Page 173

“Fuck it.”

He turned sideways and squeezed into the gap. Metal scraped across his back, tight enough for every instinct to scream this was a terrible fucking idea, but he kept going. He managed another few inches before his injured shoulder caught. Twisting freed it, but only pushed him farther into the space narrowing around his chest until the metal pressed against his back and ribs. So he tried to move forward and couldn’t. Tried to reverse instead.

Couldn’t

Panic hit.

He shoved backwards and pain tore through his shoulder as he tried to find enough leverage to free himself. But there was nowhere to put his arms and barely enough room for his chest to expand. Every breath pushed his ribs against metal. He was properly fucking stuck.

Robyn came into his head then.

Sudden and unwanted.

Not as a memory, but as a possibility so awful it turned his stomach. What if she’d ended up somewhere like this? Somewhere dark and hidden, calling for help when no one even knew where to start looking. Had she called for him? For Mum? Had she waited for someone to find her until eventually she’d realised no one was coming?

Nausea surged into Jake’s throat and he gagged, squeezing his eyes shut even though it made fuck-all difference in the darkness.

“No. Come on.”

He forced himself to breathe through the panic, concentrating on moving one shoulder rather than his whole body. The first twist sent pain tearing down his arm. The second shifted him barely an inch, but it was enough. So he did it again, working himself backwards a fraction at a time until one shoulder finally slipped free. He dragged the other after it and stumbled back onto the walkway, catching himself against the duct when his bad ankle threatened to fold beneath him.

For a while, Jake stayed there, breathing filthy air and waiting for his heart to stop trying to batter its way out of his chest. Whatever was beyond that gap could fucking stay there. So he turned around and retraced the walkway instead, one hand against the ventilation duct until the space gradually opened around him again. Then he reached upwards and his fingertips struck familiar metal.

The hatch.

Back where he fucking started.

He sank back against the duct as a crack sounded somewhere overhead. Dust whispered down through the darkness and pattered across the duct beside him.

“Oh, fuck off.”

He knew buildings made noise. Knew old ones made plenty of it. But he also knew the difference between a harmless creak and materials shifting where materials weren’t supposed to shift.

That hadn’t sounded harmless.

So Jake closed his eyes, and they all came forward. Teddy. His mum. Dad. The lads. The band. Gigging. The song. All the things outside this fucking building he’d somehow assumed would still be there tomorrow.

Harrison.

That one lingered the longest. The one person who’d somehow got under his skin without Jake ever noticing it happening. Maybe that meant something. Maybe it meant bloody everything. Which was deeply inconvenient considering he was trapped in a fucking ceiling where the roof might actually cave in.

Jake let out a weak laugh that was more cough than amusement.

If this was it, if Roman had actually left him up here to die, then he’d never get to find out where any of this was heading. And suddenly that seemed like a really fucking terrible way to go. Because there were things Jake wanted now. Stupid things he’d never bothered wanting before. More mornings waking up with Harrison beside him. More rows that ended in kisses. Proper dates Harrison would undoubtedly overthink. His roof fixed. Jake’s shit gradually appearing in that ridiculously tidy cottage until Harrison complained about it and then made room anyway.

A future, basically.

With Harrison.

And Christ, he quite fancied maybe falling in love with him.

Fuck.

He needed something. Anything. Needed to stop thinking. Stop listening to his own breathing. His fingers brushed a loose length of pipe beside him. Metal. Hollow. He tapped it once and the sound echoed away through the structure. He tapped it again. Different section. Different pitch.

A faint smile tugged at his cracked lips.

Well.