Page 18 of Snapshot

Fuck.

My heart starts to race as I picture a bunch of suits, foaming at the mouth, wondering to whom Grandma left what. Of course, it’s assumed everything will go to me—her wealth, her company. I’m her only living relative. But there’s always the chance of some sort of legal foul play. A loophole. Any excuse for the board to rip my family’s hard-earned legacy to shreds and sell it off in pieces.

Goddammit. I should’ve been there at the meetings.I should’ve been there every time she signed a piece of paper. To protect her.She was tired. It was my job to help bear the load. But all I could think about was my freedom while I had it. Before I had to put the monkey suit on permanently and accept my fate.

The guilt washes over me like an insurmountable wave, and I forget to breathe slowly. I’m sucking in short heaves now, and the room starts spinning. The bathroom goes from too hot to too cold, back and forth, making me nauseous. I can’t see the ocean… I can’t see anything.

And now my panic attack is full-blown.

I clutch my chest as the sweat beads on my forehead. I’ve never had a heart attack, but this has to be what it feels like. My heart toggles from rapid pounding to stunned into stillness. Unable to find a set rhythm no matter how much I try to focus. I can’t…

I can’t…

I can’t fucking breathe.

By the time the door opens, I’m slumped on the ground, my hot cheek resting against the cool tile as I feebly gasp for air.

“Jesus, Dex,”Denny squalls. “Oh my God. I’m here. I have them.” She rattles a bottle of prescription pills before slamming them on the granite countertop. Hiking up her skirt so she has room to maneuver, she falls to her knees next to me. She grabs my cheeks in both of her soft hands, which feel like relief against my burning skin. “Look at me. You’re fine. I’m right here. Just breathe. You are in control.”

“Count,” I muster out. “Count for me.”

“One…two…three…four.” Her voice sounds distant, but I hold my breath until I hear her next instructions. “That’s good, Dex. Now, let it out. Six…five…four…three…two…one.”

Denny counts up to four, then down from six at least ten more times until she’s sure I can sit upright.

“Oh, honey. This is why you can’t travel without your medication,” Denny lectures. She swipes a hand towel from a woven basket and wets it under the faucet. Then, she proceeds to dab along my hairline. Sweet relief. It’s a very soft towel. Actually, now that I’m calm enough to notice, this bathroom is oddly lavish for a funeral home.

I point to the transparent orange bottle at the edge of the counter. “Apparently, I didn’t leave them. You found them.”

“No,” she says, rising to her feet. “These are backups from your last visit home.”

I shouldn’t be surprised she’s prepared. Denny, my nickname for Denise, has been with our family since before I was born. She was a childhood friend of Mom’s. Even when Mom left home for a while, Denny lived at the Hessler estate. I never knew what kind of family Denny came from, I just know she preferred to be part of ours.

And when Mom passed away, she and Grandma grew very close. They bonded over the grief of losing Mom and theagitation with Grandpa’s absence. He chose to cope with Mom’s death by doubling down on the whiskey while leaving Grandma to run the Hessler empire. I was only seven. There wasn’t anything I could do to help. Denny became a sounding board, the one to hold Grandma’s hand on the bad days. Eventually, she took over as Grandma’s personal assistant and our household manager—there isn’t much she doesn’t do for us, including event planning, managing the staff, and making travel arrangements. But more realistically, I think Grandma always saw her as more of a second daughter of sorts.

Not me. I love Denny as a friend. But I only have one mother. She’s gone. Grandpa’s gone. Grandma’s gone. Now, everyone I belong to…is gone.

“Backup?” I finally ask. “Which medication?” I’ve switched a few times over the past few years. They all eventually lose their efficacy.

“The same you’re taking now, but only ten milligrams. What’s your current dosage?”

I close my eyes and breathe out with a heavy sigh. “Sixty.”

“Jesus,” she mutters. “I didn’t know they could prescribe that high of a dosage.” She shakes the pills into her palm then deposits them into my outstretched hand. “Do you have water here? There are cold bottles in the lounge area. I can grab one.”

“No need,” I say before swallowing the pills dry. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t know it was still getting worse. When was the last time you had a panic attack?”

“Not since the Hessler executive holiday party last year, when I had to give the welcome speech.”

“They’re only happening when you’re here in Miami?”

It’s not that surprising. Miami used to feel like home. Once I got a taste of freedom and happiness in Las Vegas, home started feeling like a cage. Every time I came back, it was an unpleasantreminder of where my destiny would take me. And what do you expect right before you cage a bird?It panics.

“I guess.”

She holds out her hands for mine to help me get up. When I notice her bright red polish, I smile at her. “You hate red nail polish. Almost as much as you hate animal print shoes.”

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