A beep cuts through the panic. Hudson has switched to a video call, and without thinking, I accept, his blue eyes filling the screen.
What’s wrong?” he demands, his face concerned.
“P-panic at-tack,” I stumble out. I know that’s what this is. I’ve witnessed Hud have them a time or two now.
Hudson softens his voice. “Okay, I can help you. Follow my breathing.”
I’m grateful he didn’t ask what set me off, but I’m sure the questions will come later.
So much for not adding to his stress.
I try to follow his breathing, but my sight is getting fuzzy, the dizziness intensifying.
I’m going to be sick.
I fling open my door and vomit everywhere. It keeps coming, all while the thoughts I’ve been trying to forget rush to the surface.
Getting jumped.
Hudson on the bridge.
Hud hooked up to machines.
Mason.
The gun.
The blood.
My body is overloaded and the world starts to dim.
The last thing that registers is Hudson yelling my name…
Hudson
If I never have to come back to the hospital again, it would be too soon.
But here I am, in the ER waiting room, waiting to find out if Cullen is okay.
I knew he was having a panic attack the moment he answered my video call. I tried to help him slow his breathing, but he was in too deep.
Thank God Cull talked me into downloading a tracker app.
I gave him hell about it when he first brought it up. Everyone is still terrified I’m going to disappear again.
But in the end, I caved.
Turns out it was a good thing I did.
When he passed out, his phone slipped from his hand and landed outside his truck. Rain pelted the camera, but I could tell he wasn’t anywhere near home.
Then his location updated.
Maple Drive—Mason’s house.
Fear was the first thing that hit me. Then anger.
Cullen has been joking for weeks about finding Mason himself. Standing in my bedroom with 911 on the line, it stopped being a joke.
