Page 52 of Back Outside Edge

"I don't get panic attacks." The response is immediate. Surprisingly defensive. I don't think any less of people who do, but me? No. I've spent my entire life under a pressure cooker of expectations. No way I'd fold just because Evan doesn't want to stay with me forever. Or whatever stupid, impossible dreams I had in that moment.

"Ok." That was too easy. I push his head off my chest so I can see him, narrowing my eyes as I try to read his face. Is he humoring me?

He blinks innocently at me. Yep. He's humoring me. "I don't."

"Maybe just moments of extra anxiety?" Another oh so innocent blink. How did I never notice how long his eyelashes are? They're not particularly thick, but when they come down over his cheeks, they fan down like he's wearing fake ones.

"I don't know. Maybe." Because—Well, maybe he has a point. Sometimes the anxiety gets a little overwhelming. And in the hallway, my chest had been awfully tight. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, either.

In fact, it's the exact feeling I get before I lose my temper and fly off the handle. Interesting. The same tightness, but with opposite results. Instead of fighting Evan, I'd crumbled. Why? At no point had I considered using my anger management techniques, because—I wasn't angry at him. Not even a little. Just at myself.

Chapter 22

Evan

Stefan looks like I hit him over the head with a rock. His eyes have gone blank, and he's staring at me, but, I think, not seeing me at all.

I let him have his moment, let him think it over. Whatever he's realized, it's big, and I'm sure he needs time to process it. Instead of interrogating him, I set my head back down on his chest. Even if it's not sub drop, he's responded well to the cuddling, so I'm not going to stop.

How much physical contact does Stefan receive on an average day? His dad doesn't seem all that affectionate, and while his mom seems nice enough, I can tell she's too busy to be around much. No siblings, no relationship. He's never mentioned any local friends. His house is minimalist to the point of being impersonal.

Well, he's got me for the next two days, and I'll give him everything I can.

When he finally stirs, I raise my head to look at him again. His eyes have refocused, and he meets my gaze. "Maybe I do have panic attacks."

"Oh?" I'm still keeping my voice as noncommittal as possible. This is his journey of self-discovery.

"I think that might have something to do with my anger issues, too."

His anger issues?

Right, the fights. I keep forgetting about those. They don't match my Stefan; they're so uncharacteristic for the sweet, kind, vulnerable man I've come to care about.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Please tell me about it. I want to know you, Stefan. The good, the bad, and the ugly. All of it.

His eyes dart away from mine, toward the door, the window, the blankets covering us, back to me. "I guess? I think maybe this is what happens when my anger goes in rather than out."

"What happens when it goes out? You don't have to answer."

"No, I should." His forehead creases. "I know this is casual or whatever, but..."

"I think we left casual about an hour ago. Twenty-four hours ago, really," I admit. I don't want to admit it. I don't want it to be true. "Maybe a couple months." If the amount of time I've spent thinking about him is any indication.

The perfect blue of his eyes meets mine again, pools I want to drown in. "Yeah." The relief on his face is too much for me, so I duck my head again, avoiding those soul-searching eyes in favor of my cheek on his chest. "I thought you..."

"I know. Like I said, we need to talk about it. I’m not putting you off." Even if I’m probably more terrified than he is.

"Ok." He takes a deep, deep breath, his ribs expanding under me, then lets it out slowly, and the tension finally drains out of his body. "Ok."

"I think we have a lot to go over."

"Yeah. Let's start with the whole anger thing, though. Because you might hate me, after."

I doubt it, but I nod. "Ok." At some point, we'll have to work through my own reticence about relationships. Which may well change his mind, if he doesn't already know everything. I don’t get the feeling he does, no matter how big a scandal it was at the time. This is not the moment, though.

“You know how I fucked up the last Olympics.” I open my mouth to argue, shut it again, letting him tell his story without me disputing what he believes are facts. "It... Kind of wrecked me." His voice is thin, far away.

"Understandable." Knowing Stefan, it is, though I disagree with his self-assessment of the situation. It had to have, for him to be so focused on his redemption.