Page 61 of Not Just a Trick Play

Together, we move toward the lift, a motley procession of costumed misfits and football uniforms. Jake’s first in, and strides to the back. I sidle next to him, so close that our arms brush. There’s barely enough space for Terri, Rani, Connor, and Milo to crowd in. I suck in a deep breath as the doors slide shut, sealing us inside.

Lifts unnerve me at the best of times, and right now, this normally roomy one feels incredibly small with the combined bulk of the boxes and players.

We’re moving, but this five-floor descent is crawling.

We jolt. Stop. I’m off balance, and my lower back smacks into the rear railing. Metallic iron stings the back of my throat, the mix of blood and bile churning together.

“The fuck?” Terri curses as the lights flicker and die, plunging us into darkness. I let out the smallest whimper. Above the door, the circular B through five illuminate, their faint glow our only source of light.

Packages are abandoned as phones emerge, their torch functions activated and aimed at the control panel. Weight settles like lead in my gut, and my lungs burn as Connor presses the button for the ground floor repeatedly. Nothing happens. The walls inch closer with each failed jab.

He hits the “Open,” and a rumbling precedes the doors creaking slightly ajar, only to reveal solid gray concrete.

In my head, I try to recite lyrics. Because it’s that or pass out. Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun.” But I can’t remember the words. I try another song. I can’t recall those verses, either.

My mind morphs into one of those claw machines in an arcade, the type that always seems rigged. But in this instance, I’m helpless in its steely grip, being carried to a place far, far away, to a time long, long ago, and leaving me on the verge of?—

A hand closes around my fist, wrenching me out of the spiral—big, smooth, and Jake-esque, enveloping my clenched one.

Above my racing heart, more button-mashing continues. Eons later, a garbled voice fizzes through the speaker. “Yeah?”

“Yo, we’re stuck.” Connor identifies himself and goes on to explain the situation. Apparently, we’ve been caught in what’s known as an “elevator sandwich.” The security guy signs off to go investigate.

Minutes tick by. Jake pries my fist open, and knits our fingers together. His thumb traces gentle zigzag patterns along the ridges of my knuckles, the only thing staving off the swell of dread threatening to break through my desperate composure.

Static crackles, and then the security guy’s voice floats in, detached, almost bored. “All right, folks, the maintenance team’s been alerted. They’ll have you out in an hour or so. Just hang tight.”

An hour? This isn’t happening. It can’t.It can’t.

Laughter breaks through, cutting through my spiraling thoughts.

“Dude. Take that thing off. It’s tooTeen Wolffor comfort,” Terry complains. Milo’s grabbed a mask from one of the boxes and moons.

“Just getting into the spirit of things. Halloween’s coming up. Everyone all set for the party?” He follows that with another howl, and I jerk again.

“Cut it out,” Jake snaps, his arm curving protectively around me. I melt into his side, not caring if anyone sees.

“Aww, is Jakey scawed?”

“Yep,” he responds tersely, tightening his hold on me.

As if to underscore the point, the low hum of the AC sputters then dies.

Seriously?

Rani peels off her superhero cape in frustration. “God, I’m boiling. Would you rather roast alive or suffocate?”

“It’s Getting Hot in Here” starts playing from Milo’s phone, a track ironically fitting yet wholly unwelcome.

“No, I’m not taking off all my clothes,” Rani sings, botching the lyrics.

Everyone continues to banter, not at all worried about imminent death, while I fight the urge to crumble, sweat streaming down my spine. The only thing keeping me upright is Jake’s unspoken “I’ve got you.” And in this moment, it’s everything.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JAKE

What the fuckwas that in the elevator? Amelia’d been about to pass out. I get that some people aren’t fans of tight spaces, but that was almost a full-blown meltdown.

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