“Jesus, I’m dying,” I groaned, pressing my hand to my chest. “Gibs, I think I’m having a heart attack.” Shaking my head, I tried to breathe, but my lungs wouldn’t fill. “I’m suffocating!” “You’re not dying.” He laughed. “This happened when you got accepted into the Academy, remember? You hid in our tree house crying like a bitch, shouting that you were going into cardiac arrest and begging anyone that looked at you to call an ambulance. Happened when you got the call up for the U18s too. You took to the bed with stroke symptoms. And you didn’t die then either, lad.” “This is worse, Gibs,” I
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