Page 237 of Fighting Chance

For my own mother, who whored me out to pay for her drug addiction.

For Layla, my ray of sunshine in a stormy world, who has been beaten down day in and day out. It’s hard to coincide that her body, the very one that contains her beautiful soul, is failing her so thoroughly. That someone so pure and kind-hearted beneath it all is slowly withering.

I can see it’s slowly making her hate herself.

And that’s the thing that is destroying me. How can she hate the most glorious person to exist? How can she hate the person Emmy wishes every night to grow up to be? How can she hate the woman that I’ve fallen so madly in love with?

Suddenly, my chest tightens past the point of breathing and I can’t get in a lungful of air. Can’t manage to breathe in the oxygen surrounding me.

Dark spots dance along my vision. Unbuckling my seat belt, I fling open my door, savoring the rush of air that greets me only for my lungs to not work at all.

I can’t breathe.

Wetness drips over my lips.

When did I start crying?

“Ashford?”

A sudden pounding of steps ring out in rhythm with the pounding of my heart.

I can’t fucking breathe!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I got you, buddy. You’re all right.”

I still can’t see past the blur in my vision but the voice is familiar. O’Connor.I hear another car door open. Is that mine?

I’m clutching my chest, pounding on it, as if I hit my chest hard enough my lungs will begin to work again.

“You’re all right, buddy. You’re having a panic attack, but I got you.”

His hand is on my shoulder, gently leading me back to my seat, and then it’s on the back of my neck, pushing.

“That’s it, put your head between your knees.”

My shaking hands reach out before I know what I’m doing. O’Connor doesn’t miss a beat. He clasps my hand in his and instructs, “In for four. Breathe with me, buddy. One, two, three, four.”

Following the sound of his voice, I repeat it with him, breathing in for four and out for four, six times over before I’m able to fully blink away the dark spots clouding my vision. I can see my sneakers, black and white, and O’Connor’s—white and green New Balances.

“You good?” he asks.

Nodding, I slowly sit up, clutching my chest as I’m finally able to breathe.

O’Connor is leaning against the passenger door of my truck, worry etched deep into his face. “Had me fucking scared you were having a heart attack.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

The corner of his lip twitches up, then falls. “Can I ask if you’re okay?” After I bark out a humorless laugh, he jumps in again. “I mean, I know you’re not, I’m just…fuck, I’m worried, dude, okay? You’ve been off in your own world this last week and Cap told us to give you space, but we’re all worried.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just can’t share what’s happening with everyone. It’s unfair.”

“Layla?” he guesses.

I blow out a breath. “Yeah.”

“Cindy told me. She, um…let’s just say Layla’s news hit close to home for her. She wouldn’t have told me otherwise, but I found her similarly to how I just found you and she blurted it out while crying.”

My brows skyrocket at that. “Fuck, dude, I’m so sorry.”