Trigger

Meredith Moran didn't bother with the kickstand of her bike. Instead, she let it drop to the ground behind the Mercedes in the driveway before she rushed toward the front door.

"Hey, Mere."

Blake was in the foyer, cleaning the heads of his golf clubs with a brush. Meredith's body shook as she wrung her hands together. She wouldn't let herself cry in front of her little brother.

He looked up, iron in hand, and asked, "did you change your mind about coming with us?"

She slipped the strap of her bag from her arm and threw her tennis tote onto the floor. "Where's CJ?" God, what was wrong with her? She hadn't called Jacob by his childhood nickname in years.

"He's getting dressed." She took off up the front stairs, ignoring Blake after he'd asked, "is everything okay?"

Meredith breezed into her bedroom. When she didn't see her fiancé, she walked through the bathroom and into her closet. There'd been space cleared out for Jacob for the past few years now. He left clothing here, so he didn't have to overpack when they traveled. She'd done the same, taking an entire closet for her clothes in the Kline's Paris apartment.

But she didn't think she would ever be going back to Paris, especially that apartment on Rue de la Pompe. At least not for a very long time.

God, she couldn't breathe.

"Blake and I are about to head out for a round of golf, so I'll call later this afternoon." He had his phone in his left hand. "If you don't hear from me before tonight, enjoy dinner with the Murdochs."

Who was on the line?

Jacob's parents would be dining this evening with the media mogul family, so it had to be either his mother or father.

"I love you very much."

His mom.

"I love you too," he told her.

After Jacob ended the phone call, he grabbed a collared shirt from the shelf. Meredith's chest tightened when he looked toward the doorway.

"Babe?" He looked more than concerned. "Aren't you missing your lesson?"

And she broke.

"I— I can't breathe," she said as the tears she'd been holding back spilled over.

She barely got it out as she touched a hand to her chest.

Jacob abandoned his shirt, leaving it on the bench in the middle of the room, and rushed to her. He took her into his arms and kissed her head.

"It's okay," he whispered.

But it wasn't!

"I— I can't—"

Meredith sobbed as she fisted the t-shirt he'd thrown on before breakfast.

She was supposed to be fine!

She needed to be fine!

She was Meredith Moran. She was always okay, always their parents' strong girl. She should be worrying about her family's company, not reliving what happened in the Kline's Paris apartment.

"Breathe," he told her. "Please, Babe, you have to breathe."

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't breathe because everything had been going so well. For almost a month now, there had been no panic attacks. There had been no nightmares that left her shaking, no tears that left her with a headache, and no trips to the therapist that left her feeling overly anxious.

"Did something happen, Meredith," he asked as he rubbed her back.

Yes, but for almost a month now, there had been happiness. There had been walks along the beach at sunset, slow mornings spent reading and sipping strong coffee by the pool, and long nights of some of the best sex they'd had since the Spring.

"Tell me," he said.

She'd gone home for the Fourth but returned South the day after the holiday. Blake and Jacob joined her for the week before they would head up to Gull Island for the remainder of the month.

Jacob led her over to the bench and then told her, "take a breath and then tell me what happened."

She didn't want to ruin the rest of their week.

Meredith sniffled. "There was a robbery on Marsh Wren." She clung to him. "I—" She didn't know what to say.

For the first half of summer, she'd had a standing private tennis lesson each morning with a pro at the tennis center. This morning, she'd rode her bike up to the courts because, though she liked to drive on the island, there were too many biking tourists who didn't know cars had the right of way.

Somedays, driving made her want to pull out her hair!

The tennis center was only a seven-minute bike ride from the house, so, she'd joined the tourists riding their bikes on the sidewalks.

But she hadn't made it to the tennis center.

She hadn't made it to the tennis center because the four or five police cars that had sat three streets over with their lights flashing had caught her eye. And she had to stop because she was a Moran. She couldn't keep her nose out of others' business!

"I freaked out," she admitted.

Nate and Nora Hagen had been standing on the sidewalk with activewear on their bodies on cups of coffee in their hands. She had stopped and asked them if they knew what had happened.

"A break-in, Dear."

Her heart had just about stopped right there and then. And she'd nearly lost the hold she'd had on the handle of her bike.

"Was— was anyone home?"

"No, thank goodness," Nora said. "The Andersons rent the house out in the summer. The renters for the week hadn't arrived on the island yet."

She'd mumbled something, but now, she couldn't remember what.

"The officer I spoke to said they took art and furniture."

Meredith had looked down at her hand, at the engagement ring that had replaced the seven-carat emerald-cut heirloom diamond.

"Are you okay, Dear," Nora had asked. "You look pale."

She'd spent the last three weeks soaking up the sun. On pool loungers with a book clutched in her hand. On beach towels spread out on the sand. On midday walks through the streets lined with mansions. And during noon tennis matches when the UV index was the strongest. She should be anything but pale.

"It triggered you." Jacob tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear before he gently took her hands into his. "That's going to happen."

"I don't want it to."

She wanted to normalize. In fact, "I thought everything was…" Meredith pulled one of her hands away from her fiancé's and touched her chest. "I thought I was back to normal."

But, "he held a gun to my head, Blake. And he—" One of the men had touched her, had scared her half to death, had sworn to God that "bitch, if you don't shut up, I'll fucking kill you." And it hadn't sounded any better in French.

Jacob leaned in and kissed her forehead.

"This is the new normal," he whispered.

She didn't want to agree, but all she had the energy to do was nod.

"Hold me in bed," she asked.

"Of course."