The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection Frost, J (good beach reads .TXT) 📖

I try, blinking hard, but I can’t see anything through tears and hair. I can’t breathe. I can still feel his fingers down my throat. I can still taste the soap. I can still feel the swirling water. The hands. Their voices drown out Logan’s in my ears. Brace-face. Teacher’s pet. Ugly Emily. I throw my head back, trying desperately to suck in air but nothing comes. There’s no air. I can’t breathe.

“Emily, I’m going to put my fingers in your mouth and clear your airway. Don’t bite down.”

His fingers push into my mouth again. I choke and thrash in his hold, but he clamps the back of my neck to keep me still. His fingers hit my tonsils. I gag again and air rushes down my throat in a wrenching burst. I suck in a breath, another and another, until my body stops telling me that I’m suffocating and the swirling water recedes.

Logan pulls me forward until my forehead is on his shoulder. His warm hands move up and down my back. “Breathe. In. Hold, one, two. Out. Remember what I taught you the first time you wore the butt plug. Breathe, Emmy.”

I can’t. I just need air. I pull it in in great heaves, blowing it out, not caring that I spatter his chest with spit, only to gasp in another desperate breath.

“Baby doll, slow your breathing. In. Hold, one, two. Out. You’re okay. There’s nothing wrong with you. You just need to calm down.”

I don’t believe him. I need air. More air.

“Emily.” His voice drops, the tone of command. “Listen to me. Breathe in. Hold. One. Two. Out.”

I clutch at him, trying to listen, trying to force my body to obey, but when I draw in a breath and try to hold it in my chest, my body revolts. My lungs scream and I thrash in his hold until I can gasp in another breath. Another. I need more air.

Logan rubs his hands up and down my back again. “You’re going to pass out. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

I shake my head. How is it okay? I don’t want to pass out any more than I want to spew yellow chunks. I just need more air. “Please.” The word leaks out in a hiss on a desperate exhale.

He hooks his hand behind my neck and holds me tightly. “It’s going to be okay, baby. I’m here. I’ll be here when you wake up. You’re going to be fine.”

I don’t feel fine. I feel very far from fine. There’s a terrible rasping noise in my ears, which I know is my own breathing, even though it sounds like nothing that could come out of my chest. The room’s spinning in wide, loopy, white-tile circles. I claw at him, desperate for this to stop but not knowing how to stop it. He catches my hand in his and brings it down to press over his heart.

“Feel my heartbeat, Emmy. Try to slow your breathing to match my heartbeat. Feel it? Thump. In. Thump. Out. Thump. In. Thump. Out. That’s it. Relax, little girl. Focus on my heartbeat.”

I can’t feel his heartbeat. I can’t feel anything but the need for air. But I listen to his voice and cling to him and slowly the terrible, alien bellows in my ears eases. Each breath becomes less of a frantic struggle. I close my eyes and feel hot grit, instead of fresh tears. My head is stuffed with cotton, but at least air’s flowing freely through it when I take a breath. I lean further into Logan and slide my arms around his neck.

“Good girl,” he murmurs. “I’m going to pick you up and carry you into the bedroom, Emmy. Stay relaxed and keep breathing nice and slow.”

I nod and curl into him when he slides his arm under my knees. After a false start where he bumps into the toilet with a curse much bluer than the word that got me into this mess, Logan climbs to his feet. He shrugs me up against his chest and carries me out of the bathroom. It’s not the koala-baby carry and, if I could muster tears at this point, that would make me cry. But I can’t. I’m so empty. He sets me on my bed and climbs in straight over me, so I have to lie back as his body stretches across mine.

He reaches for something on the far side of the bed and when he brings his arm back, he’s holding a bottle of water. He pulls up the bottle’s nozzle and cups the back of my neck, lifting my head as he holds the water to my mouth. I drink gratefully.

“Small sips,” he tells me.

“Yes, Sir.” I’m surprised how normal my voice sounds.

Once I’ve finished half the bottle, Logan takes it away and drinks the rest. Then he stretches back into the pillows and pulls me tight to his chest. I close my eyes.

* * *

When I wake, I’m alone, and under my fuzzy. The room’s dark and cool. What time is it? Did I sleep all day? Where’s Logan? Did he leave me?

I hear a man’s voice, slightly accented. “She hyperventilated and passed out?”

I should recognize that voice, but everything’s blurry and strange, like my senses have been warped by the lack of oxygen. Maybe I have brain damage. If you have brain damage, do you know you have brain damage?

“No, she hyperventilated but I got her to slow her breathing down. She drank some water. Then she passed out.”

That’s Logan. I sit up, looking for my daddy. Is he still my daddy? Why would he want to be after that?

Logan’s standing in the connecting doorway. He moves into my room as soon as I sit up, puts one hand on my nape and the other on my chest and lowers me back into the pillows. “Easy, baby doll. I called Michael. He’s going to take a look at you.”

Why do I need looking