Page 33 of Love Rewritten

“Sam’s back,” I say, studying her face for any hint of that collapse I’ve seen so many times.

My suspicions are confirmed when I see the signs. She’s panicking. Exactly like I expected her to. The shaking, the fingers digging into her palms, the growing tears. I’ve seen it so many times you’d think I’d be used to it by now, but it never gets any easier.

Because my heart falters when hers does.

Her face falls into her hands and I stand, pulling her with me. Her feet threaten to give out from under her, so I carefully lead her to the couch and pull her back into that tight hug. I mouth to Logan to get a glass of water, and he’s there and back in seconds. I know she won't drink it right now, but I want the option here for when she calms down.

Minutes pass and Abby is still deep in the anxiety. I need to figure out a way to calm her down, snap her out of the thoughts no doubt spiraling in her mind. I look around the room before a memory of some of Rose’s panic attacks surfaces in my head.Think. What was her go-to remedy?

“Ice. Get me some ice,” I say. Logan heads to the kitchen a little confused but follows orders and returns with a bowl. “Abby?” She sniffles a few times but looks up, tears coating her face. She’s still shaking aggressively. “Hold this.”

She takes an ice cube in each hand and squeezes.

“That’s it. Hold them until just before they hurt and then drop them back into the bowl. Don’t worry about the dripping water.”

She holds on for longer than I expect her to, but I’m in no position to stop her from trying this trick. And to my delight, it works. She drops them in the bowl again, wipes her hands on my shorts, and blows out a long breath. She splays her hands wide and then clenches them tight, repeating the motion until she finally looks up at me. I cup her face with both hands and wipe the tears with my thumbs. She grips my wrists, the palms of her hands still freezing cold, and she holds my gaze.

“I’m right here. You’re not going anywhere,” I reassure. She nods, and I bring her forehead to my lips. “Water?”

She nods again. She almost smiles after that first sip of water, but it fades away quickly.

Logan and I watch her finish the glass, and when she sets it down, she speaks in almost a whisper. “Where?”

It takes me a second to understand what she means. “Jail. For now.”

Her face scrunches tightly together. I think she processes her next question before she asks it because she drops her gaze again. It’s softer this time as she takes it all in. “So, now what?”

We’ve all been asking the same question this morning. “Nothing, really. It’s just a waiting game at this point. See what happens, as shitty as that sounds. But the ball’s kind of in his court right now.”

Logan pipes up this time, and we both turn, a little surprised. “Can I make a suggestion?” Abby just keeps staring at him, but I nod for him to continue. “He’ll be in jail for, what,” he checks his watch, “like three more days, right?”

Abby looks at me for the answer.

“Right,” I confirm. I’m still confused.

“So, enjoy those three days. He’sliterallylocked up. You’re completely free of him for three days. Do something with that time.”

He’s right. We should, or Abby should at least. It’s good timing for the awards ceremony. It’ll give her some time to tune everything out and focus on what’s important to her. It’ll give everyone a reprieve.

Abby stares at the floor, looking more than reluctant to take Logan up on his suggestion. Something clicks, though, because she takes a deep breath, stands up, and says, “Yeah, you know what? Fuck him.” And then she stalks back to her spot at the kitchen table to keep writing.

Logan and I look at each other with stunned expressions and I force my mouth shut after it falls open. I’m cautious with my next actions, but it’s now or never I suppose. Abby doesn’t quite look like she’s ready to disregard the last ten minutes. If she truly wants to ignore it for the next three days, then I won’t stand in her way, but I won't ignore the fact that that was one of the worst panic attacks I’ve seen her have.

I look over the back of the couch toward Abby. “Can we talk about this first?”

She doesn’t look up from her work. “What is there to talk about?”

I blink, a bit dumbfounded at her rebuttal. I move to her side, take her hand, and walk her back to my room.

“What?” she asks, once the door is shut.

“What do you meanwhat? You just had a panic attack and now you're suddenly fine and ready to just toss it all out the window? You can’t have just flipped a switch that quickly after something like that.” My voice is louder than I intended, maybe a little too condescending.

“Don’t patronize me.”

Something in me snaps. “I’m not patronizing you. I’m trying to understand,” I almost yell. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could draw them back in, swallow them, and never speak again.

Abby takes a step backward, her back meeting the door. Her face screws up tightly.

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