Page 128 of Buck ’Em Cowgirl

I was unworthy.

I had worked so hard to get better, but hospitals weren’t safe. I wasn’t strong enough to go back.

My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms, trying to anchor myself against the feeling that I was slipping, spiraling, shattering into nothing.

Mike’s voice was there, in the back of my head, slithering through the cracks. Worthless.

My chest heaved, the air coming too fast, too shallow. I was drowning in it.

The moment we pulled up to the hospital entrance, it all snapped.

“No,” I screamed. “I can’t— I can’t go in there.”

“You’re okay.” Harleigh’s voice cut through the panic, but I barely heard her over the roaring in my ears. “Fable, you’re okay.”

I couldn’t.

I wasn’t safe.

“I—” My voice cracked, my hands shaking violently in my lap. “Harleigh, I can’t go in there.” I squeezed my eyes shut as if that would make the world outside disappear. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

The hospital was right there. Beau was inside, but I couldn’t go in.

Because hospitals meant I lost myself.

Hospitals meant I wasn’t a woman anymore.

Hospitals meant I was nothing.

I choked out a sob, my whole body shaking.

“My parents died in a hospital.”

I was just a kid in college, barely an adult, and in an instant, I had no family left.

Mike caught me when I crumbled and whispered empty reassurances. He soothed the unbearable ache that bloomed in my chest, the hollowed-out space where my parents had been. He didn’t heal me though; he made sure I stayed broken in a way that benefited him.

“A part of me died in a hospital too,” I whispered, my hands trembling as I wrapped my arms around myself.

“I know,” Harleigh murmured, pressing firmly on my shoulders. “It’s okay. We don’t have to go in yet.”

“But he’s in there,” I gasped, my vision blurring. “I need to see him. I have to— I have to know he’s okay—” My breaths were coming in rapid bursts, too fast, too shallow.

Harleigh’s phone buzzed in her lap, and she snatched it up immediately.

“It’s Dalton,” she said quickly. “Beau’s conscious. His arm’s broken, but he’s okay.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my pulse hammering so loud it was deafening. He was breathing.

Why couldn’t I?

“I think I’m dying,” I whimpered, gripping my chest, pressing against the panic like I could hold myself together if I pushed hard enough. “I can’t— I can’t breathe. I think I’m dying, Harleigh⁠—”

She grabbed my face between her hands, pressing her forehead against mine. “You are not dying.”

“I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m⁠—”

Harleigh’s hands were on me, her voice steady, but I couldn’t hear her.