Maid for Each Other(38)

And as expected, I was wheezing and my chest was tight.

I needed to stop.

I needed to stop running.

I knew my body, and this wasn’t going to get better.

I kept running, trying to figure out how to quit. I could fake an injury; perhaps pretend I tweaked my ankle. That would allow me to stop running for a bit and then just catch up to Declan at the end.

It was what I needed to do, but I kept running, nervously trying to figure out how to pull it off.

Should I make a noise?

Start limping?

How does one behave when they injure an ankle?

The whole time I was thinking through this, I was also panicking because my chest was getting tighter.

Sometimes, if I waited too long to use my inhaler, my chest got so tight that my back started hurting, and that ache was settling in.

I needed to do it now.

I did a fake little hop thing, then slowed to a hobble-jog, like I was trying to keep my weight off my right foot while still running.

Dex looked over at me and said, “You okay?”

Dear God, he’s not even sweating. Or winded.

What a psycho.

It was hard to talk when I was breathing heavily from the run and also wheezing, but I managed, “My ankle’s a little wonky. I’ll catch up.”

I moved off the cement path and hopped over to the grass, but much to my horror, he followed me.

“No, you go,” I said, trying not to sound like I couldn’t breathe. “I’m good.”

“Sit,” he said, grabbing my arm and guiding me down to the curb.

“I’m fine,” I said, dropping to a sit while trying to catch my breath. My brain was short-circuiting between the panic that my erratic breathing always caused and the mortification that Declan was trying to figure out my fake injury while listening to me pant like an out-of-shape elephant.

“You’re not fine, let me look,” he said, reaching out to gingerly touch my ankle. I was rolling my eyes at myself as he did that because it was just so ridiculous—I was being so ridiculous. His gentle fingers slid over my skin, searching, and I wanted to disappear.

What is wrong with me? It was so fucking immature that I had these issues with admitting to my asthma, but it still kept happening.

But even knowing that didn’t help.

I’d literally sat inside friends’ houses before while their dog’s dander tightened my chest because I didn’t want to insult them by not hanging out with their dog.

“It looks okay,” he said, his eyes on my foot. “It doesn’t look swollen.”

“That’s good,” I said, and there must have been something in my voice—probably the intense rattling—because his eyes shot to mine immediately.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a wrinkle between his dark eyebrows.

I nodded, trying to gut the panting and tone it down.

But his eyes narrowed.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because it seems like you’re having trouble breathing.”

I smiled and shook my head. “I just have a little asthma and sometimes it flares up when I run. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine.

“No big deal,” I added.

“Um, that actually seems like a really big deal,” he said, his eyes all over me, like he was trying to see inside my body.

I shook my head and explained, “I just need to take my inhaler and I’ll be fine.”

“Where is it? Do you need me to go get it?” he asked.

“No, I’ve got it,” I said, my cheeks burning as I reached into my sports bra and pulled it out. “Can you just, um, not look at me for a sec?”

He looked at me in disbelief, like I’d just insulted him, when he said, “Jesus. Don’t worry about me, just take the damn medicine.”

His frustrated tone made me feel like a fool for getting myself in this situation. I mean, I was a fool for getting myself in this situation. I turned and faced the other direction as I took two puffs from my inhaler.

Unfortunately, I’d let it get past the point of resolution, so the relief would take some time.

Sometimes when I took my medicine and stopped what I was doing early enough during an attack, I’d feel completely better and be able to move on right away. But I’d pushed it too hard and had been an idiot for too long, so now it was going to be hours before I was breathing right again.

But I was good at faking it.

“I just need to sit here for a few minutes and then I’ll be fine, Declan, but you need to go finish the race.”

“Here,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. “Standing up might help you take deeper breaths. Put your hands on top of your head like this.”

He set his hands on top of his head and took deep inhalations through his nose. It was ridiculous that he was showing me things I already knew, things I’d forgotten in my panic.

I followed his lead, doing what he said, feeling like a child while also appreciating him. I felt a little emotional as he looked out for me, like I wanted to hug him and bury my face in his strong chest because it felt nice having someone worry about me.

Which was pathetic and misguided.

I knew Declan didn’t care about me; he was a decent guy and would do this for anyone. In fact, since this was a game we were playing, he was probably just trying to make sure I recovered as quickly as possible so I would be okay for the rest of the day. If I were him, I wouldn’t want me wheezing around any of his important colleagues the rest of the day.