“She has to be okay,” he said, his voice a low, unrecognizable rumble.

“The doctors are taking care of her.”

The bitterness of regret pulsed through every last inch of him, constricting the air out of him, and his inhales felt like big, ugly gasps. He was losing his shit and he knew it, couldn’t even begin to care that he had an audience.

He shot away from the table and started pacing again, rubbing his hands up and down his face, feeling as if every breath was a fight. He’d never experienced such an overwhelming, panicked blackness before. Its grip on him was all encompassing—physical, mental, emotional. He couldn’t process a coherent thought. It was as if his skin was suddenly too small, tight and suffocating, and he couldn’t do anything about it except try to walk the sensation off.

He didn’t know how many times he’d passed Sierra when she reached out and grabbed his wrist, halting him.

“Cole. Stop for a minute. Breathe.”

He hadn’t seen anything at all as he paced, but he did stop, focused on her, registered that she hadn’t moved from before. She kept a grip on his arm, and though he could’ve easily pulled away, he didn’t. Because he needed grounding. Calming. Something.

“Sit,” she said gently, scooting over so her feet rested on the bench, butt on the table, making room for him next to her.

He was suddenly so bone-tired that he couldn’t imagine standing any longer, and he sank down onto the table, pulled his feet up to the bench, tried to shake off the mental paralysis. He realized he was sweating and swiped a hand over his forehead.

Sierra thankfully said nothing more, just sat next to him, her body up against his, and entwined her arm with his. He did as she’d said and tried to get a couple of deep breaths in, willed himself to stop being carried away by the vortex of black fear.

A thought was scraping at him, the words pulsing to get out. He hated to give them any power, but they wouldn’t let go of him. “What if she dies?” he finally let out in little more than a whisper.

Instead of giving him some bullshit line that she wouldn’t, Sierra merely held tighter to his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. He allowed himself to breathe in the scent of her hair, taking comfort in the femininity of it, in having someone to lean on for once.

Several minutes ticked by with them not moving other than to breathe in and out, for him to stop losing his shit to the point he couldn’t form a thought. The thoughts that finally filled his head were ugly, harrowing, painful as fuck.