Page 55 of The Bad Boy Rule

“Oh fuck. Fuck, what’s happening?” she cries.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and turn the light on, shining it onto the panel. Completely dark. “I don’t know. We must have lost power. Fuck, I have no signal. Do you?”

“God, no. I never have signal in here.” Her voice trembles. “No, none. My phone’s about to die anyway. I’ve got two percent. I forgot to charge it last night.”

I reach for the panel and press the call buttons. Fuck, I tryallof the buttons, but there’s no luck. It’s completely dead. When I look over at her, she’s breathing heavier, eyes widening when she sees that the whole panel is black. “It’s probably just a blackout. It’ll come back up soon.”

Although I’ve got no clue if it’s actually going to happen, she seems like she’s starting to panic, and the last thing I need is her freaking the fuck out in this small-ass elevator when it’s so hot I can already feel my balls starting to sweat.

“I hate elevators,” she says quietly, sliding down the wall until her ass hits the floor. “And it’s so fucking hot.”

I nod. “Not a fan of small spaces either.”

What I don’t mention is that it’s because of my piece-of-shit father locking me in the closet when I was a kid.

I wouldn’t tell her that anyway, but for some reason, it was on the tip of my tongue.

The heat must be getting to my head already.

I take the wall opposite of her and slide down to the floor, setting my useless-ass phone beside me.

“How long do you think we’ll be in here? All night? The buttons aren’t w-working…” The panic in her voice is hard to ignore. Her chest rises and falls quickly,tooquickly. Tears well in her eyes, her voice breaking with each syllable. “What if we’re stuck in here all day and no one even knows that we’re here and… an?—”

“Hey, take a breath. Slow.” I scoot closer to her, watching her attempt to do as she’s told. Her breathing is shallow and uneven, and I recognize the panic attack happening probably before she does. I’ve had enough to know it when I see it. It’s toohot in here, and her chest is tight. She probably feels like she’s suffocating.

Reaching for her, I brush back a piece of her hair that’s come free from her braids. “Just breathe with me. In… and out. Slowly.”

Her wide, panicked gaze meets mine, but she manages a small nod, taking a slow, shaky breath, even though I can see her still struggling.

I place my palm over her chest. “Breathe, Lennon. You’re going to be okay.”

Her eyes drop closed, and her hand finds mine, sliding over the top, and we move together with each breath.

In and out.

In and out.

I don’t even realize when we’re breathing that my thumb is sweeping slowly along her skin and that we’ve moved closer together, her nearly in my lap. Like some type of gravitational force that I didn’t even notice because I’m so focused on helping her calm down.

After a few minutes, her breathing starts to return to normal, and she opens her eyes, connecting with mine. “T-thank you. I’ve never… That’s never happened to me before. It was scary.”

I nod. “I know. It was a panic attack. They’re terrifying, and your fear probably triggered it.”

My own sometimes present themselves the same way, triggered by my anxiety or anger, but over the years, I’ve learned ways to cope with them, and they happen less now than when I was a teenager.

“Getting stuck in an elevator was not in my plans for today,” she finally mumbles, laughing quietly.

“Peopleplanto get stuck in an elevator?” I grin.

The light is low, but I can still make out her face, the upturn of her lips, the flash of white teeth.

Our hands still pressed against the sweat-slicked skin of her chest.

My gaze drops, and she follows it, suddenly dropping her hand and clearing her throat.

I sit back against my wall, and we face each other, neither of us speaking.

I want to tell her that she’s not alone and that I’ve been here more times than I ever want to remember, but I don’t. I can’t.

---