Page 181 of We Drank the Dawn

Words ripped out of my throat. “I ruin everything I touch and no matter how hard I try, I’m destined to be a worthless piece of shit and a problem for everyone to just put up with. I’m so sick of feeling that way that I wish I would just never wake up. I need to be by myself.”

“He was right, you know. I should’ve taken care of you the moment I saw two lines. Then I wouldn’t be tied to that bastard.”

Pain ripped through my chest, tears choking my throat.

“Cooper, listen to me.” Tag’s tone was stern, steady. Conflict raged. I wanted to run, but I was dying to hear what he had to say.

“You are not a problem. No one thinks that.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “You’ll change your tune by sunrise. You’ll drive me out the moment you realize.”

Tag frowned in confusion. “Realize? What are you talking⁠—”

“I started the fire, Tag.” I blurted, my voice trembling with emotion. “I did it.”

“I said get out of the car.”

Tag blinked at me, disbelieving.

“I dissociated in the hayloft while I was reading, and I had a smoke—just half a cigarette to help me calm down.” Sudden tears streaked my face. “I thought I put it out well enough before I threw it off the loft. But I guess I didn’t.”

Tag stood there, not saying anything, not moving.

“I’ve got about five thousand dollars saved up.” I sniffed, hating how unglued I felt. “I know that won’t do shit, but it’s all I have.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Well, I’m sure you want your barn.” I huffed, angry. “And Grandpa’s vintage saddles. And the decades worth of work stored up in that building. But I took it from you. Just like I take from everyone else.” A pulling sensation in my chest made my sternum hurt—maybe I was going to die. “I’d rather just see myself out than face whatever is coming my way when everyone realizes the big idiot with daddy issues is the reason our first pro season just got a hell of a lot harder.”

I tried to walk past him again, but Tag’s hand wrapped around my shoulder, yanking me back. And suddenly Greg’s hands reached out of my memory, fingers dragging over my flesh, sending pain down to my hand. A phantom circle of fire touched the inside of my forearm.

The fear and stress melted, a blessed numbness overtaking my nervous system as I floated away. Flying, finally. Up to the stars, up with the birds—exactly the way I used to when I’d pretend to climb that magnolia tree out my bedroom window.

Seeing myself with an aerial view, I watched Tag come closer, tipping his head to see my face better. I watched me slowly sit on the ground. Watched Tag drop to his knees beside me. Watched Jesse jump out of the other truck and join us. I watched Tag take my face in his hands and heard him say, “Cooper, I need you to listen to me. You’re slippin’ away. Where are you feelin’ it?”

Despite my annoyance that Tag was trying to ground me, I touched the place where fear pulsed and twitched—my chest and my forearm.

I knew what to do next—focus somewhere else. Somewhere that felt safe.

My hands were relaxed. So I concentrated on the way they rested on the gravel as Tag coached, encouraging me to take stock of my body and mind.

Breathe, focus, breathe, focus.

Slowly, my perspective shifted back, my flight landing prematurely. Tag’s grey eyes stared straight into mine. “List five things you can see right now.”

I heard a voice but it sounded like it was coming from someone else’s mouth. “You.”

“Good. What else?”

“Jesse.”

“Alright, keep goin’.”

“Purple sky…the pasture…the fence.”

Tag prompted me through the technique—touch, hear, smell, taste—and slowly I got my bearings, feeling more present and less afraid. I didn’t know how long it all took, but I suddenly noticed that cold water dripped through my upturned fingers. Jesse had a Pilot gas station cup, patiently feeding ice cubes into the palm of my hand.

I took a long, shuddering breath.