Chapter 10 #3
As soon as we stop, everyone stirs. I sling my bag over my shoulder and move toward the front of the bus as we all step off, one by one. I follow the others down the steps, the air outside hitting my face like a cool slap. After hours of recycled bus air, it feels almost holy.
Inside, the lobby is bright and cavernous, with a giant crystal light fixture dripping from the ceiling and a bank of elevators along one wall, their doors polite and silent.
We queue up at the long marble front desk.
Cherry’s already there, tablet in hand, running through room assignments with the kind of efficiency that makes generals weep.
“Brooks,” she says when I get to the front. “You’re on eighteen. Room 1804. Key.” She slides the little envelope across.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it more than she knows.
“Don’t trash the place,” she deadpans. “We don’t want to give Lily a bad name.”
“All I want to do is sleep,” I reply, truer words not having left my mouth in days.
By the time I turn around, the others are scattering. Hayden and Mikey head toward the elevators, dragging roller bags. Luc is off to the side with Lily and Larkin, hands filled with a ridiculous amount of baby gear.
Dean stands near one of the marble pillars, bag slung over one shoulder, guitar case in hand. He looks around the lobby like he’s casing it. Or like he’s already bored of it.
Our eyes snag. Just for a second. He heads to the elevators without waiting. I tell myself that’s for the best. I’m wrong. The leftmost elevator is out of order, a polite little sign informing us it’s under maintenance. That leaves two others.
A crowd of our people plus other guests press toward them, everyone riding that exhausted, late-night, “get me horizontal” energy. The first elevator arrives and swallows half the group. Luc, Cherry, a few techs. The doors close with a soft, smug ding.
I end up in the next batch, wedged inside the other car with Hayden, Mikey, two crew guys, a couple in business casual, and Dean, who steps in last and turns sideways to fit his guitar case.
“Eighteen, please,” I tell the closest body to the panel.
“Fifteen,” Hayden adds.
“Twenty-two,” Dean mumbles.
The elevator doors slide shut. The car gives a little lurch and then begins to rise, smooth and soundless. I press my shoulder against the far wall, my bag in front of me like armor. The space is too small, too bright. Too full of Dean.
His arm is inches from mine. I can smell him - cedar and mint, layered over clean sweat and the faint scent of bus.
We stop on ten. The business couple gets off, murmuring thanks. The doors open, close. The car starts again. On twelve, one of the crew guys exits. The car is less crowded now, but no one moves much. It’s that late-night inertia. You find a spot and stay there.
We’re between fourteen and fifteen when the elevator shudders. It’s subtle at first. A small hitch in the smooth upward motion. Then a bump. A groan. Then nothing. The car just stops.
I feel it in my stomach before I fully register it. That weightless little stutter, followed by the heavy settle of gravity.
“Did we stop?” Mikey asks, stating the obvious.
The panel light for fifteen is glowing. But we’re not at a floor. The doors stay closed. The hum of motion is gone.
“Probably just a pause,” Hayden advises, ever the optimist.
We wait. Nothing happens. Dean’s jaw clenches, the muscles ticking under his skin. His hand tightens on the handle of his guitar case.
“Um, do we do something?” One of the crew guys asks faintly.
Mikey hits the “Open” button. Nothing. He hits it again. And again. “Open sesame?” Still nothing.
“Try the alarm,” someone suggests.
He presses the red button. A soft bell chimes once in the distance.
The elevator continues to be a metal coffin.
My pulse speeds up. The air suddenly feels thinner.
Smaller. Okay. This is fine. I’ve been in stuck elevators before.
I’ve been in war zones, riots, blackout basements with tear gas in the air and no exit route for hours.
An elevator is nothing. Except the walls feel closer now. And Dean is very, very still.
“Probably just another minute,” Hayden suggests. “System reset.”
Dean’s expression doesn’t buy that for a second. His eyes flick up to the panel, then to the small camera in the corner, then to the seam of the doors like he’s calculating force and angle.
“Hey.” My voice low. “It’s okay.”
The words surprise both of us. His gaze snaps to mine. “Did I say it wasn’t?” His voice rougher than usual. He shifts his weight, rolling his shoulders back like he’s pushing something down. His grip on the case relaxes a fraction, then tightens again.
“Dean?” Mikey’s voice is softer now. “You good, man?”
“I’m fine.” The lie is sharp enough to cut.
My brain flashes back, unhelpfully, to his reaction at the accident.
The way he bolted off the bus. The way his breathing went weird.
The way the past reached up and grabbed him by the throat.
The elevator feels even smaller now. The air heavier.
I take a slow breath through my nose, regulating my own pulse.
Calm people help. Calm people anchor. I can be calm. For both of us. I nudge his knuckles with mine, a tiny contact.
I lean in close to him. “It’s not moving. We’re not crashing. Worst-case scenario, you’re stuck with me for a few extra minutes. You’ve survived worse.”
His eyes flick to the contact. To me. There’s a beat where he just looks, something raw and unguarded surfacing. He exhales, a long, controlled breath. His shoulders drop a fraction.
“Jury’s still out on surviving you,” he grumbles, but the edge has dulled.
Heat blooms low in my belly. My brain takes the opportunity to point out this is a wildly inappropriate time to be turned on.
“Lucky for you,” I joke, “I’m excellent at captivity.”
“Yeah?” His voice drops. “Should I be worried?”
“Probably,” I reply. “Apparently I hiss, probably bite too.”
His gaze darkens, sliding down to my mouth. “Good to know.”
My lips part. The car feels suddenly, stupidly intimate, despite the fact that there are three other people inside pretending not to listen.
The intercom squawks to life. “Sorry for the delay, folks,” a male voice crackles. “We’ve had a temporary glitch. Just stay put. We’ll get you moving again in a few minutes.”
“See?” Hayden nods, relief obvious. “Glitch.”
Mikey snorts. “We’re stuck between floors in a luxury toaster, but sure, call it a glitch.”
Dean doesn’t say anything. But his hand eases off the case handle. His shoulders are still tight, but less like coiled wire, more like strained bungee. I stay where I am, close enough that the heat from his body radiates across the tiny gap between us. Our arms don’t touch, but they could. Easily.
A minute passes. Then two. Then three. The elevator rocks faintly, then resumes its smooth upward motion. Everyone exhales and laughs at once, that awkward, relieved sound of shared tension breaking.
It stops on fifteen. The doors slide open. Hayden and one of the crew guys step out, throwing back a quick wave. “See you upstairs.”
Mikey looks between me and Dean, one brow raised, mischief lighting his eyes. “You kids behave,” he sing-songs, and then he’s gone too, slipping out on sixteen when we stop again.
When the doors close this time, it’s just us. Eighteen glows orange on the panel. Two more floors.
“Thanks,” Dean blurts unexpectedly.
I blink. “For what?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Keeping the walls from closing in.”
My heartbeat does a weird stutter. “I didn’t-”
“You did,” he interrupts gently. “It helped.”
I swallow. “You’re welcome.”
The car hums as it moves. He shifts, turning a fraction so he’s angled more toward me. The small space between us feels even smaller.
“You don’t have to do that,” he insists, voice low. “The caring thing. Whatever. It’s not your job.”
“Neither is pretending you’re made of stone,” I shoot back.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’m very committed to that bit.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
The elevator starts gliding up again. He steps closer.
Just a fraction. Just enough that I have to tilt my head back to keep looking at him.
My breath stalls. His palm hits the wall beside my head with a quiet thud, caging me in.
Not touching. Not quite. But his body is a force field, blocking out everything else. Everything else is just… gone.
It’s just him. Me. And the very loud rush of my own pulse. “Dean,” I whisper, unsure if it’s a question or a warning.
His eyes search mine, scanning like he’s looking for a reason to stop.
A reason to proceed. A reason to do something reckless and call it a mistake later.
“You keep getting in my head.” The words are rough and honest, like they cost him.
“On the bus. With the camera. Out there on the road. In here…” His throat works. “I don’t like it.”
My fingers curl around the strap of my bag to keep from reaching for him. “The feeling’s mutual,” I manage to lie.
His gaze drops to my mouth. “Doesn’t feel very mutual right now, sweetheart.”
My breath trips. Want flares, fast and hot, running through me like electricity arcing between storm clouds. The doors choose that exact moment to slide open behind him with a cheery ding.
A couple in business attire stands in the hallway, mid-step, eyes going wide as they take in the scene: me pinned between the wall and a rockstar, his arm braced over my head, his body angled toward mine like a promise.
“Sorry,” the woman spits out quickly, cheeks flushing as she grips onto the hand of the man next to her. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“We’ll get the next one,” the man stutters.
Dean doesn’t move. His jaw tics once as he stares after them, then he slowly drops his arm, stepping back just enough to put air between us again. The elevator tries to close; the little sensor triggers on his guitar case. The doors bump gently against it and reopen.
We stare at each other in the renewed silence. My heart is beating so hard I’m half-convinced it’s visible through my shirt.
“Go to your room, Sadie.” He finally speaks, voice hoarse. “Before I do something really fucking stupid.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. My mouth goes dry. Every part of me is screaming do it and don’t you dare at the same time.
“Pretty sure we passed stupid three floors ago,” I attempt to joke, but my voice comes out softer than usual. Too breathless.
He huffs a laugh that sounds like surrender and self-preservation got into a bar fight. I step around him, my body brushing his for the briefest, cruelest second. The contact is enough to send a bolt of heat straight through my core.
The hallway is cooler, quieter, but no safer. My legs feel unsteady as I move toward room 1804, fingers fumbling with the keycard envelope.
“Sadie.”
His voice, low and rough, slides down my spine. I turn, hand still on my door. He’s standing half in, half out of the elevator, one hand braced against the frame, staring at me like I’m something he shouldn’t want and can’t stop staring at.
“It’s better this way.” His tone is a sharp contrast to the look he’s giving me.
My smile is small and sharp. Armor and confession all at once. “Probably.”
The doors start to close again. He doesn’t stop them this time.
For one suspended heartbeat, our eyes lock through the narrowing gap.
Then the metal sliver between us seals shut with a soft hiss, cutting him off from view and leaving me alone in a hallway in a city I’ve never been in, with a room key in one hand and my heart hammering in the other.
I swipe the card, step inside, and shut the door behind me, back hitting the cool wood. I slide down slowly until I’m sitting on the carpet, knees up, breath coming too fast, head spinning with the image of him leaning over me, eyes dark, mouth inches from mine.
I came so close to kissing him.
Worse?
I wanted to. God help me, I still do.