Page 43 of Savage Heart

Zoey and I stare at her, and when she notices us, she freezes. Her gaze clocks in on Zoey’s hand that is now on my face, and my hand on Zoey’s hip. It’s silent for a second, and then I notice Iris is still breathing weird. She backs against the wall and bends over, still clutching her chest.

“Iris?” I say.

“Are you okay?” Zoey asks, moving toward her.

“Breathe, Iris,” I tell her, going to her other side. Her forehead is dotted with sweat, and tears are on her cheeks. “With me. In . . . two, three, four. Out . . . two, three, four.”

She tries it with me, but it’s staggered.

I lean in front of her, my hands on my thighs, and she stares up at me. “You’re doing good. Let’s do it again. In . . . two, three, four. Out . . . two, three, four.”

We do it several more times, until her breathing steadies. She straightens, so I do too, and I watch as she wipes the tears from her face.

“I can’t forget you either,” she says, so softly that only I can hear, and looks away.

I try to move in her line of vision, but she moves past me.

“Iris, wait—”

She ignores me and walks back into the Broken Spur.

Fuck.

I’m tempted to go after her, but I don’t trust myself not to make it worse.

“That was intense,” Zoey says.

For a second, I’d forgotten she was here. I turn to look at her.

“Yeah.”

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen anyone having a panic attack,” Zoey says. “I’m surprised she went back inside.”

“She was just trying to get away from me.”

“You didn’t even hesitate.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“You knew exactly what to say and got her breathing.” She tilts her head. “Even after all these years, she still trusts you.”

I look away, jaw tight. “No. I don’t think so. Not anymore.”

I scrub a hand over my face. The image won’t leave me—those wild, terrified eyes locking onto mine like I was the only solid thing.

Zoey exhales slowly. “In high school, you were best friends.”

“We were,” I say immediately.

“But I always wondered.” She watches me closely. “And now, tonight makes a lot more sense.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “You’re seeing something that isn’t there.”

“Am I?” she asks gently. “You might’ve stopped speaking to her. You might’ve believed you hated her.” Her gaze flicks to the door, then back to me. “But I used to see the way you looked at her.”

I stiffen.

“And you’ve got that same look on your face right now.”