Page 33 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1
Then—a sound.
Distant. Subtle. But my body registers it before my mind does.
A thump.
Soft at first. Barely there.
Then again. Louder. Rhythmic. Too familiar.
A sharp tremor ripples through me. My breath catches.
Another thump. Louder this time. A helicopter.
The weight of Gabe’s kiss disappears as my body locks up, every nerve ending suddenly firing in warning. My throat tightens.
My vision tunnels.
No. No, no, no.
Not here. Not now.
But it’s happening again.
I know where I am. I know I’m safe. But my body isn’t listening.
My chest constricts.
The sound grows, each heavy beat vibrating through my ribs like a strike to my sternum.
I can’t breathe.
My fingers claw at Hank’s chest, but I don’t know if I’m reaching for him or trying to push him away. My lungs won’t expand. The world tilts beneath me, my legs trembling.
Somewhere, voices break through the panic, low and steady, grounding, but my ears ring too loudly to make out the words.
Then—hands.
Familiar, strong. Anchoring.
Hank. Gabe.
Here.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to focus—on their warmth, their strength, the feel of solid muscle beneath my fingers. I’m not in the past. I’m not trapped. I’m not alone.
I try to breathe. Try to pull myself out of it.
But the helicopter grows closer, and I’m not out of it yet.
“Ally, are you okay?” Gabe’s hand brushes mine on the railing.
Chapter 12
I try to nod,but my neck has turned to stone. The heated moment shatters when a Coast Guard helicopter sweeps past. A searchlight cuts through the growing darkness. The rhythmic thump of rotors echoes off the cliff face, amplifying and surrounding us.
The first flash of memory hits like lightning—the smell of fuel and dust, the sensation of rough hands. My fingertips tingle, then go numb.
“I’m fine,” I manage, the lie transparent even to my ears.
