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No. Not that laugh. I’d recognize that laugh anywhere. I’ll remember it until the day I die.

I straighten ever so slowly, keeping myself low behind my car. I watch three women across the street, stepping out of an upscale wine bar with a swanky sign above that reads The Golden Flute. Just a few yards away stand Delaney Merrill, Amber Cyr, and the queen bee herself—Peyton-fucking-Crawford.

Venom pollutes my bloodstream as I watch the trio stroll down the east side of Main Street, laughing as if they didn’t have a single thing weighing on their consciences. As if none of them had ever destroyed a life. As if they slept peacefully every night without the need of pills. As if none of it still haunted them. As if they simply moved on.

My hatred quickly gives way to panic when Peyton glances over her shoulder, as if sensing someone watching her. I duck behind my car and slide down beside the driver’s door so fast my knee slams into the pavement.

The pain barely registers. How could it? Despite everything inside me feeling like it’s shattering right here on the street, the rush of adrenaline is taking over. My fingers scramble for my keys, wrapping around them so tightly the metal digs into my palm. I barely feel that either.

Great. And now I’m spiraling into a full-blown panic attack. Just my fucking luck.

Usually, I would know what to do in situations like these. I’d be able to ground myself before it got this bad. But right now, crouched behind my car and praying none of them spot me, every coping mechanism I’ve ever learned has completely deserted me.

So all I can do is endure it. Endure every excruciating second.

Then the ringing starts just as another burst of laughter drifts from across the street. Soft at first. Then louder. Louder. Until it’s all I can hear.

My stomach twists violently as the ringing becomes deafening. Heat rushes through my body as a crushing weight settles over my chest, squeezing my lungs and making my heart pound painfully against my ribs.

Stop. Please. Just stop. Please. Please. Just stop.

I bury my face against my knees, willing the world around me to disappear. But the darkness only makes things worse.

A flash of light. Someone running. A hand reaching out for me. A voice shouting my name.

“No. Stop. Please stop,” I mutter.

A shadow. Cold. Unfeeling. Another flash. Then heat. So much heat. And then a bang!

I snap my eyelids open before my mind can drag me any deeper into an abyss I won’t be able to crawl back from.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

I claw at my scarf, desperate for air, but it isn’t enough. Everything suddenly feels too tight. My scarf. My jacket. My gloves. My own skin. It’s all suffocating me.

This is a panic attack, right? I’m not going to kick the bucket like my dad and have a heart attack hiding behind my car because I saw my high school bullies. Right?

Fuck my life. This can’t be how I go out. Not here. Not now.

Another one of Peyton’s laughs reaches me on the wind, and something inside my mind fractures. The sidewalk beneath me tilts and for one terrifying heartbeat, Main Street disappears altogether.

I blink. It’s back. I blink again. Gone.

A voice. Footsteps. Someone crying. Someone begging.

“No. No, no, no.” I place my hands over my ears, desperate to shut the memories out. “Please stop.”

I hide my face against my knees again, willing myself to withstand it all.

Stay present. Just stay.

But just as it feels like I can’t take anymore, warm hands suddenly settle on my shoulders. As I lift my head, a familiar presence fills the space in front of me before a forehead presses gently against mine.

“Breathe, Max.” His voice is soft. Steady. “In and out.” I draw in a slow breath. “That’s it,” he murmurs, slowly exhaling, my lungs following his lead of their own accord. “Just follow my breathing.” With each measured breath, the ringing begins to fade, and the world slowly rights itself. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. Just breathe.”

My heart begins to lose its frantic rhythm until it stops altogether at the sight that greets me. Kneeling in front of me, with his hands still gripping around my shoulders and his dark eyes looking into mine like no time has passed at all, is the only boy I have ever loved—Milo Fletcher.

Chapter 6