Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
I have no air. My axis is tilted, and I’m submerged in a body of water that wasn’t this icy a minute ago. Unmoored, I try to make sense of the sinister turn of events.
I need to do something, but I can’t. I’m trapped, and my heart seizes at the realisation. All my thoughts become a jumbled, frenzied mess, but one rips itself out of the tangle to make itself known.
YOU. CAN’T. brEATHE.
“Brielle, fuck.” Hands find me in pieces, clutching, gripping, then sliding back again. “Brielle, baby, it’s just a nightmare.”
My eyes snap open, and I gasp, but the crushing weight on my chest makes it impossible to get air in. I scramble upright, clawing at myself as if I can force my lungs to work, but they won’t.
Panic distorts my vision, static flooding my veins. Someone’s talking, but nothing is making it past the roar of blood in my ears. I need something. What is it, what is it?
Earphones.
The word slices through the fog and I latch onto it, sweeping my hands over the bedspread in frantic arcs. When my fingers find nothing, a sob catches in my throat, trapped like the air I can’t pull in.
Someone grabs my hand. This time it’s warm skin meeting my palm, and beneath it, a heartbeat. Wild and fast, pumping out a rhythm that has some of the static stuttering to follow.
“Copy me, okay?” It’s a voice that’s familiar. Rough, but one that slides along my skin, instead of grating it. “Look. I’m breathing in now.” Under my touch, their chest rises. “Now… out.” It falls again, slow. “Copy me, Brielle. Come on.”
My nails bite skin, but I don’t care. I’m locked on the flow—in, out, expand, deflate—willing my lungs to follow.
The other hand pushes to my chest, urgency bleeding through the touch, as if demanding proof that I’m listening.
That I’m breathing.
“Good girl.” It’s gravel-rich beside my ear. “That’s it. You’re doing so well.”
I’m breathing.
Black starts to retreat like a tide, and shapes and colours swim back in. The room returns to me in fragments. And with each piece, clarity flickers, reminding me where I am, who I’m with…
“Better?” Carson.
His face wavers through tears, but I don’t need the details to know. His hand on my chest, mine on his, is enough. They pump out the same beat, as though he’s absorbed some of my fear to lighten the load.
Heat rises beneath my skin, too fast, too much, and all I can think is—this is the first time someone’s here with me since Bryce. The overwhelm swells, doubles, triples and I can’t stop myself. I can’t.
I surge forward, dimly aware of his hands slipping away, and climb onto his lap in a move born of pure desperation. I fold into him, my arms looping his shoulders, my face tucking into the hollow of his neck.
I let out a deep-seated sigh, pulling focus from how every muscle under me, around me, tightens.
It should jolt me back, but I’m rooted. Tears slip free, soaking his neck and sealing me in place. I guess this is what happens when you’re so hungry for comfort; you take it from where you can.
When Carson shifts, the whimper that leaves me is involuntary; the way I tighten my hold on him isn’t. Just another minute, I plead.
“Shh,” he breathes into my hair, tucking me firmer into him. “I’m not letting you go.”
I sniffle. He answers it with a hum that’s almost pained. “Please don’t cry, baby.”
I burrow deeper. “Can’t.”
“You’re killing me.” The rasp is so faint I might’ve imagined it. He slides a hand under my—his— shirt, finding clammy skin. Soothing circles follow and each one unravels some of the cold further.
We stay like that for… I don’t know how long.
Breath against breath. Murmurs meant only for the space between us. Eventually, my world steadies, my bearings slot back into place. And then, horror.
What have I done?
“Oh, God.” I lift my head. “Carson, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” It cracks at the end as I try to push away, but he clamps down, keeping me anchored.
“Brielle.” My name is a ragged, drawn-out exhale. “What was that?”
I look up. Freeze. Shadows pile into his face, but it’s the look in his eyes that locks me… I’ve seen it before. Once. When he thought I’d tried to end it all.
“You weren’t breathing for minutes,” he croaks. His hold flexes, then digs.
Goosebumps ripple across my skin; it’s like we’ve come full circle.
Right back to the beginning. Maybe, just maybe, this happened so I could right a wrong.
Replace a lie with the truth. My swallow is heavier than the last, and I can’t meet his gaze.
Instead, I fix on the silver resting against his sternum.
“It was a nocturnal panic attack.” There. No going back now. “I get them sometimes, and they can be really intense when I have these… nightmares. Well, it’s more of a memory really.”
“Memory of what?”
One inhale. An exhale. I look up. “If I tell you,” I murmur, “will you tell me what you meant? About losing your love for swimming?”
He hesitates. I can tell because, while his expression never gives, his thumb stumbles in its path along my side. Seconds stretch, and just when I think it’s a losing battle, he inclines his head in agreement.
I nod back. Whisper, “Okay.” This time when I move off him he lets me. The space between us grows, and with each inch, the absence of him aches. Still, I keep going until I’m at the edge of the bed. I need the distance to think clearly.
“When I was eight,” I say, knotting my hands together, “my dad was teaching me to kneeboard. You know, when you kneel on a board that’s pulled behind a speeding boat?”
“Yeah.”
“Well… I must’ve been strapped in too tight, because when the boat started moving, the board flipped over and I was pinned.”
Underwater.
Pitch black. The weight of water like wet cement crushing me. The absolute certainty that I wasn’t coming back up.
The energy radiating off Carson is potent, and I use it as a tether to keep from sinking back into the memory. “It wasn’t long before I started having these attacks in my sleep.”
The worst kind of aftermath. I remember convincing myself back then that it was a one-time-thing, but the nightmares made sure to destroy that illusion.
“When they come, I’m right back there. Reliving every detail. Worse, I really do believe I can’t breathe.”
The first time is still so vivid. Bryce sobbing over me, terrified.
My parents tried everything after that—therapy, medications, strict nighttime routines—but it was never a clean fix.
Only in the last few years had I gotten some real control over them, but since Bryce’s death… they’re back in full force.
A weekly occurrence, sometimes more.
“How long?” Our eyes collide, Carson’s smouldering, and mine… ensnared by his. “How long were you pinned underwater?”
I knead my knuckles. Bite my lip. “Two minutes. I’ve been terrified of the water ever since.”
Air rushes from him. He mutters a curse, eyes shutting for just a second in… “That’s why…”
Understanding.
The backs of mine sting.
Carson’s the only one who saw what I did that night, and now, he understands what it really means. Something unspoken, fragile like glass, presses between us.
“I needed to face it,” I whisper. “To pick up that memory and at least try to replace it with another one. This terror can’t always control me.”
“Shit, Brielle.” He’s stricken. I can tell, not only in the fracture of his voice, but in the way he saws his chain against his neck. “I was a fucking prick to you. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you just say that?”
I blink, stunned. “Carson, it doesn’t matter. I never held you to any of it.”
“But I did.” He thumps his chest, two firm pats. “I held you to it. And you never called me out. You just took my shit.”
“I was never hurt by any of it.” But it’s only half-true. I remember the country-club. Reese getting jumped.
Carson’s remembering too, because his jaw ticks, even as his expression softens. He extends a hand, palm up.
I hesitate, then let mine fall into his, unsure if that’s what he wants.
I think it is. His fingers thread through mine, a squeeze to seal the contact.
“I’m sorry.” It’s so sincere. There’s a tug, as if he might pull me closer, but he doesn’t.
“You didn’t deserve any of that. I was putting my own stuff on you. ” His eyes search mine. “Forgive me?”
I might not understand the flutter in my stomach, but I know enough to call it nerves. Nerves? Why? It can’t be from his stare; I’m more than used to the intensity of it.
“Of course.” I shore myself up, pushing for firmer ground. “You don’t even need to ask.”
He holds on a moment longer, like he’s searching for proof, then lets go. I stare at my empty palm while he fixes on the overhead light fixture.
“I’ll teach you to swim.”
Just like that, the rush in my blood fizzles. “I don’t need your pity offer, Carson.” Even the word tastes bitter, like it’s been festering inside too long.
“It’s not pity,” he says, even.
“No? It sure looks like pity from where I am.” I blow out a breath, easing back. “I just don’t want you doing something you don’t actually want to do.”
“I’m not forced. And it’s not pity, Jameson.” Going back to Jameson feels deliberate. “I brought it up with Reese yesterday.”
The tension drains out of me. “Oh.” My lips press together, fumbling between questions. “Okay.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. “Okay?”
I nod.
The moment softens. Not completely, but enough that I can breathe again.
“Think you’ll be able to sleep again?”
“Yeah.”
“Jameson.”
“Can I play rain sounds?” It tumbles out before I can stop it. Embarrassing, considering I was crying into him minutes ago. “Would that bother you?”
“Does it help?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then do it.” A pause. Lower. “You didn’t need to keep that from me.”
My cheeks flush, and I’m grateful when the room plunges into darkness again. Soon the patter of rain fills the space. I wish I could say it was enough, but the chill in my bones is the kind that lingers deep after a nightmare.
“Carson.”
“Yeah?”
“Can I come closer, it helps having—”
He’s already there, pulling me into the shelter of his chest. “This okay?”
I nod. More than okay.
“What were you looking for when you got up?”
“Earphones. Sometimes music snaps me out of it.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Are you going to tell me about the swimming thing?”
His frame locks up behind me before he answers. “Swimming’s been my life forever. It used to save me. Always. But lately… it doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Feels like an obligation. Like if I don’t make it work, I lose everything.”
“I’m sorry.” I slide my thumb along his forearm, wishing I could shoulder some of it.
He doesn’t reply. Instead, his fingers drift, curling at my neck where my pulse still pounds.
I freeze. “What—”
“You scared the shit out of me, Brielle. I don’t know how long you weren’t breathing before I even noticed. This’ll help me if it happens again.”
Something cracks open inside me. He cares. He cares more than I could ever have guessed. “Okay.”