I can’t bear to look at him. He’s living proof of my fatal fuck-up.

“Remember the day Blizzard got hit by a car? Remember what I said to you?” Dean continues.

I sniffle, my chin to my knees, as I lie sideways on the ground. “You said if she dies, I can always get another dog.”

“Not that part.” Dean’s sigh travels over to me and I hear him adjust his chains. “I told you her heart was still beating. As long as it was beating, she was okay.”

I do remember that.

It was four years ago. I had stopped by my parent’s house on my lunch break to take Blizzard for a walk. Somehow, her collar broke loose and she darted out into the street chasing a squirrel. The guilt I felt almost destroyed me—I was certain she would die and it would have been all my fault.

But Dean was the first person to arrive at the animal hospital. I figured it was because he’d always had a soft spot for the fluffy, ivory dog he carried to safety in a snow storm all those years ago, but I remember him being unusually kind that day. He sat with me until my sister and parents showed up, trying to calm me down. He even rubbed my back, shushing away the tears. The foreignness of his disposition was enough to distract me from the grief, and his words always stuck with me: “You just need to stay in the moment,” Dean told me in an unfamiliar, soothing voice. “Her heart is still beating… as long as it’s beating, she’s okay. Just take it one second at a time, Corabelle. Blizzard is okay and there is no reality where she’s not okay.”

Blizzard survived and Dean returned to his usual obnoxious self the following day. We slipped right back into our familiar banter and old, combative routine. ‘Compassionate Dean’ was a distant memory, quickly forgotten, and I figured he was only being nice because Mandy had been giving him extra shit that week for almost sabotaging my teaching interview by wrapping my car in plastic.

I swallow down my spastic breaths, trying to apply his comforting words to our current situation. It’s not over yet. We’re both still alive, and as long as we’re alive, there is hope.

I need to be present—stay in the moment.

It’s not over.

I force myself into a sitting position, wincing through clenched teeth as the pain engulfs me. I’m certain I have cracked ribs, along with a concussion.

But I’m not dead. I’m still okay.

I finally glance at Dean, breathing heavily as I try to block out the burning discomfort sailing through my shipwrecked body. I don’t speak, but I notice his eyes soften as I stare at him… renewed hope. I don’t need to say anything for him to know—I got up. I pulled myself together.

We’re going to fight until our last breath.

Chapter Twelve