Beneath the Hood (Sugarlake, #3)

by Emily McIntire

The torn muscle in my chest rattles against my ribs, reminding me that some pieces of a heart don’t ever heal. They just exist, broken and bleeding, reminding you to appreciate what you have when you have it, because you never know when it will disappear.

It’s because when I’m still, the thoughts creep in, weaving into my nerves, creating a spiral of panic that never lets me go once it’s taken root.