AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Who should I call?”
“Burke,” he says. “He’s the owner of the unit.”
“Don’t you know the building staff?” I ask, surprised. He’s lived here for something like ten years.
“Sure. But he’s the one who matters.”
“Oh,” I say, loosening my grip on his shirt a little. “Don’t—”
“To them. He’s rich. People try not to piss rich people off.”
“Good point.”
The battery’s almost dead, but there’s more than enough for a phone call. I dial in Burke’s number, press the call button, and…nothing happens.
“It’s not working,” I say in horror.
He curses. “Sometimes they don’t work in elevators. It’s the metal. The radio waves—”
“I seriously don’t care why it’s happening, just that it is.” I press the call button again, then shove the phone at Danny. “Crouch down on the floor and see if it works. I can’t do it because of my leg.”
He makes sure I’m balanced, then gets down and hands me the crutch I dropped. Then he crouches down again, the phone clutched in his hand, the slight glow illuminating him. I watch as he gets up, lifting it as high as it will go and tries again. From his expression, it’s obvious nothing is happening. Then he lowers it to the bottom corner. Up again, his mouth still a flat line.
“Help,” I screech at the top of my lungs. My phone drops, and I hear a crack as it lands on the floor. That’s what I get for taking my case off so I could decorate it, then promptly forgetting I intended to do any such thing.
“Sorry,” he says, swearing a few more times as he stoops to get it. “But you could have given me a heads up. I’m sensitive to—”
“Heads up,” I say, and he barely gets his ears covered before I shout again. “We’re stuck in here. We need help.Help!”
Crickets. Seriously…does no one live in this building? I remember the big guy from the stairwell, who surely owes us a few favors, so I shout out, “Big Mike! Pumpkin!”
“You’re really desperate if you’re calling for Pumpkin,” Danny says with a soft laugh.
“Of course I’m desperate.” He stands back up, the soft glow from my phone showing me where to find him. I lean toward him, feeling myself teetering on the crutches, and he must notice, because he immediately steps forward. My palm touches his chest, finding its spot. It wraps around the fabric and grips. I feel sturdier when I have my hands on him. I don’t feel like I’m the only person left on the planet.
“Someone will find us soon,” he tells me. “Mira, I think we should sit down. We may be here for a while.”
It’s exactly what I don’t want to hear.
“Danny.”
“I know,” he says, his hand finding mine again. I’m clutching his shirt so hard, he’ll probably have a hole in it. “We’ll keep trying the phone and calling out. Every five minutes. That way we won’t wear ourselves out. Someone will hear us.”
I feel tears pricking at my eyes, my breath coming out funny, like my chest has stopped working. My legs feel weak, my ankle is a constant ache, and my sweaty hands are slipping on the crutches. I’m panicking, but I don’t want him to know. He’ll think less of me if he does. Men always do. “I don’t like small spaces. They make me feel like my skin’s too tight.”
My voice is small and frightened, and I hate it. I add, “I don’t want you to think I’m someone who cries easily.”
“I know you’re not,” he says softly, his voice firm, “and even if you were, that would be okay. There’s nothing wrong with crying. I cry when I need to.”
I’m floored by him. Actually floored by him. This man is so much more than I’d thought. Every time I have an expectation, he exceeds it.
“Here,” he says. “Keep holding on to me.”
As if I were about to let go.
He takes my crutches from me, one at a time, and props them in the corner. There’s a muted thump when they hit. One of his hands is still holding the phone, so there’s a soft glow saving me from complete blindness. Then he shocks me by moving in close, his space crowding mine. And then, once again, he lifts me into a princess hold, one arm beneath my thighs, the other at my back. My awareness of him pulses back to life. I’m aware of the heat of his hands through the bottom of my dress, the sturdy warmth of him and his clean soap smell enveloping me.
Something is most definitely wrong with me.
