Hold My Breath(59)

I laugh lightly with her, but only for show. My eyes are captivated by the young ones that struggle to meet mine a few feet away. There is so much that is tragic and difficult, and my heart breaks seeing this glimpse of Dylan’s battle, but it also beats at everything that is familiar. Evan is there. He’s right there, even though he’s not here for any of this. I grab at my chest, and when Tanya’s back is to me, I turn to see Will—still standing with his arms stretched out. His eyes were waiting for me, and the moment our gazes lock, I understand why he didn’t want me to get this far in. It hurts too much—too much Evan.

“He doesn’t speak, other than a few sounds and almost words he’s been getting out in therapy, so he probably won’t be able to say your name, but he’ll recognize you,” Tanya says, catching my attention back in the room. I step forward, closer to her and her son—Evan’s son. She presses his hand between both of hers and squeezes, and the sensation seems to soothe him, his head shifting from side-to-side while he hums and smiles.

“Dylan, this is a friend of Uncle Will’s. Her name is Maddy,” she says.

Dylan’s head bobs twice and a sound escapes him, almost a yell, but the words are incoherent. His eyes cross paths with mine a few times, and it feels like I’m being painted with his happiness, more cooing sounds escaping his chest as he brings his other hand forward to clap with both of his mom’s.

She nods to me, so I step closer and place mine on top of hers so Dylan can touch me. His hand grazes mine a few times, his fingers almost curling around mine once, unable to hold on for more than a blip of a second. The feel of it forces a smile to my face, and when I look up into Tanya’s eyes, she’s smiling, too.

“I hope it’s okay, Dylan, but I’m making this trip with you,” I say, glancing from him to Tanya, her eyes growing wide and her smile growing. “I thought you could all use another hand.”

When her gaze moves beyond me, to the door, I know that Will has moved from his place in the hallway. I glance over my shoulder, and his eyes meet mine in an instant, speaking nothing but silent apologies.

“I tried to tell her she didn’t have to go,” he says.

“Yeah, don’t feel obligated, Maddy. We’re grateful for the lift to the airport…”

“I want to,” I interject, turning back to Tanya just before standing and sliding my hands away from Dylan’s fragile hold. “I’d really like to help, and I can make up my time. My dad will understand.”

Tanya glances to Will for approval, and I turn to face him as well. His focus shifts between us, and his resolve weakens just enough.

“He won’t understand at all, but to hell if I can talk you out of something once your mind is made,” he relents.

“He will, but you’re right about one thing…” I say, moving to the doorway and sliding through, my arm grazing his chest as I pass. “You can’t talk me into or out of anything, Will Hollister.”

I leave him with Tanya to finish getting Dylan packed and ready for our trip, and I take over finishing the dishes in the kitchen. I cry hard, but I don’t make a single sound, and I don’t turn my face away from the sink until I know every last puffy, red piece of evidence has been erased.

When we get the car packed, I slide into the passenger seat next to Will and call my father’s number. When he answers, I tell him I’m going with Will to help. I tell him it’s important, and when he asks for the details, I tell him I can’t share any. He’s livid, but he’s also my daddy. I promise him a new record at the meet next week, and that seems to lighten his mood enough that when I hang up I’m left with only one heavy burden on my heart.

Will’s hand rests on the gearshift between us, and without thinking, I thread my fingers through his. His mouth opens and a small breath escapes. It’s nothing grand, but that small sound cuts deep. He’s breaking himself trying to save so many people, but nobody has ever stepped up to save him.

I’m not sure I’m strong enough to, either. But I can sure as hell get him through the next few hours, in the air—in his worst nightmare.





Chapter Thirteen





Will





With every step forward, I want to take six back. I want to run. I’ve never wanted to run more.

My counselor, after the DUI, told me that I was probably experiencing a panic attack when I drove into that tree. I didn’t know what he meant because, well, Jack Daniels does a damn good job of erasing the symptoms of a panic attack. But I’m sober now, and this—this is definitely a panic attack.

Everywhere I look, the earth is shaking. Just a little. The colors are brighter, and my forehead will not stop sweating. I can barely focus enough to find my way to the group of seats just outside our gate. Maddy took the lead, checking us all in, loading the luggage, and getting the boarding passes. As difficult as it is to travel with Dylan, his medical condition makes some things easier. We went through a special security area, which meant that there was more time to scrutinize things—scrutinize me. For a while, I thought they were going to pull me into a room and test my urine because I look like I’m in withdrawals.

“When you have a panic attack, you will feel like you are dying.” That one line from some state-mandated substance-abuse counselor, whose name and face I hardly remember, is ingrained in my mind. He could not have been more accurate.