Page 56 of Loving the Legend
I swallow, but my throat is lodged.
I can’t lose him.
“Tyler, breathe!”
I’d have no one if I lost him.
My chest is pounding.
I won’t be alone because I won’t stay. I made a promise ages ago. Fire takes him, water takes me. God knows. It’ll be easy. The beach near my house is always empty before sunrise. I mean it. There'd be nothing left for me here.
“Breathe!” Adam orders, rubbing my back.
I duck my head between my elbows.
“You’re not breathing, kid!”
I suck in air and release it.
“Again,” he says. “Focus on my voice or the rise and fall of your breathing, Ty.”
I latch on to his voice.
“I’m right here, kid.” He leans down so that our foreheads touch. “You see me? I’m fine.”
I take him in. He’s right in front of me, bones, uncharred skin, pumping heart and all.
He’s fine.
“I can’t—it’s not—I can’t control it,” I mutter.
“I know. Anxiety is high today. I should have been careful with my words. Just breathe for me.”
I sit up, grateful that we’re in a back booth and I’m facing a wall.
“When it gets intense like that, I want you to try something. It’s a technique to ground yourself. Acknowledge five things you see around you. Four things you can touch, three things you hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. Let’s try it now. Name five things you see.”
I clear my throat and look around: “Coffee, uh, food, you, tables, coats, you.”
“Very good. What are four things you can touch?”
I scrub my hands over my eyes.
“Come on, kid. What are four things you can touch?”
“Er, my hair…this table, uh, you, the fork.”
Why didn’t the hospital call me? I’m his emergency contact.
“Perfect. What are three things that you hear?”
I swallow to push down the thickness in my throat. “Uh, your voice, forks, scraping plates, chatter, cars. They should have called me. Why didn’t the fire department call me?”
He breaks eye contact and stares at his coffee.
“You told them not to?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to worry. I was fine.”
