Page 62 of Up In Flames
Safe. Sure. I was safe. There was no big deal about being stuck between floors in a tin can with no cell phone. It wasn’t at all the same as being trapped in a—nope. I wasn’t going to let myself go down that road. I needed a distraction.
“Mr. Reid?” the speaker said again. “I’ve tried to get you moving again remotely, but I’m afraid that nothing has worked.”
“There was a big sound right before it got stuck.” Panic pricked at my skin, making it erupt in goosebumps. My stomach cramped in a way that threatened my demise, like eating before swimming.
“I’ve alerted emergency services. Do you require medical attention?”
“No, I’m fine.” I looked to Shera and asked if she was okay, too. She nodded her head, though she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. “We’re okay. We’re fine.” I wasn’t fine, but Iwasn’t hurt. “I’m okay. Just a little claustrophobic.” I sank down onto the floor, put my head between my knees and tried my best to breathe.
CHAPTER 28
Will
It had been a quiet shift so far. Some days were like that. I’d made lunch for everyone, a huge tuna noodle casserole and garlic toast. The guys were all crowded around the table, shoveling food into their faces and talking amongst themselves.
I used the opportunity to shoot Oren a text. He seldom messaged me when I was on shift. He didn’t want to be a distraction. The thought was nice, but I’d told him again and again that I was able to get texts at work. His concern was sweet, so I didn’t push him on it. But usually if I sent a text, he sent one right back. Most of his day was spent behind a desk, pushing paper, talking to clients, and finding and closing legal loopholes, or opening them, depending on the situation.
Ten minutes later, he still hadn’t texted me back. He hadn’t even seen my text, though. It said it had been delivered but not read so he must be busy. It was stupid to miss him when we talked all the time and saw each other as much as we could. But I couldn’t get enough of him.
Envy wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed as one of the other guys gushed about a girl he’d been seeing. Sometimes envy was a sharp instrument, slicing and stabbing me open from the inside. I hated how hard it was for me to be who I was whenother people seemed free to be who they were. Gay, straight, bisexual, or otherwise.
“Not like Dorsey over here.”
Jonas said my name, but I had no idea what anyone had been talking about. I lifted my gaze from my plate and glanced around. “What?”
The table erupted into laughter, like I’d said something funny, furthering my confusion.
“We were just telling Hank that he over-shares. And you, my friend, were called out for under-sharing. And I’m not sure which is worse.” Jonas bumped his shoulder against mine to let me know he was just ribbing me.
“Maybe I don’t share anything because I have nothing to share.”
A lie, of course. I had a lot to share, but something always stopped me, no matter how much I wanted to tell people. That stupid fear of rejection had burrowed its way under my skin and into the fabric of my being. It was woven through me like the thread of a tapestry. If I pulled it loose, would I unravel completely? Who would I be if I wasn’t closeted? Had it become such a part of my identity that I didn’t know who I was without hiding all the time?
Jonas and Briggs both looked at me skeptically, but I ignored them. If they wanted to know something, they could come out and ask. Maybe then I’d tell them. Maybe I wouldn’t.
Most likely, I’d tell them nothing. That strategy had served me well so far. Up until I met Oren, I’d been happy with the status quo. A little lonely sometimes, but nothing I couldn’t live with. Compared to some, I had it easy.
“Come on, Dorsey. Surely there’s something you’d like to share? We know you’ve been seeing someone.” Hank reached for another slice of garlic toast.
“And how do you know that?” Briggs challenged him.
“Easy. Up until recently, Dorsey was here a lot more often, cooking meals, or dropping meals by. Hanging out on his time off. And he doesn’t do that anymore. Not as often.”
“That doesn’t prove anything, Hank. Maybe he’s just sick of your ugly mug.” Jonas lobbed a crust of bread at him. “Besides, even if he was, it’s no one's business.”
Before anyone could continue the third degree, the alarm went off and everyone shot to their feet. The radio crackled, dispatching us to a location several blocks away at a building with a jammed elevator, two occupants.
Stuck elevators were a pain in the ass more than anything. But we still geared up to prepare for any turn of events. We’d done drills for all kinds of situations. Fires. Floods. Rescue operations. Elevators. You name it, we trained for it. Still, every call out was different and there was always the potential for things to go horribly wrong.
We were on site in less than ten minutes. Briggs grabbed the pry bar that we used to wedge between the doors and force them open. I grabbed the first aid kit. Sometimes elevators did unpredictable shit when they got stuck, and sometimes people did unpredictable shit when elevators got stuck.
We were met at the front door by a pair of security guards. “The elevator is stuck somewhere between the third and fourth floor. Maintenance is trying to lower the elevator to the third floor. Generally we’d wait to call you guys in until after maintenance exhausted their options, but the guard on the phone was a little overzealous.” The security guard’s cheeks flushed, giving himself away that he was likely the over-eager one who’d answered the phone.
“You did the right thing,” Briggs assured him. “We’d rather be on site and not needed than be needed and not here.”
The guard led us up the stairs to the third floor.
“Any idea where exactly the elevator is stuck?” Briggs asked one of the security guards.
