Pull Me Close: The Panic Series

by Sidney Halston

  Long moments pass before we finally disentangle and stand up. After a quick shower he crawls into bed, tucking me close next to him. “Your sister’s wedding is in two weeks,” he says.

  “I know.”

  “You gonna be okay?” he asks, running his fingers through my hair.

  “Life’s short. I’m going no matter what.”

  “Proud of you, corazón.”

  “I’ve always known that my fears were not real. I can reason that out. I guess that the shock of everything that’s happened put things into a different perspective.” I pull his head down and kiss him. “I don’t want to go back to my apartment, by the way.”

  “Okay. Stay with me, then.” I look up at him to see that his brow is furrowed, and he adds, “Everything okay?”

  I nod. “That place, it was a crutch. It made me feel safe, but it was all an illusion, because I was living this ridiculous life where I was not really living. I’m living now, Nico. With you. You made me see light. You colored my world. You filled it with music and laughter. You filled it with fears by forcing me to do things outside my comfort zone, but you also filled it with the sense that I’d be safe. That I’d come back to the other side. So I’m not going back in there—or in here,” I say, pointing to my head.

  “Did it take this atrocious event for you to realize that?”

  How do I explain what I felt, how I feel? “Since I met you, my heart rate gets fast and I tremble every time you get close. Sometimes I even feel my chest ache and I’m dizzy and faint. I’m continually either short of breath or hyperventilating because you can be so affectionate and sweet that it’s disconcerting. Sometimes you confuse me; other times you leave me speechless. I feel intoxicated sometimes. And sometimes I’m left in a state of distress and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Sounds like a panic attack,” he comments.

  “Sounds like love,” I say quickly. “Because it’s scary. Giving up control. Putting your heart into someone else’s hands, that’s scary. But I’m going to roll with it anyway.”

  “I’m glad you made that decision.” He smiles. “So did you just decide we’re moving in together?”

  “I think I did. You’re going to roll with it, yes?”

  He laughs. “Absolutely. I’ll roll with it.”

  “Sometimes that might not work, though. And when it doesn’t, you pull me close and hold me tight, and I’ll be okay.”

  Nico does just that. He pulls me against his body, holds me tightly, and whispers, “Te amo por siempre, mi corazón.”

  I hope that every day until my last breath, my evening ends with those special words.

  —

  Things aren’t all roses. I do, after all, have a mental health condition. There are days when I’m nervous. There are days when it takes a herculean effort to stay in a public place. There are times when I refuse to get in an elevator. But I do what I promised myself I would do: I roll with it. I let the fear in and I do it anyway, and when I can’t, Nico always pulls me close and holds me tight.

  My illness does not define me.

  I define me.

  Epilogue

  Katherine

  “Wasn’t sure you’d make it,” Rose says as she plops down into the chair next to me. Her stunningly beautiful white dress is flawless, and she’s absolutely glowing. I love my sister, and now that I’m doing better, I vow to go visit her more often.

  “I wouldn’t miss my sister’s wedding.”

  “You would,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Did you get yourself some help, or is it that scary-looking man you brought with you who made you all better?” She looks across the dance floor at Nico, who’s at the bar getting us a drink.

  My mouth is open. “You knew?”

  “Katie. I may not be the bright sister, but I’m not dense.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “You’ve been through so much. I didn’t want to make it worse or make you uncomfortable. I also didn’t know how bad it was. All I knew is you didn’t leave your apartment often.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “But you’re here now, and I’ve never seen you so at ease.”

  “Nico and I are moving in together.”

  “Wow! So it was the guy.”

  “No. It wasn’t the guy. It was me. He just gave me the nudge I needed.”

  “Maybe when I come back from my honeymoon you’ll tell me all about it?”

  “I promise. We can even meet at your house for a change,” I say, feeling fairly confident.

  “Love you, sis.”

  “Love you too,” I reply.

  She kisses the top of my head and then walks toward the bar. She says something to Nico, who looks over his shoulder at me. They both smile at me, and a few minutes later Nico is sitting in the chair where my sister sat.

  I reach for his face and bury my fingers in his beard. “I’m glad the beard’s back.”

  “I noticed,” he says with a smile. “You want this someday?” he asks, leaning into my touch.

  “This? A wedding? A husband?” I ask, and he nods.

  “Never thought I did,” I admit. “But I absolutely do. And soon.” He leans in and kisses me. “Gotta live life now, right?” I add. We’ve both learned the hard way how short life can be, and we’re not taking a single moment for granted.

  Suddenly he shifts abruptly. “Oh my God.” He squints, looking over my shoulder. “Who’s that? Do you know her?” he asks, and I turn around to see a woman in a long black gown. She’s stunning, with a small waist, curves everywhere, and long red hair.

  “No idea,” I say. “Are you checking out another woman?”

  “No!” he says, surprised, his eyes darting back to me. “I know that woman, I think. Can you ask your sister, please?”

  “How do you know her?”

  “I think that’s the chick Matt was in love with. The one who just disappeared suddenly.”

  “Oh, shit. June, right?” I say, and he nods, his eyes going back to the woman.

  Rose walks by our table, and I stop her. “Hey, Rose, who’s that woman?” I ask, pointing to the woman in question.

  “Oh, that’s Lynn. She used to work with Frank years ago. She’s real nice.” Rose beckons to the beauty, who shyly walks over.

  “Lynn, this is my sister, Katie, and her boyfriend, Nick.”

  If it wasn’t for the fact that we’re right by the window and the setting sun is shining on her face, I’d have missed the barely noticeable flinch.

  Nico stands, his face laced with confusion. “Do you have a sister? You look exactly like someone I know.”

  “Nope,” she says, smiling and reaching to shake my hand.

  Nico can’t stop looking at her. “And you used to work with Frank?”

  “Yes. It was years ago, though, at the accounting firm. We’ve just kept in touch.” She finishes her drink and places the empty glass on the table. “It’s nice to meet you, Katie and Nico. Lovely wedding, Rose. I have to be going,” she says, and then practically jogs away. Shrugging, Rose goes back to the dance floor.

  “What was that about?” I ask him.

  “That was so strange. She looks exactly like June except for the red hair and the nice dress. June had short, jet-black hair and usually wore very short, very tight, very revealing dresses.”

  I shrug. “Well, they say everyone has a twin.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he says, and finishes his drink.

  He stands, holding his hand out for me. But as we’re walking to the dance floor he stops suddenly. “She called me Nico.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Your sister introduced me as Nick.”

  This book is dedicated to anyone who suffers from anxiety and/or depression. You’re not alone. You can make every day a new and better day.

  Acknowledgments

  According to the ADAA (Anxiety and Depression Association of America), anxiety is the most common mental illness in the United States and wom
en are more likely to suffer from panic attacks than men are. There are 7.7 million Americans currently suffering with PTSD, and again, women are more likely to suffer from panic attacks than men are. The leading cause of disability for Americans between the ages of fifteen to forty-four is depression, and again, it is more common in women than in men. I’ve suffered from anxiety and panic attacks for most of my life. It is a silent illness, one people don’t often see, but it can be just as debilitating as any other illness. Don’t be too scared, or proud, or ashamed to seek help. With the proper treatment, I promise you, it can be controlled. You can feel better. You can get up every day feeling a little lighter than you did the day before. Having a good support system also helps, and I have the best.

  First and foremost, I’d like to thank my betas. This book was difficult to write, mostly because it was so personal and so different from anything else I’ve written. The lovely authors Ella Fox, Kelli Jean, and Scarlett Cole, thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy writing schedule to read PMC! Ilene Glance, thank you so much for lending me your brain and giving me all the medical terminology. I couldn’t have done it without you. And Heather and Leisha: your input, recommendations, and support is so appreciated. Love you two ladies. You’ve both been with me since day one and your friendship is one of the things I’ve treasured most about this crazy author world.

  Sarah Younger, my agent, who really laid it to me on this book! If it hadn’t been for you, we’d have a very very different book! Your help with this book was what made it come together the way it did, and I love the finished product. Junessa, my lovely editor, whose input is invaluable, I love how you care about the book as much I do and how you work so hard to make it the best it can be. Thank you, Junessa, and the entire Loveswept team for all you do!

  Last but not least, to my family: my parents, who help with the kids so I can spend my time juggling work, writing, and a family; to my kids, who watch television next to Mom’s annoying typing, and who sometimes have to eat chicken nuggets for two days in a row so I can meet a deadline. Love you guys so much…you’ll never know. And, finally, to my husband: who always supports and loves me no matter what crazy idea I have. Who listens to my plot holes when I’m frustrated. Who calms my nerves when I have a panic attack. You truly are the best husband, partner, and best friend. I love you.

  And to all the bloggers and readers out there who read my books and then are wonderful enough to spread the word—without you there’d be no books. Your support hasn’t gone unnoticed. Thank you! I wish I could hug each and every one of you.

  BY SIDNEY HALSTON

  Worth the Fight Series

  Against the Cage

  Full Contact

  Below the Belt

  Laid Out

  Fighting Dirty

  Stacked Up

  Panic Series

  Pull Me Close

  Make Me Stay (coming soon)

  PHOTO: © GABRIEL ESCUDERO

  SIDNEY HALSTON lives her life by one simple rule: “Just do it.” And that’s exactly what she did. At the age of thirty, having never written anything other than a legal brief, she picked up a pen for the first time to pursue her dream of becoming an author. That first stroke sealed the deal, and she fell in love with writing. Halston lives in South Florida with her husband and children.

  Want to connect with Sidney Halston?

  sidneyhalston.com

  Facebook.com/Sidneyhalston

  @SidneyHalston

  Read on for an exciting sneak peek of the next book in Sidney Halston’s Panic series:

  Make Me Stay

  Available from Loveswept

  Matt

  After my two-hour jog, I head to Café Havana on Lincoln Road for my café con leche fix, just like I’ve been doing every day for nearly a year. Wiping my face with the shirt that is dangling from my shoulder, I walk the last block in order to cool down.

  It’s a relatively small and unknown establishment, and one that caters more toward the locals, which is precisely why I love it, since my life as co-owner of Club Panic, along with the fact that my apartment is in Miami Beach, means that my life revolves around tourists.

  “The usual, Matt?” the familiar server asks from the walk-up window.

  “Extra strong, por favor.”

  “You got it.” She turns and begins to work on the espresso machine as other guests walk to the window and throw out their coffee orders. The two women in the window work in tandem making espresso, café con leche, and cortaditos all while charging the regulars and chatting. It’s like a perfectly orchestrated dance they’ve perfected. She places my coffee and a basket with a guava pastelito in it and slides it to me. I drop a five-dollar bill on the counter and take my order.

  Typically I sit outside and watch all the local weirdos walk the famous Miami Beach street. But it’s just too hot today, so instead, I take my order inside where it’s a little bit cooler.

  Luckily they’re relaxed on the dress code, mostly because people come in from the beach, so I fit right in without my shirt. I’m sitting back, enjoying my order, when I hear a familiar voice.

  A voice I haven’t heard for a year.

  It’s the kind of voice that should belong to a sultry phone-sex operator. It’s raspy and thick, and it reverberates through my entire body. It’s the first thing that drew me to her over a year ago. The second thing was that pin-straight jet-black hair that ended right under her chin, and those blue eyes. Blue eyes like I’ve never seen before. So blue they are almost transparent and contrasting so severely with that dark hair and white, almost pale, skin.

  June Mueller.

  The woman I dated for eight months.

  The woman I was in love with.

  I sit up and look around trying to find where the voice is coming from. The coffee shop is mostly empty except for the few employees behind the counter.

  “I said I was sorry.” I hear her voice again, almost at a yell. I stand up abruptly. I have to find her. She vanished—literally—a year ago, during the worst time of my life. I searched everywhere for her, and there were days I thought I had imagined her.

  The eight months we were together were the most intense months of my life. Then she was gone. Poof! Her Facebook page, her Instagram, her Twitter, all deactivated. When I google her name, it comes up empty. I even went as far as hiring a PI, worried something happened to her, but the PI came back empty.

  “Fine. I’ll see you tonight,” she says, her back to me, as I’m walking out of the café, and I see her pull her arm from a man and walk briskly away. The man chuckles before he goes in the opposite direction. He’s about as tall as me, six foot one, but his skin tone is lighter. He’s wearing board shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops. I can’t be bothered with him because that voice—that voice has to be June’s. I need to see her face.

  I run toward her, but as I get closer I stop. This can’t be June. This woman has long, red curly hair that goes a little past her shoulders. In the year since I’ve seen her, there’s no way her hair could’ve grown this much. She could’ve dyed it, but not grown it, not this much. Plus, my June didn’t dress this way. My June wore formfitting clothes and high heels. The lady I’m following is wearing a long flowing, almost-hippie-looking skirt.

  “June!” I yell and her steps falter for a second, but she doesn’t turn around. Instead, she keeps walking, faster this time. “Ma’am, excuse me,” I say, finally catching up to her. My hand goes to her forearm to halt her. “Ma’am, please, can you wait a second?”

  Slowly, with closed eyes, the woman turns. “June?” I whisper, and when she opens her eyes, her blue eyes, I know for a fact that it’s her. My eyebrows furrow and I take in her features. She is thinner than I remember and her makeup is different, but it’s still June.

  Anxiously, she looks over my shoulder, her eyes narrowing on the man she’d been talking to.

  “June? Holy shit. What the fuck happened? I’ve been looking—”

  She shakes her h
ead slightly. “I’m not—you have the wrong person.” Her voice raspy, just like I remember it.

  “What?”

  “I’m Zara. You have the wrong—”

  “June?”

  She looks over her shoulder again. I follow her gaze back to the man she was speaking with moments ago, who is watching our interaction.

  “Shit. Are you…Is everything okay?”

  “Zara. My name is Zara,” she says and turns around and runs off. I think about running after her but there’s alarm bells ringing in my head. I turn around again and the man is still watching me.

  I’m left speechless and confused as I watch the woman I thought was June run off.

  April

  “Shit, Dean. Shit. Shit. Shit!” I’m pacing the apartment and Dean is typing something on his laptop. I start picking out the pins and yanking the wig off my head. “He saw me. He knew who I was. I should’ve stayed in Boston.”

  “Of course he did,” Dean says without looking at me. “Told you to put colored contacts in, but you didn’t listen.”

  “You know I can’t see shit with contacts.”

  “And you know that not a lot of people have eyes that shade of blue. Might as well have a tattoo on your face, honey. It’s an identifier.”

  “I didn’t think I’d see him again. Not so soon, at least.”

  “I kept you in Boston as long as I could but you knew the case would lead back here. Well, look at the bright side, the case is wrapped up. Trial is on Monday and this shit will be officially over. Hang in there for a few more days.”

  “He’s never going to forgive me.”

  “He will.”

  “He won’t, Dean. He hired a PI, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Doesn’t matter. He will,” Dean says, shutting down the screen. “And if he doesn’t, it’s his loss.”