Page 149 of Only Ever You

Heart aching, I take a tiny step forward. I can’t watch any longer. It hurts too much to witness the subterfuge.

Instantly, his head snaps to the side. His gaze locks on me, and the world slows. I take another tentative step, and this time, he sags against the wall and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes.

Then, straightening, he rolls his shoulders and strides my way. His long legs eat up the distance between us quickly. He doesn’t greet the people around him, even the ones who call his name. And he doesn’t give Sienna another look, as if she doesn’t exist to him anymore.

“Hey,” he says quietly, cupping my face. “I missed you.”

Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine, and his fingers are tangled in my hair. The kiss is the opposite of soft. It’s intense and certain. He’s not doing it for show; he’s doing it for himself. Because he needs me, just like I need him.

The noise around us gets louder, guys whooping and laughing, girls squealing, but I tune it all out, narrowing my focus to only him, soaking up the warmth of his skin, relishing the way his muscular body feels pressed to mine. When he pulls back, he doesn’t step away. Instead, he rests his forehead against mine.

He breaks eye contact and turns his head to one side. “I’m not living in anyone’s shadow, Sienna,” he says, loud enough for her to hear. “And I do belong to Isla. Always have. Just like she belongs to me. You could never handle coming in second. Not on the ice. Not in real life. And the reason this bothers you so much is because you know exactly why she was always the one I chose. The only one I ever wanted.”

Then, he’s zeroed in on me again, his brows pulled together. “You okay?”

Only now do I realize I’m shaking. I pull at the collar of my tee and scratch at the skin beneath it. My chest aches, and my breathing has become shallow.

Shit. I know this feeling all too well.

Taking a step back, I duck. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. I don’t want them to see me falling apart.

“Y-yeah.” Another step back, toward the door.

Eyes darkening, Michael grasps my hand and turns me away from the crowd. “We’re leaving.”

In a rush, he pulls me through crowds of people still dancing and drinking and making out, and he doesn’t stop until we’re outside and the cold, fresh air hits my skin.

Eyes closed, I try to regulate my breath. My lungs burn. My eyes sting. Panic rises again, stronger this time.

If we don’t keep going, I’ll have a breakdown right here on the porch.

As if he’s thinking the same thing, Michael scoops me into his arms and strides toward his car. He manages to dig his key fob out of his pocket without putting me down, and then the two of us climb into the back seat.

With my knees pulled up, I drop my head, shutting my eyes. One, two, three, four, five—breathe in. One, two, three, four, five—breathe out.

Michael presses his warm palm to my back, running it up and down. “That’s okay, baby,” he says quietly. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”

Minutes pass, maybe longer. All the while, he tells me he’s got me, reminding me to breathe. When I can fill my lungs again, I sit straighter and slump back against the leather seat.

“I…” My voice cracks, and my mouth is dry. I swallow, trying to dislodge the lump in my throat but failing. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t usually happen like this. Only when it’s about my career. I don’t know why…”

He tucks a few locks of hair behind my ear, his fingers gently caressing my skin. “When was the first time it happened? In high school? You used to pick at your nails and chew on your bottom lip till it bled when you were anxious, and I once overheard our moms talking about how you fainted from nerves. I didn’t realize you were having panic attacks regularly.”

Head shaking, I peer up at him through my lashes. “I didn’t have my first panic attack until I moved to Boston.” I wipe away my tears with my fingertips. “I didn’t feel well, and practice was hard. Elena told me I needed rest. She wasn’t angry or anything, but I was. I was angry with myself. I missed my family and felt like I was failing. It just became too much suddenly.”

Eyes emitting warmth, he nods. “Did Elena help you through it?” he asks gently.

I jerk my head, rubbing at my chest. “No. It was Dean. He’d just shown up for practice and found me in the hallway. He and my uncle are the only people there who knew about the panic attacks. After that, Dean was typically the one who could ground me.”

His eyes flash, his expression pinching. But when he speaks again, his tone is soft. “How long were you two together?”

I duck my head, rubbing one thumb over the nail of the other. I knew I’d have to talk to him about this eventually, especially after he requested to follow my private Instagram account. Dean and I are still friends, and there are several photos of us together there.

“For about seven months.” I meet Michael’s gaze, studying his reaction, but he keeps his face neutral. “We were friends for a while. At first, I was sure that’s all we’d ever be. The year we trained for the Olympics changed everything. I lived on the ice, he and Cassie too. We spent a lot of time together, and, eventually, we kind of fell into a relationship. Honestly, I think we both needed a person who could understand what we were going through, someone to lean on when our schedules were killing us. When we didn’t have time for anything except sleep.” I take a deep breath. “He and I are still friends. He’s dating a girl named Lauren now. She’s lovely.”

Silently, Michael scoops me up and pulls me into his lap, guiding my legs to either side of his.

He pushes hair out of my face; his skin on mine is scorching. “Okay,” he murmurs. Then, a lazy smirk breaks over his lips. “And you don’t need him anymore. I’ve got you now.”