Page 82 of Pucking Sweet

While she’s busy spiraling out, I reach in my pocket for my phone and turn on my flashlight. Shining it at the control panel, I press the alarm button. Nothing happens.

Fucking perfect.

I tap all the other buttons, including the emergency call button.

Nothing.

I shoot off a couple texts to some of the staff, letting them know we’re stuck in here. All the while, Poppy rants, gasping for air as her panic mounts. “—just freaking perfect. Everything else has gone to crap. I may as well add plummeting to my death—”

“Hey.” I cup her face one-handed, still holding my phone flashlight with my other hand. “You’re not gonna die, okay? Elevators have all kinds of emergency brake systems. We’re good. We’re just stuck—”

“And that’s supposed to calm me down? This isliterallymy worst nightmare!”

Ouch.“It’s your worst nightmare to be stuck in an elevator with me?”

But she’s not listening. “Oh, god. Colton, I really feel like I can’t breathe.” She sinks down to the floor, both hands now pressed to her chest.

“Whoa, okay.” I drop to my knees too, setting my phone aside with the flashlight up so it shines on the ceiling. “Do you think you’re gonna pass out? You gotta invert—”

“No.” Her eyes are closed as she shakes her head. “I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”

She just said the two magic words. For a panicked beat, my own heart stops. I grab her wrist, checking her pulse. “Walk me through your symptoms, Poppy. What are you feeling right now?”

“I can’t breathe—heart is racing—” She grabs my hand and places it over her chest.

“Are you experiencing any pain across your shoulders, your arms, or your back?”

“No.”

“Does your chest feel weighted, like there’s an elephant sitting on it? Or compressed like someone has it in a tight fist?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

I move my hand from her chest, feeling along her throat. “Any pain in your jaw or neck?”

She blinks up at me, eyes wide. “What’s with the twenty questions? Are you secretly a doctor or something?”

“No, but my mom and both my sisters are.” My quick examination done, I relax a little. “Poppy, look at me.” Tipping her chin up, I can clearly see the fear in her eyes. “I don’t think you’re having a heart attack, okay? I think this is just a panic attack. Still scary, but we can breathe it out.”

“How the heck would you know?”

“Because I’ve had three.”

“Three what? Panic attacks?”

“No, three heart attacks.”

Her eyes go, if possible, even wider. I can see she doesn’t believe me. Why would she? Few do unless they’ve seen my medical records ... or my scars. Balancing on my knees, I rock back on the balls of my feet and tug my Rays tech shirt off.

She gasps. “Colton, what are you—”

“Look,” I say, tossing the shirt aside. There’s not a lot of light in here, so I take her hand in mine and run her fingers over the mess of scars on my chest. “Feel it?” I stroke her fingers down the middle of my chest over the thick, raised scar. “This one’s from the sternotomy I had when I was six years old.”

“Oh.” Her fingers are gentle as they explore.

“And this one is from a thoracotomy when I was eight,” I say, showing her the shorter, thinner scar on my left pec.

“Oh, Colton…” Her breathing slows as she brushes her fingertips over each one. “I didn’t know.” She glances up, her expression soft in this odd light. “Are you…?”

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