Doubleback by Lissa Ford

Author:Lissa Ford [Ford, Lissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Lissa Ford Books
Published: 2015-03-27T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hands. Warm hands were running over Jude’s face, his neck, down his arms to the throbbing pulse on his wrist. One hand crept back up to his hair, pushed the sticky strands away from his forehead. The back of Jude’s head hurt. His leg hurt. Everything hurt. But the hands roaming his body felt good. Through the pain and the panic, Jude realized it’d been a long time since he’d been touched like that. With tenderness.

“Goddamn it, Anderson!” Rowan’s voice punched through the fuzz that muffled his hearing. “Always trying to be the fucking hero!”

The words were harsh but the gentle touch kept him anchored. On a gasp, Jude pried his lids open. He was lying prone on gritty pavement, the smell of oil, dirt, and burnt tire rubber filling his lungs. His chest felt like it was coming apart from the pressure building within, and his heart seemed to be tripping and bumping against his punished ribs. Rowan’s face was a mask of calm as he loomed over Jude, except for his tawny eyes. Those were alive with concern.

“Chest hurts,” Jude got out.

Rowan’s fingers pressed against Jude’s pulse and he swore. “It’s doing the fucking Macarena in there.” Then he turned his head to shout over his shoulder: “Someone call 9-1-1. I think he’s having a heart attack—”

Jude’s hand shot out and clamped around Rowan’s wrist. “No,” he gasped. “Not a heart attack.” He sucked in a precious breath of air, then: “Panic attack. Meds in…” The confusion on Rowan’s face was painful to witness. “…in glove box. My. Truck.”

“Panic attack?” Rowan echoed.

Jude let out a strangled wheeze. “No doctors.”

“But—”

An overpowering sense of terror rushed through Jude. He shoved Rowan’s hands away. “I need to go. I need to get out of here, I—” He reeled as he sat up. Lights flashed across his vision, and he began to shake. The urge to flee was overwhelming.

“Sit your ass down, Anderson!” Rowan leaned in and murmured, “Jude, what the fuck?”

“I’m having a fucking panic attack, that’s what the fuck,” Jude gasped. “I need my meds.”

Comprehension flooded Rowan’s expression. Followed by an expression that Jude had never wanted to see on Rowan’s face—distaste.

Shame, mortification and fear—the humiliating tangle shot adrenaline into Jude’s overloaded system. He gulped for air again, certain he was going to die of asphyxiation and destroyed pride.

Rowan’s voice came to him from far away. “Breathe, Anderson. Just breathe. Big breath in. That’s it. And out, slowly. Good. You’re going to be okay. EMS is on the way.”

“No paramedics. Please!” The humiliation of losing control was already unbearable; no way did he want to be hauled off in an ambulance just because he’d had a fucking panic attack. It was bad enough that Rowan could now see how messed up Jude was, a fucking mental basket case who needed pills to keep it together. Did he have to undergo a psych eval from first responders in front of Rowan, too? Did it really have to be hammered home like that?

Rowan’s hands were on him again, running up and down his arms as Jude struggled.

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