Joe was dying. He was sure of it.
His chest felt like someone had split it open with a pickaxe and then wrapped his heart in a vise, cranking tighter by the second. Each breath scraped on the way in, shallow and useless, like his lungs had forgotten how to work.
He had heard Abby crying.
He had heard her father, his voice breaking as he nearly begged her to just accept the rejection.
Joe had hoped she would.
If she accepted it, then maybe he would finally die from it. And she could be free.
The next thing he knew, Evan was leaning over him, his face swimming in and out of focus. His voice was low and steady, telling Joe to take deep breaths, like that wasn’t the hardest damn thing in the world.
In. Out.
In. Out.
It burned. Everything burned.
Abby’s scent lingered, sharp and sweet
