The tightness in my chest becomes quite painful and I struggle to get air in. It’s like sucking through a squished straw. I can’t get enough air in, and I can’t suck any harder without it hurting.
I focus all my attention on just trying to breathe that I barely notice Jack returning with my inhaler. He hands it to me and asks, “Does coffee still work for you?”
I nod but I don’t speak. I can’t. Not now that I can barely breathe.
I use my inhaler while doing my best to manage the panic threatening me. I’ve experienced a few attacks that have put me in hospital, so panic often rears its ugly head when this happens. I usually work through it okay, but I’ve had a couple of occasions where it made the attack worse.
The inhaler relieves my symptoms within fifteen minutes, at which point Jack carries me back to the house and makes me a black coffee. Caffeine also helps open my airways, and I like that he remembers this. Carrying me, though, was a little excessive. I don’t mention it because I’m still getting my breath back and don’t have the energy for a discussion over this.
“Should I call the doctor?” he says as I drink the coffee.
I reach for him. “Stop. I’m okay now.”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “It won’t hurt for the doctor to check you out.”
“Jack, no. It was just an asthma attack.”
He looks at me with an expression that can only be described as fierce. “I’ve had to watch you go to hospital twice with ‘just an asthma attack’, Jessica. I don’t ever want to have to do that again.”
I’ve rattled him. Something I don’t like doing because Jack is a sensitive guy who feels things deeply. I don’t like him feeling worried about me. I stand and move into him. “You’re right, but honestly I don’t need a doctor. What I do need is my shorts.”
I’m looking for a smile out of him. It’s my attempt to lighten the situation. It doesn’t work, though. He appears to be fixated on his worry over me. “You need to sit back down and rest.”
I do as he says because he’s right. I do need to sit and rest. I’ll actually probably need to lie down for a while and maybe have a sleep. This attack wasn’t as bad as some of my others, but my chest still feels like a ton of bricks has been sitting on it.
I sit at the table for ten minutes and then tell Jack I’m going to lie down. He settles me in bed, lying with me quietly. He knows an attack depletes me of energy, so he doesn’t talk. I try to think about anything other than my asthma, instead focusing on how good it feels to have him here with me. To have him help me through this. And I think about how I want him by my side for the rest of my life doing this. Even if I am still mad at him.
I sleep for hours, which doesn’t surprise me. We hardly got any sleep last night, but also, this is what an asthma attack does to me.
I wake around 4:00 p.m. and find Jack sitting outside at the long outdoor table reading. He glances up as I walk towards him, concern in his brown eyes. He puts his book down and stands. “How are you feeling?”
I move to him and make him sit back down so I can crawl onto his lap. Putting my arms around him, I say, “I feel better. Have you been reading all afternoon?”
“No, I slept for about an hour with you and then replied to a few emails.” He gently pushes some hair off my face. “Has your asthma been bad lately?”
“No, it’s actually been good for a while now.”
“We should go inside. I don’t want it to be stirred up again.” Jack knows what my triggers are, and since it was likely the grass or something in the air, he knows I shouldn’t be out here.
I tighten my arms around his neck, wanting just a few more minutes with him out here. “Tell me something I don’t know about you from the last six years.”
“I can tell you that inside.”
“Tell me now.”
A smile works its across his face. “I don’t think you’re mad at me anymore.”
“I am. You should not underestimate my ability to stay mad.”
He chuckles. “Good point. It’s one of your superpowers.” With that, he stands, taking me with him. God, those muscles of his are his superpower. As he carries me inside, he says, “I fell in love with kitesurfing three years ago.”
“Do you do it often?”
He takes me into the lounge room and places me on the couch. “I’ve been too busy drinking and then recovering from drinking to do it in the last couple of years, but I’m keen to get back out there now.”
I reach for his neck so I can pull his lips to mine. Brushing a kiss over them as he drops down onto the couch next to me, I say, “I like this.”
He settles himself close to me, extending his arm across the back of the couch behind me. “This what?”
I rest my hand on his leg. “Talking with you like we used to. What made you learn kitesurfing?” Jack’s always been a surfer, so it doesn’t surprise me that he took this sport up.
“A movie. I got into shape for the film and took it up so I could do my own stunts.”
“How did that work with your drinking? Did you give it up each time you made a movie?” I’m not sure how Jack feels about discussing this stuff, but it’s stuff I want to talk with him about. I remember how intense it was for him each time he filmed a movie. I can’t imagine he’d be able to do that while drinking heavily.
He doesn’t hesitate to answer my question. “I cut back for the training prior and for whatever I needed to for each shoot. Especially for stunt work. My tolerance was pretty high, though, so I could still drink and get shit done. Mind you, it was the lack of drinking that often caused me grief with directors. I was a moody bastard.” He smooths his hand over my hair. “Tell me something about you.”
“Oh, I thought you’d stalked me and knew everything.”
He grins. “Smartass. Tell me the stuff that didn’t make it to Instagram.”
“I decided I don’t mind Taylor Swift’s music.”
“Fuck, shit was bad for you over the last six years.”
“Don’t hate on Taylor.”
“I’m not, baby. I just recall you were never much of a fan. How did she win her way into your heart? I’m taking notes.”
“I met enough assholes in the last six years for her lyrics to strike a chord.”
“Did you ever think about giving up men completely?”
“Fuck yes. There was actually a full thirteen months there where I didn’t go near a dick.”
He whistles low. “What brought you back?”
“I learned that women are just as much hard work.”
“They really are. I concur.”
“You should be very careful what you say, Mr Kingsley.”
“Fuck, you should call me that more often.” He slides his hand along my thigh, up to my waist. “It sounds fucking hot on your lips.”
My heart is both happy and sad sitting here having this lazy conversation with Jack. I lean into him and share this. “I hate that we haven’t had this for all these years.”
Regret instantly flares in his eyes. “I’m—”