My eyes reverted to Morgan’s porch. Yeah, not going there.

“Wanting to do something and doing it are two different things. It’s called adulthood. Call Garrett. I’m sure he’ll back you up.”

“Come on! Get a sitter. Call Brianna. You should see the legs on these—”

I wasn’t calling Finley’s aunt or giving up time with Fin.

“Bye, Sawyer. See you Tuesday.” I hung up on my best friend, wishing he’d grow the hell up. The thought made me pause. Maybe he was acting our age, and I was actually way too old in my head to be physically twenty-eight.

Funny, I’d seen that same quiet maturity in Morgan’s eyes when I’d run past her on the beach today. It had been more than a little at odds with her Hello Kitty underwear.

Not that I was ever going to see those again.

With every step I climbed, I tried to shove the gorgeous brunette out of my head. There was room for only one woman in my life.

And she was five years old.

Chapter Three

Morgan

To be honest, you scared the shit out of me. You always knew what you wanted—even when we were kids. You have this incredible, fearless approach to life that I lost somewhere along the way. But you need to know that, little by little, I’ve felt it coming back, and it’s because of the way I feel when I’m around you. You’re bringing me back to life, Morgan.

“I’ve read your chart, history, and Dr. Meyers’s notes, but can you tell me more about how and when the anxiety attacks occur?” Dr. Circe asked, leaning back in the purple armchair across from mine.

She was nothing like Dr. Meyers, who’d simply given me a prescription and walked away. Then again, Dr. Circe looked to be about thirty and had a way better bedside manner than the seventy-two-year-old psychiatrist I’d seen since the attacks started nearly two years ago.

“Sure,” I said, adjusting in my own seat. Of course, I didn’t want to go through it all again, but moving here meant I needed a new doc before my current prescription ran out. “My head starts to race, and my heart jumps, like it’s trying to keep up with the thoughts. But then…” I swallowed past the familiar tightening sensation in my throat as it took hold, just like it did every time I tried to describe it. “Then my throat closes, like someone has a fist around the base of it, squeezing.” I leaned my head back, stretching my neck as I reminded myself that I could still breathe; it was just uncomfortable. It was like my anxiety attacks had a defense mechanism of their own to keep me from talking about them.

“Are you having one now?”

I shrugged, bringing my eyes back to hers. “Sometimes they happen or intensify when I think about them. But mostly it’s when I think or talk about…” Mercy, it hurt. I stretched my neck again, breathing past the vice gripping my throat. “Him.” I shoved the images and feelings aside that swamped me whenever he came to mind.