Page 2 of False Start
A fine tremor crawled through my body as I finally made it to the front door of the restaurant. I could do this. A quick meeting — hold the food, unless I wanted to vomit all over him — and then back home to safety.
I didn’t know if it would be better or worse if he remembered me.
Two large windows broke up the red brick facade of Bar 103, a high-end restaurant that had been making headlines since it opened five years ago. Reservations were a must, unless you were part of the who’s who of Chicago high society. Apparently sleazy casting directors were counted amongst the elite.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the shine of one of their gorgeous industrial pendant lights off a bald pate through the window.
My legs seized.
A single bead of sweat rolled down my spine.
Run!
The directive pounded uselessly through my head as the tremors turned into a full body shake. I folded gracelessly to the sidewalk, one hand clawing at my rapidly closing throat.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I can’t breathe.
The invisible vise around my lungs cranked tighter and sparks danced across my vision.
The revving of cars passing on the street threw me into a deeper memory.
Tail lights glowing on a truck turning out of our street, taking away my chance of escape. Leaving me withher.
Tears burned my eyes, and a whimper worked its way out of my aching throat.
I was alone. A broken doll who had limited use beyond what others took from me.
“Hey. Look at me.”
The voice was rough and deep. Commanding in a way that broke through the panic that coursed through my veins. Warm hands cupped my cheeks, encouraging my head up, drawing my eyes away from the slate gray sidewalk to a mammoth of a man crouched in front of me.
I’m dying.I wanted to tell him.
“Breathe with me,” he said. His right hand slid down my jaw to loosely collar my throat, while his left brushed over my arm, guiding my fingers to rest on an impressively wide chest.
“Breathe in,” he commanded, gently tapping out a beat of four on my fingers.
“And out.”
His eyes were hazel with tiny flecks of yellow and green closer to the pupil. I concentrated on the colors as his voice forced me to find my breath and calm the fear hijacking my system.
After what seemed like a lifetime but must have only been a handful of minutes, a shudder passed through my body and my limbs went loose.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“How are you feeling?”
I huffed an exhausted laugh. No way was I about to tell him the truth. It was messy. Inconvenient. No one wanted the real answer to that question.
“I’m fine now, thank you. I’m sorry about that.” I forced a smile and drew my legs in, willing my muscles to support me to stand.
A huge hand appeared in front of my face, and the second I slid my palm against his, he hauled me to my feet like I weighed nothing. My knees folded, but he was right there, one hand gripping my hip tightly while I found my balance.
“Do you need me to call you a car or something?”
His lips were set in a tight line. His top lip almost invisible, while the bottom one seemed too full for such a masculine face.
