The Real Thing by Cassie Mae Page A

you’re trying to tune a radio. Never mind, just let me do it.”
    I run a hand over my face and blow out a breath. I hate pills. Last time I was on them the acid reflux was a bitch, and I didn’t sleep.
    But the anxiety was gone. And after the small “episodes” I had today, I’m considering battling the insomnia and heartburn.
    I get a grip on the lid and pop it open. Shaking a pill into my palm, I peel myself from the bed and listen to make sure Em is asleep. There’s no water left in the bottle I keep on the nightstand, since it’s been a sauna, so I pop it in my mouth and dry swallow.
    It hurts my chest and I cough, and get up from the bed and head to the kitchen. I’m supposed to take this stuff with food anyway, so I dig in the cupboard for Em’s stash of Wheat Thins, then pull a fresh water bottle from the fridge.
    After I wash the pill down, I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes. I know there’s no way it’s kicked in yet, but my mind already seems clearer. And it’s a good thing, because when I turn around, Em’s standing in the dark hallway, arms crossed over her stomach and hair falling from her ponytail.
    “Hey,” I say, shutting the fridge. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”
    “You didn’t.” She rubs her arms and looks at the floor. Her voice comes out soft and cracked. “I’m actually … I’m glad you’re up.”
    I’m across the room in a second, turning on the hall light. She squints as her eyes adjust, and when they do, I see that they’re completely bloodshot.
    “Are you okay?” I search her body, her face, looking for anything that indicates she’s physically hurt. “What happened?”
    She reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, but her hand is shaking and she can’t get a grip on it. I quickly help her out, letting my fingers linger on her skin longer than they usually do.
    “It’s nothing, really. It happens all the time, I shouldn’t be freaking out.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Um … I just got a call from the Alaskan coast guard. They’ve lost contact with my dad’s boat.”
    Her gaze flicks up to mine, and the wetness on her lashes makes me push back the panic rising in my chest. She needs me, the guy who needs therapy for anxiety attacks, to be the calm one. And I want to be that for her.
    “Is that all they said?”
    “Yeah. They just wanted to keep me updated since it’s been over forty-eight hours.” She drops her head to my chest. “Forty-eight hours, Eric. Life can change in forty-eight
seconds
. What if the boat sprung a leak? Or they ran into pirates? Or they were attacked by sharks?”
    “Em … stop.”
    “I can’t.” She bumps her head against my chest, and without even thinking about it, I wrap my arms around her.
    “I hate the ocean. I hate that my dad’s on the ocean. I hate that I can’t talk to him. And I hate just sitting here with nothing to do but wait and worry.”
    “Then we’ll do something else.”
    “Like what?”
    I’m not sure. There’s only one thing I know Em loves just as much as her dad.
    “Read.”
    She snuggles into my hold, and I get a twinge of panic from that small amount of movement. But it ebbs and I find myself tightening my grip on her.
    “Will you pick something happy?” she asks, tilting her face up. “I need something funny, or with a good ending. Not like that one you read the other day.”
    “
The Butter Battle Book
?”
    “Yeah. That ending was totally cryptic.”
    “I think you missed the point of that story.”
    “Well, I need a noncryptic ending.”
    I half smile over her head. “How about you read to me this time? Pick one of your books.”
    She takes a step back, and I drop my arms. Her mouth is starting to turn up in a smile, but her eyes still say she’s worried as hell.
    “You’ll make fun of them.”
    “I promise to be open-minded.”
    A loose strand of her brown hair falls in front of her eyes as she studies me. And when she tucks it back behind