Page 43 of The Back Forty
“I’m so scared,” I whisper, barely able to form the words. “I feel like I’m going to die.”
His arms tighten around my body, holding me upright against him.
“You’re not,” he murmurs. “You’re safe with me. I’ve got you but I need you trust me now.” His face doesn’t flinch. He’s as steady as stone, soft as dusk, his voice cuts through the rising chaos in my chest. “You’re not going to die.”
I want to believe him. I do. But I can’t even nod.
“It’s scary, I know,” he adds gently, his arms like anchors keeping me upright, holding me together while I unravel. “But I’m not gonna let you die, sweetheart. Because then I’d have a lawsuit on my hands and where the hell would I hide your body?”
There’s a tiny curve at the corner of his mouth like he’s trying to make me laugh, trying to slice a sliver of light into this absolute darkness that I’m drowning in. But I’m too far gone to find itfunny. My heart is a stampede. My lungs feel like they’ve been cinched closed with wire and the pressure on my chest is unreal.
His expression sobers again, those eyes zeroing in on mine like he’s trying to nudge me back to earth. “Now I need you to undress and get in the bath, okay? You think you can do that? Or do you need me to help?”
I shake my head. Not once. Not twice. It’s more like a frantic, repetitive tremble that I can’t stop. I can’t move. I can’t think. My arms feel too heavy, and my legs are full of lead. My body’s locked in this frozen, useless state, stiff with fear.
“Okay,” he says, calm like he’s done this a hundred times before even though I'm sure this is his first time dealing with a panicked employee. Oh god, I bet this is why he's always preferred to work alone. No weak employees that he has to undress and put in a tub to revive. “I’ll help you.”
One of his hands stays firm on my hip, grounding me with its warmth and pressure, and the other tugs gently at the hem of my oversized sleep shirt. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, as the fabric lifts—first over one arm, then the other. I barely register the movement, too busy trying to keep myself from crumbling as I grip his forearms to stay upright.
The shirt bunches around my neck before he eases it over my head, careful and slow, like he’s handling something fragile. And he is. I feel like glass. I’m just barely holding it together. I’m stripped down now, nothing on but a pair of underwear and the kind of fear I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
But he’s not staring at my naked form. He’s not gawking or letting his eyes drift below my neck. He’s looking straight at me. At my face. My eyes. Like I’m the only thing in this moment worth seeing.
“I can’t breathe,” I whisper, tears leaking hot and helpless down my cheeks.
His hand tightens slightly on my hip. “Try really hard for me, sweetheart. Big breath in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
I try. It’s weak and ragged, hardly a breath at all, and the fact that it's not much has me panicking again. I squeeze his biceps harder. "Please don't let me fall on the ground."
He shakes his head. “I'd never. Now come on,” he encourages, nodding, like we’re in this together. “Again, Dani. You can do better than that. I knowyou can. Big breath in then slowly let it out.”
I try again. And again. Each inhale a little deeper, each exhale a little less frantic. But I’m dizzy, like the floor’s about to disappear beneath me.
I pitch forward, my bare chest pressing against the solid warmth of his T-shirt as I latch onto his forearms, desperate for something to hold on to. His jaw tightens as his eyes remain on mine.
"I'm going to help you, but I need you to work with me, alright?"
I nod as I tilt my chin up to see his face. "Okay," I whisper.
Chapter 17 – Dani
“I’m going to take your underwear off now, alright?”? Lawson asks me cautiously.
I nod, eyes squeezed shut with my face pressed against his chest. Shame clogs my throat. Not because of the intimacy, but because I hate that he’s seeing me like this.
I'm weak. Ruined. Coming apart in his arms. This isn’t who I am, at least not anymore. And I swore I’d never be like this again after leaving California behind.
How the hell is he ever going to respect me after this?
My thoughts spiral fast, sharp and merciless.
What if this leads to another stroke or worse?
What if I die here in this fucking hotel bathroom because I drank too much caffeine and let my brain spin itself into oblivion?
What if Elijah is right, that eventually they’ll fire me, and I’ll never be able to get back into tech sales in California because I’ve been working selling eggs and whiskey?
I barely register the moment that he finishes undressing me his fingers were so gentle. I only know I’m being guided gently backward until the backs of my thighs hit the tub’s edge, his hands still steady around my hips.
