No!

“Who?” Sebastian said, a look of confusion on his face as he studied the phone. I wasn’t surprised. It was New Yorkers who knew my face by heart.

Harry added, “You know … the plane that was bombed on its way to Dublin? There were articles written about her for weeks. It was her eighteenth birthday, and they found her floating on—”

“Stop,” I gasped out, my heart in my throat. I couldn’t breathe.

All eyes swiveled to me, and memories hit me.

The explosion.

Bodies being sucked out the hole.

My mother.

My father.

Water.

Darkness.

The panic attack took over, cold chills racing down my spine even as fire blazed over me. Hot. Cold. I clutched the table, lungs burning, black spots dancing in my eyes. My stomach rolled, and it felt like cotton was in my mouth. I swallowed convulsively, keeping down bile.

Please, not here, not in front of Sebastian and his friends—and Blair.

“V?” Sebastian said as he jumped up from his seat and scooted in next to me. He clutched my shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Breathe! It’s not that hard!

I practiced my exercises. Inhale … exhale.

“She’s losing it, mate,” Spider said, a worried tone in his voice.

“Talk to me,” Sebastian said, trying to lift my chin.

“Need … to catch … breath.” I closed my eyes.

Someone pffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. She’s obviously faking for attention or she’s trashed.”

“Shut the fuck up, Blair,” Sebastian snarled. “She’s freaking out because Harry brought up that plane crash.”

“Do we need to call an ambulance?” Mila asked.

“I don’t know. Shit. Maybe,” Sebastian replied.

I held my hand up. “Done this … before. Wait.” My chest rose rapidly.

“I’m not waiting. This is crazy, V,” Sebastian barked out as his arms swept underneath me. He picked me up from my seat. “I’m getting you out of here.”

Everyone in the entire restaurant was probably staring by now. I molded myself to him and hid my face in the hollow of his neck. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry,” he said, carrying me across the floor.

He was sorry? I was mortified.

I opened my eyes when Phil came up and guided Sebastian back to his office. He left us there as Sebastian carried me inside and positioned me on the couch.

I pressed my face against the cool leather. God. I wanted to crawl inside it and disappear.

“Here, this should help,” he said, and placed a bottle of water in my hands. He must have taken it from Phil’s desk.

“I’m sorry,” I said after a few moments. “Thank you for getting me out of there.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Harry—”

“Don’t,” I said. “What you saw out there, I’ve done numerous times. It’s part of the reason I don’t play in public.” I rubbed my face.

“I get that.” He sat next to me and hugged me tight as if he did it everyday. I didn’t protest. He idly doodled on my arm. “What’s the other reason you don’t play anymore?”

I sighed. “After my parents—it’s hard to be the person I used to be.”

He gave me a squeeze. “Want to know what happened to me once on stage?”

I gave him a small smile. “I can’t see you ever doing anything embarrassing.”

He shrugged. “Ha, well, one night we were playing a show in New Orleans at the House of Blues—the biggest one we’d had at that point. I was only twenty and a nervous wreck, so I sucked down some vodka before the show. Then, right in the middle of a song, my drunk ass tripped over some wires on stage and I fell flat on my face. The whole place died laughing.” He chuckled. “Busted my lip, chipped a tooth, and broke my nose.” He pointed to his front tooth where I saw a minuscule line. “Had to get a veneer put on.”

I sighed at the image of him on stage. Chipped tooth or not, he’d be beautiful. “My freak-out didn’t freak you out?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Made me want to jump across that table and smack Harry for getting you upset.” He searched my eyes. “And, I’m sorry to hear what happened to you. I lost my parents too, so I understand how grief changes a person. I was just a kid when it happened, but the pain that comes with loss doesn’t have an expiration date.”

His words moved me, but I didn’t want to go there. It hurt too much.

I flicked my eyes back up at his face, taking in the softened jawline, the careful way he touched my hand. I snuggled into his side. “You smell amazing,” I murmured.

“Yeah, well, you’re trying to change the subject, but I’ll go with it—because you may not know this, but I love to talk about myself.”

“You’re a cocky bastard,” I said on a laugh.

He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

I grinned. “And, I see what you’re doing … making me laugh when I really just want to hide and never have to face those people again. I’m probably fired, too.” I looked down at our now intertwined hands.

“Meh, this place sucks anyway. Plus, I didn’t like how your boss looked at you. I say you let me find you a real gig somewhere.”

“Really?”