“Fair?” I laughed but there was no humor in it, just this harsh sound that echoed through the trees. “Nothing about this is fair. I'm twenty-seven years old, hiding in the woods because I can't handle being sober for forty-eight hours without losing my shit.”
“You're not—”
“I'm not what? Falling apart? Because that's exactly what this is.” The words came out louder than I intended, disturbing a mockingbird from somewhere in the oak canopy. It fluttered away, its wings catching sunlight between the branches. “This is me falling apart because I can't take a hit without pills to shut up the noise in my head.”
My chest started getting tight. That familiar feeling of walls closing in, air getting thin, like someone was turning a vise around my ribs. I knew what was coming but I couldn't stop it, couldn't control it, couldn't do anything but watch it happen.
“Cord—”
“I need to go back.”
“Back to the cabin?”
“Back to Denver. Back to real life. This was stupid.” I turned around and started back down the trail, fast. Like I could outrun the panic that was building in my chest like a storm front.
“Hey.” Dusty caught up, didn't try to stop me but kept pace. His footsteps were steady while mine felt erratic, rushed. “You're okay.”
“I'm not okay. That's the whole fucking problem.”
“You're having a panic attack.”
“I know what I'm having.” But my breathing was getting shallow, rapid. Heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break free. The trail blurred at the edges and I stumbled over a root I should have seen coming.
We reached the cabin, and I bolted for the porch steps, needing something solid under me before my legs gave out. The wood was rough and warm from the morning sun, real in a way that helped anchor me when everything else was spinning.
“Four counts in,” Dusty said, settling beside me on the steps.
“Don't.”
“Hold for four.”
“I said don't.” But my voice came out shaky and I hated how weak it sounded.
“Out for six.”
Despite myself, I tried to match his rhythm. It took several attempts. My lungs kept wanting to grab for air instead of releasing it, but the crushing feeling in my chest started toease. The world stopped tilting and my heartbeat slowed from jackhammer to something closer to normal.
“Better?”
I nodded because I didn't trust my voice yet. The adrenaline was draining out of me, leaving behind this shaky exhaustion that made my bones feel hollow.
“Want to tell me what set that off?”
“Everything.” I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Nothing. I don't know. I just...” The words stuck in my throat.
“You don't have to explain it.”
“Yeah, I do. Because otherwise, you're going to think I'm some head case who can't handle a simple hike without freaking out.” The admission tasted bitter. I'd spent my entire adult life being the guy who could handle anything: pressure, pain, media scrutiny. Now I couldn't even walk through the woods without having a meltdown.
Dusty shifted beside me, close enough that his shoulder brushed mine. “I don't think you're a head case. I think you're going through some withdrawal and dealing with a lot of unprocessed trauma at the same time.”
“That's a nice way of saying I'm falling apart.”
“No, that's a way of saying you're human.” He paused, then added, “You know what I see when I look at you? Someone who's been holding up the weight of the world for so long that he forgot he's allowed to put it down sometimes.”
The words hit me harder than they should have. I stared at my hands, still shaking, and something cracked open in my chest. Not the panic this time. Something else. Something like grief mixed with relief mixed with exhaustion so deep it went all the way to my bones.
“I don't know how to put it down.”
