And then I pull out my phone.
Fumble through contacts.
Call the only person I trust enough to see me like this.
Jace.
He picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, wait, why the hell are you breathing like a haunted vacuum? You good?”
No mention of the last time we saw one another.
Of the shitty way I spoke to him.
I’m so fucking lucky to have him as a friend.
I try to answer, but all I manage is a raw sound that might’ve been a laugh. Or a sob. Or both.
There’s silence on the other end. Then, “Okay,” Jace says, voice suddenly low, calm. “Okay, brother. Talk to me. Where are you?”
“Top of some trail near the east ridge,” I rasp, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Tuck’s with me. Fuck, Jace, I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can. You are. You called me. That means part of you still knows how. So just stay with me, all right?”
He starts guiding me through it. Like it's muscle memory.Breathe in, hold. Breathe out, slow. Again.
Eventually, the fog thins. My hands stop trembling. My heart calms down enough that I can hear the wind again. The birds. Tuck’s quiet huffing next to me.
“Shit,” I whisper, staring at my knuckles. “I haven’t had one of those in years.”
“Well,” Jace mutters dryly, “you’ve got all the ingredients for a mental collapse soufflé, so I’m not exactly surprised.”
I let out a weak, wheezing laugh. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse.” He pauses. “Nova called me.”
Of course she did.
“She’s worried. Says you’re basically living on coffee and grief and talking to walk-ins.”
“That was one time.”
“And that you wrote Josie some cryptic love letter.”
I say nothing.
“Man,” Jace groans, “you’ve got a woman who still came back to Silver Peak after all this shit. Who is pregnant with your actual child, and you’re out here playing brooding bachelor in the woods.”
“I’m scared,” I admit. Quiet. Barely a whisper.
“I know you are. But scared people don’t get to hide. They get to show the fuck up anyway.”
His words land like a punch to the sternum.
“I hurt her.”
“Yeah. You did. But you also love her, right?”
