Chapter 22. Your Choice

Tessa’s POV

Cold air hits my face.

That’s the first thing I understand. Cold air, and the smell of wet grass, and the music suddenly muffled, like someone shut a door on it.

The second thing is that I’m sitting on the back steps of Chase’s house, and Wyatt is crouched on the step below me, holding both my hands.

“There you are,” he says.

I don’t remember walking out here. I remember the smoke. I remember the floor tilting. And then, in pieces, I remember his arm around me, his voice saying excuse us to people in a tone that made them move, a hallway, a kitchen, a door.

He carried me. I think he carried me. My boots are still on.

“Breathe,” he says. “In. That’s it. Out.”

I breathe. In. Out. The air is so cold it hurts, and I’ve never been so grateful for anything.

“What happened?” I whisper.

“You had a panic attack.” He says it simply. Not like it’s embarrassing. Not like it’s a diagnosis. Like it’s a weather report.