You’ve always hated the 4th of July.

Not for any dramatic reason—no trauma, no story. Just pure, irrational fear. The second fireworks start, your chest tightens, your hands shake, and your breath gets stuck somewhere between your ribs. Every year, you stay in bed with blankets over your head and try to outlast it.

But this year, Zoe had other plans.

“You need to face it,” she said, eyes sparkling like it was some sort of adventure. “Exposure helps. It’s science.”

You weren’t convinced, but she was so sure. So you went along with it. Told yourself it might be okay. Just some music, snacks, good company. What could go wrong?

Now you’re barefoot on the beach, sunset painting the sky in gold and lavender. The salty breeze is in your hair, music playing in the background, kids laughing near the water. Someone’s grilling something, and the smell drifts in the air. You sip fruit punch, dance a little with Zoe, and for a while, it’s actually… nice.

Then the fireworks start.

The first one cracks the sky open like a shot. You flinch.

The second one sends a full-body jolt through you. Your heart stutters. Breath shortens. It’s like a switch flips inside you, and suddenly, the beach isn’t fun anymore—it’s overwhelming. Loud. Bright. Too much.

Zoe notices immediately. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” she says, grabbing your hand. “You’re safe. Just breathe with me.”

But it doesn’t help.

Your body shuts down. You drop into the sand like a puppet with cut strings, hands over your ears, head down, trying to make yourself disappear. The noise keeps coming—booms, crackles, cheers—and your chest won’t rise properly, like your lungs forgot how to work. You’re not sure, but you think you’re crying.

Zoe’s voice is still there, but distant now, like she’s underwater.

And then a new voice cuts through everything.

Calm. Solid. Close.

“Hey. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

You don’t know him. You can’t even lift your head to look. But suddenly someone’s crouched beside you, steady and warm. His voice is low, not pushy. Gentle.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, alright? Just somewhere quieter.”

You try to shake your head. Your legs won’t work. But he doesn’t expect you to walk.

Instead, he picks you up—carefully. Like he’s done it before. Like he knows how to hold someone without making them feel small. His arms are strong, solid, and his chest is warm against your side. You catch a glimpse of blond hair, a jawline that could make a girl forget her own name, and maybe freckles… like yours.

He turns to Zoe as she tries to follow. “I’ll just take her behind the dunes. It’s quieter there, I promise.”

Zoe hesitates but nods. You don’t know if it’s instinct or the way you lean into him like your body already trusts him, but she lets you go.

The walk is short, but it feels like a lifetime. He doesn’t say much, just moves with purpose, shielding you from the chaos behind. The sounds dull as he carries you past the crowds, the bonfires, the laughter. Finally, behind a stretch of tall dunes, the beach goes softer. Quieter. Dark.

He kneels and sets you down gently on the cool sand, still keeping close.

“Can you look at me?” he asks.

You manage it—barely. And finally, you see him.

He’s tall. Muscular, but not in an obnoxious way. More like a hockey player or someone who’s used to moving people around without hurting them. His eyes are warm. His voice, even warmer.

“I’m Chase,” he says softly. “You’re safe now. Just try to breathe with me.”

And for some reason, you do.