Madison
I stare at the stairs and keep telling myself I can do it.
On a standard Tuesday, I’d be up them in twenty seconds, probably while responding to a work email and balancing a coffee. Tonight, just looking at them makes my back seize in protest.
I shift my weight, a jagged spike of white-hot pain shooting up my spine. “Son of a—”
“You okay there, Madi?”
Harold’s voice drifts over from the front desk. He’s been the fixture of this lobby far longer than I’ve lived here.
“Just preparingmyself, Harold.”
“For what?”
“Possible death. Tell my family I went out bravely.”
He chuckles. “You’re not dying, Miss Madison.”
“Don’t be so sure. If I attempt those stairs, I’m not making it past the first landing. I’ll collapse somewhere near 1A, and you’ll have to explain to the morning dog walker why I’m a permanent part of the carpet.”
He steps out from behind the desk, his eyes scanning the rigid tilt of my shoulders and the way I’m guarding my right side. “Hurt your back again?”
“It’s pissed off,” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“You know, we do have a functional elevator. It’s a modern marvel.”
“I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.”
“Try closing your eyes and stepping in. I’ll press the floor. When you hear the ding, it’ll be over. Easy.”
I don’t remember telling him about my fear of elevators, but Harold is a professional observer.
I mutter a curse, square my shoulders, and pivot toward the silver doors.
I tell grown men what to do every day. This should be easy.
With my pulse thudding a frantic rhythm in my throat, I step inside. My back isn’t easing up, and the air already feels too thin.
Give me a break, body. Just one.
“You’re doing great,” Harold encourages.
I nod, even though my skin is starting to hum with a heat that has nothing to do with pain.
I try to breathe. I try to count.One. Two. Three.
The doors begin to slide shut, and panic rushes through my veins. My throat tightens. My lungs lock up. My entire body braces for an impact that hasn’t happened yet.
Just as the doors are about to seal, the sound of flesh hitting metal echoes through the small space. My eyes fly open. A hand is wedged between the doors, forcing them back.
Beckett’s eyes lock onto mine, a dark brow arched. “Thought today was the day you’d face your fears?”
“Shut up,” I wheeze.
Because today hasn’t been humiliating enough, I’m now poised for a full-scale meltdown in a confined space with Sexy Mr. Thuddy as my only witness. He looks exhausted, but even with the five o’clock shadow and the rolled-up sleeves of his button-down, he’s still annoyingly composed.
“Just get in,” I say.
