Page 45 of Under Pressure

I grip my phone so I can stop craning my head to the side and hold it in place while I flick on the light and start my search. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

“A metal pipe with some sort of valve on it. Red, I think. My parents’ dishwasher flooded the kitchen once, and I think that’s what my dad cranked to shut off the water.”

“Red valve. Okay.”

I’m losing it now. Fear claws at my throat and chest, growing more painful the longer I stand here searching like an idiot.

“I’m pulling up.”

“Already? I can’t find shit in here.”

“Come let me in, Quinny. Gotta make another call.”

Beeping fills the small room before I let my hand drop and hurry to the front of the café. The door is slightly blurry as I see the figure standing behind it. My fingers shake when I unlock it and take a step back before Beck’s pushing his own way in.

I don’t speak, incapable of it. He swiftly locks it again and then takes my hand, locking our fingers and squeezing before tugging me back to that musty room. His thumb swipes my knuckles, distracting me.

“Yeah, I’m here, Dad. Tell me what I’m looking for. That’s right . . . The apartment is upstairs. Okay . . . I’m looking right now.”

My eyes lift to the phone he’s holding up with his free hand, as I suddenly remember him mentioning another call. He hasn’t let go of my fingers yet, and I make no effort to tug them away just yet. My grip tightens instead.

“Red valve? Yeah, found it.”

Much to my dismay, Beck releases my fingers all on his own. He’s tugging up on a lever now, saying something to his father that I don’t listen to. My first instinct is to run upstairsto see if it worked, so that’s what I do. Without telling him where I’m going, I head for the stairs. I don’t run ever, and my lungs scream when I reach the top and rush through my apartment.

There’s water pooling around the pile of soaking wet blankets and towels, but it hasn’t reached the carpet again. It’s stilled, just pooling on the linoleum now. My shoulders fall with relief. I force myself into the room and examine the shower, confirming it’s no longer gushing like a fountain.

I drop my head in my hands, breathing roughly against my damp palms.

“Looks good now. Thanks, old man. Tell Mom I’m sorry for waking her up,” Beck says behind me, still on the phone. “Love you guys, too. I’ll text you an update tomorrow. Night.”

“What time is it?” I croak.

The reality of what just happened is very slowly starting to creep in. I hadn’t even looked at the time when I grabbed my phone and called him. It was still dark out, though. I remember the streetlight across the street being lit when I let him inside.

“Three.”

Guilt has my stomach dropping into my ass. “I’m so sorry. You’re probably exhausted.”

“Not any more exhausted than you are. I thought I told you to get some sleep tonight.” His voice is a soft tease that almost has me laughing.

“My bad.”

Unlike me, he has no problem laughing, albeit a bit quieter than usual. “I’m glad you called. Don’t apologize.”

“You called your dad,” I blurt out, cheeks warm.

“I did. He knows more about plumbing than I do. About most things, actually. He’s used to calls like this from me. That’s what dads are for, after all.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

I instantly regret saying that. It’s the drop of adrenaline that’s got me feeling all out of place. For Christ’s sake, I was near tearsfrom him dropping my hand so he could turn a water valve off. My emotions are too open right now.

He didn’t hesitate to get in his car and come help me.

Luckily, he doesn’t press me on the unwanted information I’ve just dumped on his lap.

“He gave me a contact for a contractor he knows. Who do you go through for insurance? We’ll need to take photos and get a claim started. I doubt you’re looking at any issues with the café itself. Was the water pooling for long?”