Orange.
I recognize his bright orange zipper case buried at the pile’s bottom.
“Oh, thank God.”
I snatch it. I’m sprinting, faster than before. Like if I push hard enough, I can rip back time, undo the last ten minutes, and fix everything.
The shoreline comes into view.
Cole’s color has darkened, angry red climbing his neck and flooding his face.
Sienna hovers over him, her hands pumping his chest—steady, unyielding, refusing to let go.
Blaze paces, camera rolling, voice rough and loud, as if talking might keep this from being real.
Dropping beside Cole, I shove the case aside, breathing fast. “I’ve got it. I’ve got the EpiPen.”
“Outer thigh.” Sienna’s face is serious. “Denim won’t stop the needle. Straight in. Hold for three.”
“I know.” I swallow hard. “I watched a video.”
God. That sounds ridiculous.
No time to second-guess. I jam it deep into his thigh.
Click.
One.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
I keep holding. Keep counting. My eyes locked on his face.
His lips are still wrong. His chest still isn’t moving.
Then, his whole body jolts in one savage inhale, a man clawing his way back into his own skin. He chokes. Coughs. Hauls in another breath. Another. His chest heaves with the effort.
Yes. Yes! There he is.
I grab his hand without thinking, and his pulse is the only thing holding me together.
Cole’s eyes flutter open.
And lock onto mine.
Not the crowd. Not Sienna. Not the camera Blaze is still somehow filming with.
Me.
The noisy world rushes back, voices overlapping, waves roaring, sirens slicing through the air. Something deep in my chest fractures: fear, relief, something bigger I won’t name. It hits all at once.
Because he’s breathing.
Because I didn’t lose him.
