Page 116 of The Fine Line
A flicker of a smirk crosses his face. “Well, in case you forgot… I’m kind of the captain of the Storm.”
I roll my eyes. “Can you not?—”
A deafening boom cuts me off, followed by a jolt that sends us both stumbling. Rhett reacts instantly, grabbing me before I can fall and lifting me onto the bathroom counter.
It’s barely a foot deep, and there’s no room to move. I’m forced to spread my legs just enough to brace against the wall behind him, knees knocking against the door and the back wall as I try to steady myself. A small sob breaks free, and tears blur my vision.
“Jesus, are you okay?” Rhett’s hands are on my face now, checking me over. “Did I hurt you?”
I shake my head, and when I see the panic tightening his features, I choke out, “I’m not hurt. I’m just…” Another bounce sends my hands fisting the front of his shirt. “I’m so fucking scared.”
“Hey—hey, look at me,” he says firmly. “Dammit, Cub—open those beautiful blue eyes.”
Only then do I realize they’re shut tight. I force them open with a slow, shaking breath.
“There they are,” he whispers, giving me the softest smile before sobering again. “Now talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“I–I can’t breathe?—”
Right on cue, the plane nosedives.
One of Rhett’s hands flies from my face to the mirror behind me—just beside my head—as he braces himself. He ends up so close that I can feel the heat radiating off him, and I have to spread my legs wider just to keep from touching him.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the plane rumbles again. My chest tightens until it aches, and I start to hyperventilate. Rhett doesn’t seem to register how close he’s gotten, because he doesn’t back away. If anything, he leans in further, sliding his hand from the mirror to the back of my neck. His thumb moves in slow circles, trying to ease the tension.
“I know it might not feel like it, but you’re breathing. You’re getting air. You’re okay?—”
“N–no,” I gasp, “I can’t?—”
“Caroline Barrett,” he says firmly, “you know damn well there is nothing you can’t do.”
My eyes snap open. His face is inches from mine.
“Am I right?”
Tears sting behind my eyes, but I force a nod.
“Good girl,” Rhett murmurs, bringing his other hand to cradle the back of my neck, gently tipping my head up.
My chest rises and falls too fast, and when thunder rattles the cabin again, I think my heart might actually stop. But Rhett just gives a small shake of his head, then presses his forehead to mine.
“Breathe,” he commands. “You’re doing it. You can do it. Just breathe.”
My lips part, and I exhale a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“That’s it,” he says, then shifts closer, his mouth brushing my ear. “Inhale. Exhale.Inhale.Exhale.”
I’m doing the best I can, but every third inhale or so is cut short by a sob or whine breaking through as the weather rages on.
I’m breathing—I know I am—but it’s hard. Everything is tingling. My skin, my limbs, my chest. I can’t focus. The deeper I inhale, the hotter I feel, like my body’s on overload.
And then it hits me—why.
Between Rhett’s hands anchoring my neck, his breath warm on my ear, and the strain in my thighs from holding myself open to make room for him—it’s too much. I’m a trembling mess. And once I become aware of it all, each individual pressure point being affected only pulses harder. Overstimulation crashes into the fear, and suddenly, the physical discomfort wins out.
My muscles give. I can’t hold the position anymore. My legs relax and fall together, folding around Rhett’s waist with the angle I’m sitting at, pressing him close.
He doesn’t flinch or move—just stays focused on calming me. If he notices the contact, he doesn’t say.
