Page 37 of Icebound Hearts

I try to take deep breaths to get rid of Max’s voice by thinking about anything else, but nothing is working. I hear loud footsteps approaching, and then I see Aiden.

He finds me with my head between my knees, hidden behind a row of books. The second I see him, I want to cry. Not because I’m happy to see him—because I’m not—but because it means I don’t have to hold myself together anymore.

“Breathe,” he says softly, crouching next to me. “We’ve done this before, remember?” I nod, tears burning at the edges of my eyes. His hand hovers near my back—not touching, but close enough that I can feel the heat of his hand. It should make my skin crawl. Instead, it anchors me.

“Four in,” he says, voice steady. “Hold it and four out.” We breathe together. When my hands stopped shaking, I realised I was clutching his hand pretty hard. I let go like it burns, face hot with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“I’ve had worse,” Aiden says, shrugging like it’s nothing. I believe him.

“Thank you,” I say, but the words feel awkward, like trying to speak a foreign language. “You can hate me again tomorrow,” he says. “But for today, I’m not going anywhere.”

And the worst part? I believe him.

Aiden doesn’t speak. He just sits there, one leg stretched out, the other bouncing restlessly like he’s still trying to burn off some leftover energy from practice. The only sound is my breathing—uneven but not terrifying —and the faint ticking of my clock. It’s almost unbearable, the silence.

“You can go,” I say, even though I don’t want him to. “I’m fine now.” He gives me a look. The kind that says you’re full of shit, and I hate that it makes me want to curl in on myself.

“I’ll leave when I believe that.”

“You’re not my babysitter.” I snap.

“Yeah, you keep saying that, yet here I am.”

My cheeks heat, not from attraction—God no—but from sheer humiliation. He’s seeing me like this. Sweaty. Shaking. Half out of my mind. I can practically hear the stories he’ll tell in the locker room tomorrow. Except…he doesn’t seem like he’s planning to tell anyone. There’s no teasing grin, no obnoxious joke about ‘crazy Kat.’ If anything, he just looks tired. Not bored-tired, but something else. A kind of tired, I recognise. He’s been here before. The realisation punches me so hard in the chest that I almost forget to breathe again.

“Do you—” My voice snags in my throat. “Do you still get panic attacks?”

He blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“Nothing.” I backpedal fast, hating how my voice trembles. “Forget, I asked.” Aiden’s quiet for a long moment, his jaw working like he’s trying to decide something. Then, to my surprise, he nods. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs like it’s not a big deal like we’re discussing whether or not it might rain tomorrow. “I get them sometimes. Not often. But enough.”

I should be relieved, knowing he gets it. But somehow, it just makes me feel exposed—like he knows exactly what’s in my head like he’s been here long enough to read me better than I want to be read. “Great,” I say, voice dripping sarcasm. “Bonding moment complete. You can leave now.”

“Nope.”

He leans back into the bookshelves behind him, making himself way too comfortable in a public library. “You just admitted you’re not fine, and now you think I’m leaving you alone with that mess in your head? Try again.” I grab the nearest object—a book—and chuck it at his stupid face. He catches it quickly like it’s a puck.

Of course, he does. “I hate you,” I mutter.

“No, you don’t.” he grins at me.

As soon as I feel good enough to walk, Aiden drives us home. I sigh in contempt when I see my bed, jumping in it and closing my eyes.

The thing about panic attacks is that after they’re over, they leave you feeling like you got run over by a truck. My limbs feel leaden, my brain fogged, and every sound is too sharp. If I look too closely, the shadows are still there, twitching at the edges of my vision like a glitch in reality. I open my eyes and lay back against my headboard, staring at the ceiling. The cracks have stopped breathing, at least. That’s progress. “You want water or something?” Aiden asks, his voice softer now.

“No.”

“Food?”

“Why are you still here?” He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it.

“Because you need me.” That shuts me up.

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