Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(72)

“I’m fine.” Sweat trickled down his neck and belly. Damn. I need more air.

With one big grunt, he pushed himself out of the corner and flat to his back. He needed lung space now, room to breathe and time to get back to normal, whatever the hell that was. God, this panic attack was worse than most, probably because he was sick, but shit. Not in front of Shelby. Go away. Please, just pretend none of this happened and go away.

She readjusted her position. Her hands moved to the center of his heaving chest and he honestly didn’t care. He covered his eyes with his arm and inhaled steady, slow breaths to prevent hyperventilating any worse. That much he knew for sure. He had to regain control while he could. He set to counting deliberately and slowly.

One. Shelby could wait.

Damn it, she did.

Two. She removed the oxygen mask from his face, and like it or not, he was glad she was there. Waking up alone after an attack sucked big time. He covered his eyes again once the mask was gone.

Three. Damn, she was quiet. She must’ve gone to the kitchen or bathroom, because all of a sudden, she came back and knelt at his side again. A damp washcloth skimmed over his brow.

Four. Stinking panic attacks. They wreaked havoc on his lips. He ran his tongue over his bottom one, mostly checking for blood or bitten flesh. Parched or chewed, he never knew how they’d end up. Damn. Fat lip again.

Five. Shelby eased one hand under the back of his neck, lifting his head enough to place a glass to his lips. “Drink this and breathe easy. I’m here and you’re safe now.”

Six. He gulped in one long swallow and quit counting. Yeah, right. Safe. Bullshit. A guy’s never safe from his nightmares.

Funny thing. Panic attacks used up every last ounce of strength. Dainty little Shelby could’ve had her way with him right then and there if she’d wanted to. He wouldn’t have been able to fight her off. Wouldn’t have mattered in the long run, though. He had nothing to give her, not physically spent like he was. Wrecked. Wasted.

He heard the glass bump the end table. At least he hadn’t knocked that over.

Her hand came right back to his chest, her fingers splayed as if counting his heartbeats—not like it was hard to do. They still sounded plenty loud to him, but her touch helped.

It had been months since a woman had touched him as gently. It probably meant nothing to her, but those slender fingers moving in small, slow circles over his pecs soothed him in ways he couldn’t explain.

She didn’t know it, but that simple contact went a long way to holding him together. God, he craved it down to the deepest recesses of his soul. Stupid tears welled up in his eyes, and he was damned if they’d well up and drip over the sides of his head. A woman’s touch. Nothing like it in the world.

“It’s just thunder and lightning,” she said. “You aren’t in battle and those weren’t bombs. There is no little boy to save. You’re in Kelsey’s home. It’s okay.”

He squeezed his already closed eyes tighter, wishing he could do the same for his ears. Not bombs, Shelby. Rocket-launched grenades. That’s what took my foot. And that boy? A little brown-eyed kid with a worried smile and no shoes. A kid who had no business toting that heavy grenade launcher on his skinny shoulder. A kid I didn’t want to have to kill. But I did.

Gabe pushed the ghost away. How embarrassing, a full-blown panic-attack in front of Attila the Hun. Shelby sounded really kind, but he knew better. She could change on a dime. Any second now that gentle hand would lift off, and she’d revert back to herself. Besides, he didn’t want her seeing him like this.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, rolling to his side, away from her.

She stayed with him, her hand soft on his bicep, squeezing just enough so he’d know she hadn’t left.

“I’m fine,” he insisted again, wishing she’d take the hint and leave. He knew how it worked. Date once or twice, but in the long run, this close encounter would end like all the rest. He’d wind up alone. And he just plain didn’t want to risk what was left of his heart one more time.

“You are fine, Gabe,” she stated gently. “And you didn’t let your boss die, either. That Sam Becker guy is an ass. He said a lot of mean things.”

Yep. Still staying. Damn it.

Shelby had just stepped over the line, though. Gabe had no intention of talking about Alex’s death with her, or what happened in country. His head knew better, but that old rascal guilt still poked its head up now and then. She needed to stop helping.

“It’ll soon be over. It’s just a panic attack, isn’t it?”


“Yeah,” he admitted. Just a freaking full-blown, green Hulk, rip-your-clothes-off kind of attack. The thunder and lightning must’ve triggered it. Stinking fever, too. Here he sat in his underwear and a half-ripped off shirt, sweating like a pig. Could this night get any more embarrassing?

Yes. It could. He wiped the drool off his chin. Great. I look like an ass.

“I get them, too. Only no one knows. Well, not until now. You’re the only one I’ve ever told.”

He cocked his head to face her and finally opened his eyes. That was a revelation he hadn’t expected. “You?”

Something sad flitted behind those geeky glasses she kept pushing up her nose.

“Umm, why? How come?”

“I’ll tell you about it sometime. Not now.”