And I wasn’t going out like that, goddammit.
Leaning against the tall window as I waited for the elevator car, I looked out over the city, watching fog rolling in along the water. It was still miles and miles away, but the visibility was going to be a pain in the ass on my way home. I was grateful I didn’t have to go anywhere near the bridge because the hordes of tourists who were always in the city had no clue how to navigate it.
The last time Kent missed one of our sessions was because some asshole with Arizona plates had been going too fast in almost zero visibility and slammed into the back of his Jeep at full speed. I was in no mood for that today.
Tapping the tip of my crutch, I was seconds away from giving up and just sliding down the stairs on my ass when the doors finally creaked open.
They sounded like a horror movie, which just added to my unease because the one thing I hated more than anything in the world was being trapped in a small box. It was more than just a dislike of small spaces. It was claustrophobia, something my therapist and I were working on because elevators were a thing for me now. It was the new curse of my delightful injury.
Stepping in, I stared up at the dim light, then pushed the button for the lobby. The elevator gave a hefty groan, then a lurch, and my heart leaped into my throat as it began to descend. The air felt a little…thin.
“Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…” I counted slowly, trying to distract myself.
The elevator was literally ancient. Instead of digital numbers, it had small lights across the top that gently flickered as we passed each floor.
“Eleven, ten…”
The car lurched to a stop and almost knocked me off-balance as the doors creaked back open. I shuffled to the side, holding my leg a little closer to my body, my gaze on the floor. I didn’t want to make small talk with some stranger, and I did not want to answer questions about my damn injury.
I heard the thump-thump-thump-thump of two crutches and two legs. My gaze lifted, and because there must be a god with a personal vendetta against me and me alone, my eyes met with the dark, narrow ones belonging to Creek.
“Oh, this is just great,” I muttered.
His jaw twitched, but he said nothing. He turned, putting his back to me, and a small part of me felt the pang of rejection, even though I wanted him to ignore me.
Really. Seriously.
I did.
“Nine, eight, seven…”
“What the hell are you doing, Point Break?”
I bristled. “Counting. Or do they not teach that in the Army?”
His shoulders stiffened even further, and I was about to tell him that if he wasn’t careful, he was going to pull a muscle when suddenly, the elevator car shuddered hard—enough to throw me back against the wall—and then it stopped.
My heart immediately began to race as I elbowed past him and jammed my finger against the L button over and over until my knuckle began to hurt.
“That’s not helping,” he said flatly.
I glanced over my shoulder, glowering at him. “Thank you, Sherlock. But neither is just standing there like a useless lump.”
“Oh. Should I just pull my elevator repair tools out of my ass and fix it?” he shot back.
I laughed and leaned away from him, jamming my finger on the open-door button now. “Is that where you keep them? God, that explains so much.”
He said something else, but I missed it. My heartbeat was getting louder, consuming all the other sounds in this tiny box. And Christ, was it getting hotter in here? Were we running out of air?
I glanced up to see vents in the top of the car, and I reminded myself this was not some hermetically sealed chamber. It was just an elevator car. I tried to take a breath, but my lungs protested, and when I exhaled, it came out in a wheeze.
“Move,” Creek ordered after a second.
I obeyed without really thinking, pressing my back against the wall and trying to keep a grip on my crutch handles with sweaty hands. Closing my eyes, I listened to him mess around and eventually peeked a quick look to see him pulling out the handle of an old phone.
Shit. I’d almost forgotten there was an emergency box.
“It’s busted,” Creek said.
