“No.”
She glared at him. Had he missed something? “Do you want the front?”
“No, I need a phone signal.” She looked at the sky. “It’s not that bad. If we left now—”
He waved at the sheets of rain outside her window. “It’s pitch black and the road is narrow. Someone could easily sideswipe us. We should wait here until it eases up.”
“I said no,” Rachel snapped. “I’m not sleeping in your back seat because you can’t handle basic car maintenance. If you won’t go, I will.”
Nathan was baffled by her sudden hostility. Then he noticed the way she held herself rigid, breathing erratically, panting and then labored. Her eyes fluttered, and she covered her mouth like she was close to vomiting.
It was a panic attack. Joe had told him once that they felt like your chest was caving in, while your worst fears played on an endless loop. “Hey,” Nathan said, touching her hand. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“Do it slower. Count with me—”
“Stop.” She looked away. “I’m not hysterical.”
“I know,” he said, evening his voice. “I know you’re not.” Her hand was a fist. He ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Help me understand. What is it? Is it being stranded? Is it—” He hesitated, not sure if he wanted the answer to his next question. “Is it being alone with me?”
“No.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t sleep here.”
“Outside?”
“No, in the car. I can’t sleep in the car, it’s—” She covered her mouth again. “I know it’s stupid. I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“Look at me.” He waited until she met his eyes again. “It’s not stupid. I’m sorry for making you feel this way.” A tear slid down her cheek. It was his fault. Him and his careless, fuck-it attitude about something that would have kept her safe.
Rachel’s breathing had slowed, but she still looked frazzled and nauseated. He squinted through the windshield at a sign in the distance, desperate for a solution. It was a closed bait and tackle shop. The red siding and white trim seemed familiar. Then it came to him—that one-off fishing trip with Joe where he caught nothing but the hem of his own pants and his brother vowed never to let him near a fishing rod again.
“Hang on, I think I know where we are.” He looked out the passenger-side window. “This is at the edge of my parents’ property. Their lake house is that way. I could—”
“Alone? Through the woods?” She was breathing too fast again.
“It’s not that far,” he said softly. “Fifteen minutes on foot maybe? I wouldn’t be on the road.”
“But it’s the woods.”
“Plenty of people walk in these woods.”
“During the day. Not at night during a rainstorm. What if something happens to you? I don’t have a phone. I wouldn’t know where you were, or how to find you.”
Her words were running together. He tried to keep his own voice calm, even though he knew the plan was risky. “It’s not that far. I used to play out here when I was a kid.”
Rachel’s hand crept closer to his leg like she wanted to hold him in place. “I’ll go with you,” she declared, trying to sound braver than she looked.
He gestured toward her white dress, which was obviously expensive. “In that? In those shoes?” She wore a pair of thin leather flats. “No, you should stay.”
“Please. I don’t want to be alone out here.” She folded her arms and seemed steadier. More confident. “You’re the one who said it wasn’t far.”
He studied her, debating whether to keep arguing or to let her have her way. Her face was determined, but those flimsy shoes were screaming that she had no business walking through brush and mud.
“Fine.” He reached into the back seat, grabbed a blanket, and tossed it into her lap. “Put this on.”
Rachel knew she deserved every miserably muddy step. Her fears were irrational, and she should have stayed behind. But she couldn’t handle that silent, closed-in feeling of being parked in the middle of nowhere. Not again. The panic attack had left her drained, weak, and incapable of being alone. And so, despite the open sky dumping sheets of rain over them, and Nathan’s assurances that she’d be safer in the car, she’d followed him anyway.
Nathan paced himself so she could keep up. Rachel pulled the blanket tight over her shoulders and tried to move faster, but only managed a few steps before her foot sank in mud up to her ankle. She yanked it out and stumbled backward, minus her shoe. When Nathan spotted her bare foot, his expression was so incredulous she wanted to return to that mud hole and see if it was big enough to hide her entire body.
“You can’t walk like this,” he said. His face tightened, like he was readying for a fight. “I’m going to carry you. Please don’t argue.”
The situation was now beyond embarrassing, but she couldn’t summon the energy to protest. Nathan turned around and crouched low so she could climb onto his back. At first, she held her body stiff and upright as if she could make herself lighter. But then he squeezed her ankle, said, “Relax,” and like some magic spell, it made her sink into his warmth. He smelled like rain, fabric softener, and aftershave. She buried her face against his neck and closed her eyes.
Exhaustion made her lose track of time. One minute they were surrounded by dense forest and the next the lake house was looming a few feet away. She loosened her arms and said, “I think I can walk from here.”
Nathan’s grip tightened, like he wasn’t ready to set her down yet, but he relented. A few minutes later, they were standing at the door of a rustic two-story cottage, almost as tall as the surrounding pine trees. Nathan typed in a security code, and a motion sensor kicked the heat on as soon as they crossed the threshold.
The living room was long and lean, the walls covered with bay windows that framed a cinematic view of the storm still streaking across the sky. Nathan yanked a protective cover away from a chair and told her to sit. Then he disappeared upstairs to look for towels.
Rachel stared at the puddle forming beneath her feet and thought of how furious Sofia would be if she ruined the gleaming hardwood. She stripped a cover from the sofa and crouched to her knees. By the time Nathan found her, she’d mopped up most of the water and cleaned the mud from her bare feet.
“What are you doing?” He dropped a stack of towels on the couch. She ignored him. There was a smaller puddle near the front door, and she scooted toward it, still on her knees. He touched her arm. “Rachel!”
She shook him off. “I’m almost done.”
His grip tightened. “You need to get dry.”
“I’m almost—”
“Rachel, stop.” He knelt and met her eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Neither do you.” She tried to blink back tears and failed. “We could have stayed in the car.”