She seems softer now, in a way. And I’m having a hard time not watching her.
As night starts to fall and it gets dark around us, people begin to clear out. I lift my head to the sky, smelling the familiar scents of the festival and my town. It’s soothing.
In the distance, there’s the loud whoosh and crack of fireworks, the colors bursting overhead in a dazzling display. I turn to look at Harper and find her not next to me anymore.
Well, she is, but instead of standing beside me, she’s dropped to the ground in a crouch, her hands clasped over her mouth like she’s going to be sick. Her eyes are screwed shut, and her frame trembles as she shakes and hyperventilates.
“Harper?” I ask, dropping down next to her.
I can tell she’s locked in some kind of panic. PTSD manifests differently for different people, but something about the fireworks set her off.
When she doesn’t respond to me, I snap into action. I move so I’m blocking her from the crowd of people pushing past her, trying to shield her from the curious stares.
“Hey,” I whisper. “You’re okay. You’re in Silver Falls, and you’re safe. Do you hear me, Harper? You’re safe, and I’ve got you.”
There’s no way to tell if she’s hearing me or if my words are making things worse. Lincoln has a grip on Cora, and I glance up at him.
“We need to get her out of here.”
There’s another burst of fireworks, the sound exploding not far from us. Harper just whimpers in response.
She needs somewhere safe and quiet, and I hoist her up to get her there.
Chapter 13
Harper
It takes what feels like ages for the fog in my head to clear.
The sound of explosions keep ripping through the daze I’m in, sending me curling tighter into myself, like I can disappear and not hear it anymore. My heart pounds so hard I can taste it, and my jaw aches from how hard I’m clenching it.
There’s a voice, low and soothing in the distance, but I can’t make it out. I can’t hear anything but the loud booms that have me flinching back each time.
But then slowly, slowly, the fear and panic start to recede. Slowly, things start filtering in. The smell of sweat and leather. The sounds of low, deep voices. The scents I’ve become used to and not all at the same time, cutting through the last of my haziness and bringing me back to reality.
The last thing I remember is being at the festival and listening to Cash and Lincoln bicker good naturedly. I remember Cora laughing as she sat on Lincoln’s shoulders.
Now I’m… I blink, looking around to try to figure out where I am.
I’m in a truck. Lincoln’s truck, I realize, from the color of the leather seats. I’m in the back seat, and Cash is next to me, his hand wrapped tightly around mine.
When I lift my head, Everett and Lincoln are in the front, turned to look at me, concern written into the lines of their handsome features.
“Hey,” Cash says softly, and I turn to look at him. “Are you with us?”
I nod, my head aching from the force of whatever just happened to me. Every muscle feels tight and overworked, and my chest hurts. My body still trembles with the aftershocks of the panic, and I have to take deep, steadying breaths to try to center myself.
Of course, as I come down more and more, the embarrassment hits.
I did that in front of them. In front of everyone who was nearby when we were at the festival. They all saw, and they probably all think I’m some kind of basket case who can’t keep her shit together.
My cheeks burn at the thought of that.
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I didn’t mean?—”
“Of course you didn’t,” Cash jumps in. “No one means to have a panic attack. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
A panic attack. That sounds right. My body was locked up, practically paralyzed by fear and adrenaline in that moment.