Chapter 86
Tristan
Our progress is slow and painful, but finally, Mathilde and I reach the first level of the parking garage, just below street level.
“Thank fuck,” Mathilde gasps.
“Excuse me,” I say, lowering her to the ground again. “I don’t think you have any reason to complain. I’m the one carrying you over all this rubble.”
“Yeah, because I’m the one with a broken leg.”
“Fair point.”
We lean against a concrete pillar together, looking out at the wasteland of rubble and crushed cars that stands between us and the outside world.
“Got any water?” she asks.
“I wish.” I’m absolutely parched, and I know that I’m probably getting dangerously dehydrated. I stopped sweating a while ago, though I’m still exerting myself just as much.
“Oh, well,” Mathilde grunts as she pulls her suit jacket tighter around her. “It’s so fucking cold.”
“Do you want my shirt?” Beneath my long-sleeve black tactical shirt, I have a T-shirt I could wear.
“No,” Mathilde says. “But thank you.”
I nod. “So, I’ve told you my reason for wanting to get out of here,” I say. “What’s your reason?”
“You mean, how you need to tell Nick you love him?”
“Yeah. Do you have something you need or want to do when you get out of here?”
She frowns. “I think I want to call my mom. I don’t do that enough.”
“Does she live here?”
“In San Francisco? Sometimes. She runs a big business and splits her time between Paris and San Francisco. We used to be so close, but lately, we’ve both been so focused on our careers that we’ve kind of… lost touch.”
She wipes at her eyes. “I miss her, and I never tell her that.”
On impulse, I take her hand.
“Sounds like we both have good reasons to get out of here. Ready to keep going?”
She nods once. “I am.”