Page 111 of Stolen Faith

She hadn’t intended, hadn’t known…

“Shit,” she said, her voice breaking on yet another sob. She hastily turned her face away from them, tried to dry her tears, tried to pull herself together.

What the hell was happening?

Rowan grabbed her drink, then he and Brennon put the glasses down. Brennon did what Rowan wasn’t able to with his cracked ribs. He reached out, tugging her hand until she rose and crossed the short distance to him, then he pulled her down on his lap, twisting her toward the window and the empty seat next to him.

The second he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and whispered a soft “shh” in her ear, she stopped trying to fight the emotions bubbling to the surface, crying out days’ worth of pent-up terror and pain. It erupted out of her, unceasing. Every time she tried to stop, Brennon would tell her to “let it all out,” and she’d lose control again.

“Rowan,” Brennon said softly after a few minutes. “She needs you too.”

Rowan rose to claim the empty seat, drawing her legs over the armrest between them, her feet into his lap. He slipped his fingers beneath the wide leg of the scrubs and drew his strong, un-slinged hand up and down the back of her calf, the motion oddly soothing.

Neither of her lovely, wonderful fiancés said anything. Instead, they gave her the time she needed to simply get it out, consoling her through each fresh, raw outburst. At some point, a tissue was thrust in her hand, but her vision was too blurred from the tears for her to see who’d given it to her or where they’d gotten it from.

Izabel kept her face buried in Brennon’s shoulder as she relived each terrifying moment when her head went under the water again and again, and she knew…knew there was nothing she could do to save herself.

“I can’t stop…thinking…about…”

Rowan’s hand tightened on her calf muscle, massaging the tension there. “Iza.” It was the first time he used the nickname Brennon had given her at the cabin. She wasn’t sure why that evoked more tears because it felt good, felt right. “We’re here. We’re safe now.”

“Dammit, I know that,” she said, sniffling. “I’m not a helpless woman.” Though the fact she was sobbing her heart out didn’t make it feel like she was proving her point.

“You’re right. You’re not,” Rowan agreed.

“I couldn’t fight back. Couldn’t…save myself.” That was the part that wouldn’t let her go. It was the realization that when push came to shove, when her time was up, it was just fucking up.

She’d always figured—like most people, she supposed—that she would be the exception to the rule. She’d be the one who would walk away from the car crash. She would escape the fire. She would survive a mass shooting. In her mind, she always saw herself doing whatever it took to beat the odds, to keep…living.

But she’d been drowning and, in an instant, she knew all the strength in the world—physical and mental—wasn’t going to save her if they’d held her under until…until all the air was gone.

Izabel drew in a tight, hard gasp, her chest seizing. Her head swam as the air stopped going in. She couldn’t get enough into her lungs. “Oh God!”

“No.” Rowan’s voice was hard, loud. “You can breathe. You can breathe.”

She wasn’t aware her hands were shaking until Rowan released her leg, reaching out to grasp one of hers, engulfing it in his large, strong palm.

“Look at me,” Rowan demanded.

She did as he said, but he was fuzzy, out of focus, the edges of her vision a cloudy gray. “Breathe with me. In.” He took a deep breath, so she did. Or at least she tried.

“Out.”

She mimicked him through at least ten more ins and outs, her lungs loosening, the air getting in. She listened as he guided her through picturing a ball of golden light that slowly moved through her body, starting at her head.

Once the panic attack had passed, Rowan lifted her hand, kissing her knuckles, her fingers. “It happened. It hurt you. But you survived.”

Rowan looked at her…and that was when she recognized something in the depths of his dark brown eyes, a haunted look that had always been there, but one she hadn’t understood before. “You’ve been helpless before.”

Rowan stilled.

Brennon reached out before Rowan could pull his hand away from hers, clasping theirs with his. “Don’t pull away from us. Please.”

“I…” Rowan swallowed deeply. “There are things in my past, things I never wanted, never intended…well, they’re things I keep to myself. When I was called to the altar, I didn’t plan to share those parts because…”

“Because?” Brennon prompted.

“Because I’m ashamed of them. Of myself. My last mission,” Rowan started. “I…”