Page 9 of The Darkest Chase

It’s not a terrible walk since I’m going downhill, even if it strains my calves. I’m huffing and puffing about ten minutes in.

God, I’m not going to have an asthma attack now, right?

It’s over.

I survived the meeting without melting down. I should be happy I have a lead on a job that will pay our medical bills and then some.

But it’s a lot to think about.

It feels insane to think about taking it on alone.

There’s no question I’ll have to manage the project with Grandpa fading in and out, and there are never any guarantees when the bottom could fall out on his health.

Still, if we get a big enough payment up front, the treatment might buy us time.

Of course, ultimately, I’ll be the one who has to draft the concepts, the plans.

I’m the one who has to be responsible.

I’m also the one who’ll ruin the shop’s reputation if I disappoint one of the richest families on the eastern seaboard.

Ugh.

My heart turns into a knotted ball.

I try to remember my counting exercises, my breathing, as I make it to the bottom of the hill where the wooded lane opens up toward the town square.

I’ve been dealing with this since childhood. It used to be a lot worse.

When I was a little girl, I couldn’t do anything on my own at all. I was homeschooled, and my few attempts to play with other kids usually went horribly wrong. I’d wind up wheezing on the ground while the little jerks just laughed and pointed and called me names. Sometimes they even played keep-away with my little wheeled oxygen tank.

Sometimes, just going up the stairs would drop me on my knees.

I’m managing better now.

But some days—like today—my anxiety short-circuits my lungs.

And I realize I’m about to fall headfirst into an attack when I reach the town square.

No time to scream.

There’s just a sunlit glimmer before my vision blurs. The striking bronze statue of the first Arrendell, rearing up in the center of the square.

Coughing, I scramble for my purse, fishing for my inhaler, but it’s already too late.

My fingers go numb.

My vision darkens.

My legs disappear under me, and my lungs flap as I gasp helplessly.

Too late, too late.

Everything goes dark as my brain stops working and the ground comes crashing up.

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DARK HORSE (MICAH)