The force of it throws me sideways, like someone just grabbed the inside of my chest and twisted without touching skin, and I do not even have time to brace before my knees hit the floor hard enough that the impact rattles up my spine. Ezra is in front of me instantly.
“Lainey.” He says, and this time he does not hesitate.
He catches me before my shoulder can slam into the hardwood, and his hands are on me fully, one at my waist and one bracing my back, and the second his skin makes contact the bond detonates in a way that is not relief and not comfort but sharp and distorted and wrong.
The pain spikes so violently that my vision whites out at the edges, and I clutch at his shirt because standing is no longer an option and pride does not matter when my body feels like it is being ripped
