Page 89 of Octane

“Hello?”

“Mr. Powell, it’s Mitch. Ms. Stone is walking across the lobby to the elevator now.”

I don’t thank him. I don’t even end the call. I just drop my phone and run. I don’t bother trying to grab the elevator this time. Instead, I run straight down the stairs to the twenty-third floor, and I don’t stop until I’m standing in front of the elevator.

Within seconds, it dings and the doors open, revealing my beautiful, blue-eyed angel. The second she sees me, she breaks down, and it absolutely guts me. As she steps from the elevator, I wrap her in my arms and squeeze her tighter than I ever have before.

“Jackson, I can’t,” she sobs, pulling away.

“Sawyer, I can’t let you go. I’m dying without you. Please talk to me.”

“I have to be back inside by twelve, or he won’t let me leave again. Please! I can’t be stuck in there anymore.”

“I don’t understand,” I say.

She checks her watch.

“I have until noon to get back inside before he sets the alarm again.” I follow her as she speeds to her door. “If I get back in time, I can leave again tomorrow. I only have two more minutes. I have to go!”

“I need you to talk to me. I can help you. I just need you to tell me what’s going on!”

“Jackson, please. I can’t do this right now.”

She pulls a key from the pocket of her hoodie and unlocks her door.

“I have to close the door. I’m so sorry.”

She walks into the condo and tries to close the door, but I put my foot in the way, stopping her.

“Jackson, you need to move!” She’s beginning to panic as I take a step toward her. “I’m begging you!”

“Sawyer—”

“I don’t want you!”she screams.

Her words paralyze me. They feel like acid in my veins. I’ve never felt so much pain while also feeling so numb on the inside before. Not when my mom died. Not when Kristen cheated.

I stand there, stunned, and she uses the opportunity to close the door. As she locks herself in, I hear a loud beep ring out inside the condo.

No. I don’t believe it.

I cannot believe it.

“Sawyer,” I place my forehead against the door as I pound my fist on it.

When she doesn’t answer me, my eyes begin to water.

“Sawyer, I need you. I need you more than flowers need the rain. More than the stars need the night sky in order to shine. I need you more than my next breath.”

“Meet me tomorrow. Eleven o’clock,” she says, finally.

“Where?”

She doesn’t answer right away, and I wonder if she’s changed her mind already.

“A & M Deli.”

“I’ll be there.”

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