BREE
Afew days later, I stand in the driveway, wrapped in Mom’s arms, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume like it’s some kind of emotional life raft.
It’s hard to see my parents go.
“Take care of yourself, sweetheart,” she murmurs, pulling back to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
I clear my throat, willing my voice to stay strong. “I will.”Probably. Maybe. No promises.
Dad steps in next, pulling me into one of his classic bear hugs that makes me feel like a kid again, safe and untouchable. I grip the back of his jacket, pressing my face into his shoulder for half a second longer than I probably should.
“You know we’re just a call away, right?” His voice is gruff. “Anytime you need us.”
“I know.” I blink back the sting in my eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”
As they climb into their rental car, Nugget barks from the porch, his tail wagging furiously, completely oblivious to the fact that we’re saying goodbye. Callan stands beside him,leaning lightly on his crutch, his crooked grin soft but genuine as he waves them off.
The second their car pulls away, something inside me slips.
I stand there, watching until their taillights disappear while the silence of the countryside settles back in around me. It’s like my foundation cracks.
Panic hits like a rogue wave with no warning or mercy. One second I’m standing there, rooted to the earth, and the next, everything feels off. The world blurs, the edges of reality falling away. The pressure builds in my chest, suffocating, until I can’t tell if it’s the air that’s harder to breathe or the gravity of my own thoughts.
Callan’s calling my name, but his voice sounds like it’s coming from a million miles away, distant and muffled. “Bree? Hey, what’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the words are trapped.
I’m so tired of this. So tired of pretending it’s not there, of hiding it from him, from everyone.
The world careens, and I brace myself against the railing, my knuckles white with effort. I try to slow my breathing, but my body’s forgotten how to do that, too. Every inhale is shallow and jagged.
“Bree,” Callan’s voice is closer now but still filled with worry. His hand grips my shoulder, his warmth bleeding into me.
I close my eyes, squeezing them tight. I need to hold it together, but all I want to do is fall apart.
“Bree, love, look at me.” His voice cuts through, and I force my eyes open. His concerned gaze meets mine, and for a second, I get lost in the depth of it. His usual spark of mischief is dimmed, replaced by worry.
“That’s it. Just breathe with me, okay?” His voice is an anchor in the chaos. He takes a long, exaggerated breath,encouraging me to follow along. I try to match his rhythm, but my lungs are too tight. Each inhale is like trying to draw air through a straw.
His hand shifts from my shoulder to my back. He rubs gentle circles against my skin in comforting, slow movements that somehow makes the storm inside me a little less fierce.
“You’re doing great, love. Just keep breathing.”
I focus on the warmth of his touch, the rise and fall of his breaths. Slowly, painfully, the grip on my lungs releases. The world stops spinning, and I become aware of the gentle breeze on my skin, the chirping of birds in the distance.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to?—”
He shakes his head, his hands gently guiding me into his arms, holding me close like he’s trying to pull the anxiousness from my chest with just his touch. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Bree. Nothing.”
I lean into his solid frame. It’s grounding. So grounding that, for a moment, I forget about the suffocating panic that’s still lingering just beneath the surface.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know exactly,” I admit. “It’s been happening on and off for a while now. Ever since…” I trail off, the unspoken weight of the accident hanging between us. I swallow, then continue. “Sometimes it just hits me out of nowhere. I can’t breathe, can’t think straight. Everything feels like it’s too much, too overwhelming.”
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, his chin resting on top of my head.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is quiet, almost like a whisper.
