“Dean!” someone shouts. I don’t hear it right. I don’t hear anything right. All I hear is that sound. Metal tearing. Glass exploding. Her scream. Emily’s scream.
The stage tilts into asphalt. The lights become headlights. The sparks become windshield shards catching the streetlamp glare. My lungs seize and I’m eighteen again, mouth full of blood that isn’t mine, hands shaking so hard I can’t dial a phone. I can’t breathe. My fingers lock around Sadie’s arms before I even realize I’ve moved.
“Dean…” she breathes my name, repeating it like a tether. “Dean, I’m okay. I’m right here.”
No. No, you’re not. You’re in front of me on a road that’s wet and slick. You’re turning your head to smile at me through the rearview mirror. “Don’t,” I choke. My throat is sandpaper. I smell fuel. I taste copper. My heartbeat is chaos.
Sadie doesn’t pull away. She should. She doesn’t. Her hands come up slow, careful. “Dean. Look at me.”
I can’t. If I look at her, I’ll see it happen. If I look at her, I’ll fail again.
“Ross.” Cherry’s voice cuts in, sharp but not unkind. “She’s fine. Let her go.”
Fine. Nothing about this is fine. “I thought—” My voice breaks, useless. I swallow hard. “I thought you were hurt.” The words land like a confession I didn’t mean to say out loud.
Sadie stills. Really looks at me now. “I wasn’t,” she says gently. “You got me out. I’m okay.”
My hands are shaking. I hate that she can feel it. I hate that anyone can see it. I step back too fast, like I’ve been burned. Sadie sways with me, still half caught between adrenaline and now. Her eyes are wide. Concerned. Not afraid. That almost wrecks me.
“You could have been killed,” I say, the anger gone, stripped down to something raw and shaking. “You could have been crushed, or hit, or…” I drag in a breath that doesn’t help. “I thought I was about to watch it happen again.”
Her mouth parts. “Dean”
“I can’t.” I shake my head, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I can’t do that again.”
Silence spreads. The crew holds still, but I don’t feel them anymore. I only see her. “I’m here,” she says softly. “I’m not hurt.”
I nod like I believe her, even though my body hasn’t caught up yet. My gaze drops to her hands, still steady. Still here.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she adds. “Or trigger that.”
“You didn’t,” I say immediately. Too fast. “This isn’t on you.” I finally look at her then. Really look. Alive. Breathing. Solid. My chest aches with the reality of it. I want to haul her into my arms and just hold onto her, but we’re keeping this professional, right?
She waits. Patient. Always patient.
“I just…” I trail off, jaw tight. There aren’t words for the shape of fear I carry. There never have been.
She nods once. Accepts what I can give. “I’m okay,” she repeats.
I turn away before she can see how close I came to breaking apart in front of her.
“Dean.” Luc’s voice is close now. “Hey. You with me?”
I nod because nodding is easier than words. Luc steps between me and the cluster of crew, not blocking, just giving me a line of space. A wall without walls. He doesn’t touch me yet. He knows better.
“You good to walk?” he checks, his voice low.
“Yeah.” Lie. Whatever. “Fine.”
“Okay. Come offstage for a minute.”
I don’t want to be led anywhere. I want to vanish. I want to crawl into a hole made of noise and sweat and never have anyone look at my face again. But my feet follow him anyway. Because he’s Luc. Because he’s the only person alive who knows what that sound really does to me.
We head down the side stairs into the wing, away from the spot where the truss almost took her head off and I almost lost my damn mind. My lungs finally pull a full breath. Not clean. Not easy. But full. Luc glances over his shoulder once, making sure I’m still there. I am.
“What the hell was that?” he murmurs when we hit a dark corridor. Not accusing. Not surprised. Just… steady.
“A truss.” I try for a scoff. It comes out thin. “Shit slipped.”
