Then I shoot her a quick reply:

Me: Goodnight, Cora.

I head to bed, minus the vodka.

Chapter Nineteen

My first day back to work the following week is a train wreck.

I’m a Heavy Construction Equipment Operator for the roads, which basically means I need to be lucid and clear-headed as fuck. I operate tractor trailers, bulldozers, cranes, and a variety of other big ass vehicles to patch concrete, repair highways and bridges, and haul toxic materials around. The heavens decided to rain down an ice storm today in honor of my first day back, so I had triple the anxiety. It was nearly impossible to stay focused as I tried to remember controls and protocols, while also having to fake-smile my way through the day and answer a thousand questions pertaining to my close encounter with a serial killer.

But I survived.

The weather is clearing up as I pull off my hard hat and hop into the rental car provided by my insurance company. It’s a shitty Honda, but it’ll do for now. I let out the sigh it feels like I’ve been holding in all day and collapse into the driver’s seat, drained and exhausted. I’m also fidgety and edgy from my alcohol detox. I haven’t touched a drop of liquor since the double date from hell over a week ago at The Oar.

I’m trying. I’m really fucking trying.

As I’m about to put the car in drive, my phone starts to ring, and Cora’s name and number pop up on my Bluetooth screen. I squint my eyes to make sure I’m seeing correctly and that impaired vision isn’t a side effect of the withdrawals. Cora and I haven’t spoken much over the last week, aside from a few casual text messages and some Facebook engagement. She filled me in on her first days back to work teaching at the school, and I told her about my upcoming start date, which was today. Basics. Normalcy.

Nothing that would indicate we barely escaped death two months ago, and certainly no reference to our emotional encounter in her car when she told me to leave her the hell alone because I was killing her.

Even though she took it back, I’m still giving her space.

For her, and for me.

I click accept, thinking she’s calling to inquire about my first day back. “Hello?”

I can make out the faint sound of sniffles on the other end of the line. “Dean?”

“Cora?” My heart goes into overdrive, my chest flooding with thousands of harrowing scenarios. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m sorry to call you. I know it’s your first day back to work, and I was just going to leave you a voicemail, but…” She tries to catch her breath, small sobs breaking through. “It’s Blizzard.”

I blink, absorbing her words.

Oh, shit.

“Blizzard? What happened?”

“She had a seizure or something. It was bad, Dean—we couldn’t snap her out of it. I’m at the emergency clinic and they say she’s totally unresponsive.” Cora starts crying, hiccupping through her words. “They said we need to consider euthanasia.”