“What if he doesn’t come back?”
Noah huffed out a breath. “Look, Mack used to have these episodes a lot when we were kids. We called them fade outs. Obviously, I wasn’t a therapist back then. They used to freak me the fuck out.”
“I can imagine.” Not a lie. I was holding on to my self-control by a thread here.
“Because I didn’t really know what I was doing, I used to, uh…hug him.”
“Hug him?”
“Yeah. Just put my arms around him and ask him to come back.” He paused. “Fuck, I wish I was there right now. I don’t think he’s had one of these for years.”
That information just made me want to cry even more. “I’m not sure he’d want me to hug him right now. And it’s not like I can ask his permission.”
Noah sighed. “Look, it’s not what I’d suggest to anyone else. It only worked for me because I’m his brother and he trusts me. But if he’s opened up to you enough to tell you about the Newmans, there’s a level of trust he’s given you that I’ve never seen him give anyone else except me. You should trust the trust he has in you. Lots of trusts flying around, I know. Make whatever call you think is best.”
“Okay.”
“Just remember, if he doesn’t snap out of it, he’ll need professional help. You’ll call me if it comes to that.”
“I will, Noah.”
“I’m on the next plane to you, if you need me.”
“Okay, thanks. That’s good to know.”
We ended the call, and I stood there for a long time, trying to get control of my raging emotions. Mack didn’t need someone losing their shit right now. Feeling like I could maybe keep it together, I went back into the RV. Mack was exactly how I’d left him. Sitting on the couch. Staring at the floor.
I leaned on the counter, watching him. Willing him to snap out of it. To come back to me. But the minutes ticked by and he stayed where he was. A grim statue.
Feeling restless, I pushed off from the counter, pacing up and down the narrow space, flicking glances at Mack every few seconds.
I couldn’t imagine what was going on in his head to keep him like this. That had me stopping short, and I felt my heart squeeze, hard and painful, because yes I could. I balled my hands into fists and dragged in some air. My throat was dry, and I’d broken out in a cold sweat. Mack was sitting there, reliving his trauma, trapped.
And it wasn’t just any trap; it was a cage built from his own memories, a labyrinth with walls constructed of past traumas and fears. The thought of him being stuck in that dark maze, alone and unable to find his way back, twisted my insides into painful knots. It was like watching someone drown in an ocean only they could see, and I was standing on the shore, desperate to throw him a lifeline.
There was no fucking way I could leave him like that for one nanosecond more.
Pushing his hands aside, I slipped into his lap and put my arms around him. My heart was a drum solo, crazy loud in my ears. Was I even doing this right? I took a deep breath. “Hey, Mack. It’s Arabella.” Yeah, that sounded dumb, I know. But I had no fucking clue what I was doing.
I lowered my voice, trying to make it sound grounded, soothing. “I know you’re going through a rough time right now, but I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you. You’re safe.” I had to pause, to swallow around the lump in my throat. “You can come back to me here whenever you want. I’ll wait. I just…I want you to put this behind you. Back in the past, where it belongs.”
A beat passed. Then another. Each second was a tiny eternity, stretching out endlessly. For a horrifying moment, I felt like I’d failed him. Like I’d reached out, and he wasn’t there to grab my hand.
His stillness was devastating. “Please, Mack.” My voice was a broken whisper now. “Come back to me.”
Fuck. What should I do now? Call a doctor? An ambulance?
But then it happened. A tremor shook through him, like a ripple on a pond. He sucked in a ragged breath, as if he’d been underwater and was just breaking the surface. I started to ease out of his lap, not wanting to crowd him if his first waking moment was a ‘what the hell’ kind of deal.
Before I could fully retreat, his arms shot up and locked around me, pulling me back down. He dropped his head to my shoulder, and my entire body sagged with relief. Thank fucking God he was back.
We sat in complete stillness for a long time, a fragile space that seemed to hang between moments. Mack’s arms were a tempered tension around me, as if he was holding onto something tangible to ground himself. I kept my own grip steady but gentle on his back, my fingers lightly toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.
I wanted, desperately, to cry for him. But he’d hate that. So I didn’t.
His breathing started to even out, each inhale and exhale a bit more like the Mack I knew. I could feel his grip relax incrementally, the rigidity in his muscles ebbing away. No words, no tears—just being there, giving him a touchstone to the present. Because right now, this was all about Mack, about pulling him back from wherever he’d been lost to. And if my arms could serve as his anchor, then I’d hold on for as long as he needed.
He finally raised his head, so I did the same.