Page 162 of The Fall Classic

Her hand was cold and limp.

And I held on.

“I didn’t let go,” I whisper, the truth dawning on me. I sit with the memory of holding her hand, of not wanting to let go, of my dad pulling me off her, of my family hugging me, all of us crying and clinging to each other.

Dr. Chang doesn’t say anything.

Suddenly I understand why I’ve spent all these months describing fear the same way: holding on. Clinging. Gripping too hard. Being afraid to release.

“I thought …” I wipe my hand across my face. “I thought I was afraid of losing people.”

“Are you?”

“Yes, but that’s not all. My body thinks if I let go, the worst happens. Someone could …”

I don’t want to say it, but Dr. Chang isn’t saying it for me.

“Die.”

“Yes,” he says.

Tears spill down my cheek. “But that doesn’t make sense. I was holding on to her, and she died anyway.”

“Yes, but that may not be what your body remembers.”

“My body thinks if I’d held on, if I hadn’t let go—” A sob tears through me. “Then maybe she wouldn’t have died. Maybe …”

But I don’t finish, and this time, he doesn’t make me. We both know what I’m thinking, and we both know it’s wrong.

The tank. Georgie. My career and siblings and my mom. All this time, my body has been convinced that letting go is the problem, not holding on. It’s been convinced that if I just held on tighter, longer, then the worst would never happen.

But the worst did happen. Here and now with the panic attack, but also that night when my mom passed.

It already happened.

And I’m still here.

“Your body’s very good at remembering pain,” Dr. Chang says softly. “And your brain is very good at trying to protect you from it.” He watches me thoughtfully. “Do you remember the panic you first felt in the tank?”

I nod.

“A lot of people feel it. It doesn’t matter how relaxed they think they are. The body doesn’t know the difference between floating safely in warm water and … floating into an infinite void. At first, those two things feel identical from the inside.”

“That’s what’s happening with me,” I say, my voice hoarse.

“Very likely.” He leans forward. “The important part is knowing that a feeling isn’t proof of danger. You can be terrified and safe at the same time. You can be anxious and brave. You can be nervous about the outcome and still release. And you can love someone completely without knowing how it will end. The difference isn’t in how it feels but in what’s actually happening.”

I stare at my hands. They’re still cold, but they’re not holding on to anything. Not right now.

“You’ve been asking me for months how you can tell the difference between holding someone because you love them and holding on too tight. You’ve wanted a test you can run on your own feelings to find out if they’re legitimate. There isn’t one, Logan. There’s only whatever you decide to do next.”

“That’s not very satisfying.”

“No, it’s not.”

“So what am I supposed to do? I’ve been holding all of this—my arm, the contract, Lucas, Coop, Georgie, all of it, at the same time. Am I supposed to just drop it all?”

“Why on earth would you want to hold it all at once?”