his arms loosening enough for his hands to massage my shoulders. “Breathe deep. I’ve got you.”
Sharp pains throb in my temple, and dark spots cloud my vision. There’s a loud ringing in my ears that drowns out his soothing words. Everything goes black, and I draw in quick breaths, trying to drown out the panic. After a few minutes, the familiar scent of everything Pierce fills my senses. It soaks into my skin, and sudden tranquility sweeps through me. He continues to massage my tight muscles, and the tension eases a bit. “I’m okay,” I rasp hoarsely.
“Want to tell me why your heart’s still thundering against my chest?”
“It’s slowing.”
We stay pressed close until I know my color has returned and my breathing is under control. He helps me straighten up, his hands moving to frame my face. “We need to talk about this.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I can still feel you trembling down to my bones. One minute, you’re fine, and at the mention of meeting my kids…” He trails off, and a fresh wave of emotions washes over me as realization dawns on him. The bright blue in his eyes vanishes. “You have no plans to meet my kids, do you?”
I can’t stand the disappointment in his voice. Guilt and shame lodge in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t think I can.”
“The thought of meeting them triggered a panic attack. How am I supposed to deal with that?”
“You aren’t. I’m sorry it happened.”
“How often does this happen?”
“Not often.”
“When was the last time?”
“Pierce, I don’t want to go over this now. You have enough going on.”
“Darby, don’t make me ask again. I need to know. When was the last time you had a panic attack?”
“The morning you came to visit me at the shed. That kiss, and then you demanding I tell you why it was a mistake.”
His pupils flare, and he pulls his lips into a hard line. “Are these panic attacks brought on by other types of stress in your life? Or is it all based around Connie and my children?”
I drop my eyes in shame, not able to hold his gaze any longer.
“Fucking shit,” he hisses, bringing his forehead to mine. “Baby, you’re breaking my heart.”
I can’t respond because, if I did, it would be to say something ridiculously silly and juvenile about him breaking mine. With all that’s happened in the last month, we’ve finally found a way to move forward. Finally, “I’m not ready to meet your children, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. And there isn’t a point in confusing them, considering I’m moving. Why do that to them?” comes out.
“There’s no confusion. They deserve to know the woman their dad has loved for most of his life. Before you try to spout your usual response that we’re not going to work, you need to know that’s not all, Darby. My kids deserve to know the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
If he wasn’t holding my face, my jaw would drop. Instead, my eyes fly to his, and the air leaves my lungs. His eyes are blazing in a way that sends heat racing through my veins. Sincerity, passion, honesty—all glow back at me.
“Do you understand where I’m coming from now?”
I give a short nod.
He watches me with his lips curling smugly at the corners. “Now, I hate to leave with all this hanging in the air between us, but I have to go. When do Stephanie and Scottie leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“That gives them all night to listen to you ramble about why we can’t be together, and hopefully, they can serve you enough wine to see things my way. I look forward to hearing your new excuses on Sunday night.”
I begin to respond but find myself crushed to him, his tongue sliding urgently inside my mouth and silencing all protests.
•—•—•—•—•
“She is some piece of work!” Stephanie howls as I plop beside her on my sofa.
“It’s not that funny. Pierce was irate,” I grumble, not holding back my own irritation at the situation. I tried to act indifferent when he told me what happened when he showed up at the restaurant to meet Connie. It would only add fuel to his already boiling temper.
“Here, you need this.” Scottie hands me a wine glass filled almost to the top with a bubbly pink concoction.
“What is it?”
“An experiment.” He gives one to Stephanie and holds up his own glass in a solute motion. “Drink up.”
I sip cautiously, knowing all too well that Scottie is a master mixologist but is known for his heavy pours. The tangy taste hits my taste buds, and I hum in appreciation. “This is lush.”
“Of course, it is. Now, sit back, stop scrunching your face, and tell us all about it.”