I nod and he does what he described. I struggle at first because it reminds me of being suffocated by Jon, but he keeps a firm hold over my mouth and talks to me in soft, soothing words. "Slow down, OK?" He looks me in the eyes. "Slow."
I try, but it's very hard to stop the chain reaction inside my body. I shake all over as I try my hardest to get my breathing under control. And then slowly, after many minutes, he removes his hand and I am not gasping.
And then I just cry. "He's gonna find me!"
I just cry.
"Rook," the cop says. "Don't cry, OK? No one's gonna find you. You're OK. If you start crying, you'll have another attack. Just calm down."
I stop the sobbing but the tears still come. They pour out in rivers and roll down my cheeks. "He's gonna find me. He's gonna know where I am!"
"Who, Rook?" Ford pushes the cop out of the way and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Who's gonna find you?"
"My ex, Jon. He's gonna know." I look over at the cop. "You ran my name and it triggered the report, right?"
"Yeah, but he won't have access to that, you don't—"
"He's a computer forensics specialist for the Chicago PD!"
The cop is stunned silent because I'm sure he's seen this scene play out a hundred times. There's only one reason for a girl to act this way about a man from her past.
"Scott, can we just take her home?" Spencer asks from the passenger seat. "If you're gonna write a ticket, do it fast, OK?"
"No, you're good." He looks past me, over to Spencer. "Sorry, dude. I had no idea. It was just a stupid traffic stop."
"Get in, Rook," Ford says, taking my arm. He opens the door to the back cab and pushes me in, then follows me. "Drive, Spencer."
Spencer climbs over the console and plops down in the driver's seat and starts up the truck. He turns around and takes us back to the shop. When we get there, Ford talks into his little microphone and tells the crew to turn off the cameras. Then he and Spencer take me into the house and sit me down on the couch.
"OK, I'm not gonna fight with you about this, Rook," Ford says with a hard edge to his voice. "I'm only gonna ask you once. Is this man dangerous?"
I nod and the tears start again.
"How dangerous? Does he fight men? Or just women?"
"Just women, I think."
Both Ford and Spencer exchange a sort of conspiratorial look.
"Is he really your husband?"
I cry harder as I look up at Ford and nod. "He is. He made me!"
"OK, that's enough, Ford. She's had enough now. I'm calling Ronin. He's probably not even halfway yet." Spencer pulls out his phone and messes with the screen. We listen together as it dials Ronin on speaker.
It goes straight to voicemail.
"Shit, no service in the mountains. I'm not leaving this kind of message on voicemail, Rook. So we'll just have to wait until he gets back in range near Steamboat and I'll try again later."
I am suddenly exhausted and I just nod and lie down on the couch, my face buried in the pillow.
Ford sits down on the coffee table as Spencer goes outside to run interference with the camera crew coming up the front steps. "You're safe here, you know that right? You're totally safe here."
"I don't feel safe, Ford. I feel the opposite of safe."
"This is your damage, isn't it? You ran from him, didn't you?"
I nod my head into the pillow.
"And somehow you found Ronin, and he figured it out. Because I know you didn't tell him. You're not a teller, are you, Rook? You keep secrets, don't you?"
"Just stop, Ford. I'm not in the mood."
He hesitates for a second, then takes a deep breath. "I have to confess, I've never seen someone have a panic attack like that. I thought you were dying."
I turn over a little so I can look up at his face. I'm not sure what I expect, but it isn't sympathy like I get. "I felt like I was dying, too. I thought you were a mental psychosis prodigy, Ford? How could you never've seen a panic attack?"
He laughs out a little bit of air. "I'm an armchair therapist—"
I watch him struggle for words for a few seconds and his eyes dart back and forth as he looks me in one eye, then the other. His expression becomes very serious. "What?" I ask.
"You really scared me."
"Sorry."
"You need to get a divorce."
"I can't see him again, Ford. I can't. I'm not just not capable of handling that. I'm not."
He looks away and looks off into the distance. "Just leave it to us, Rook. We'll handle it."
"What's that mean?"
Ford shrugs, like this is nothing. "I'm sure Ronin's going to ask for favors when he gets back."
"I don't understand."
"Just relax, OK? He won't hurt you again. You should just stop worrying about that right now."
"The hurt's inside, Ford. He doesn't need to be here to hurt me." I watch his expression carefully as he absorbs my words. This uncharacteristic version of Ford. The one who says he's scared and who talks soft and reassures me. I'm not sure who this guy is and it's making me nervous.
"Do you want me to leave you alone?"
I nod yes because my chest hurts with each hiccup of air left over from crying and hyperventilating and my eyes are burning so bad I can't keep them open anymore. "I just want to close my eyes, OK? Just for a minute."