Page 61 of To Catch a Firefly

But one thing I know for sure. “You have me.”

He inhales a deep, slow breath, squeezing my hand. But then he stills. “Hear that?”

“—diminishing as the storm front moves east. Threat level has been returned to a watch, but residents are recommended to stay indoors until the system has passed. First responders have been dispatched. If you need immediate medical attention, please dial 911.”

The broadcast continues, but that’s all I need to hear. The tornadoes are gone, which means Lucky and I should get out of here before the house comes tumbling down.

I notch my head toward the door, and Lucky nods, grabbing his phone before standing with me. I pick up the radio, and, carefully, we move across the cellar, making a wide arc around the area where the beam broke. There’s a large crack in the ceiling that I don’t want to step foot under.

The air feels muggy as we ascend the stairs, but it sounds like the rain has stopped. Ready to get out of here, I give the hatch a shove.

It doesn’t budge.

“What’s going on?” Lucky asks from a step behind me.

I set down the radio and try again, using both hands to push at the door. It doesn’t move in the least, and when I knock on the wood with my fist, the sound is muffled. I close my eyes briefly, refusing to panic. Taking a breath, I turn back to Lucky, whose eyes are wide.

“Blocked,” I tell him.

He inhales sharply, immediately reaching for his phone. His face pales when he looks at the screen. “Shit. Ellis, we’re in a dead zone. There’s no signal, not even for emergency calls.” Even as he says it, he dials 911, but the call doesn’t connect.

Lucky’s hand returns to his hair, fingers dragging through the strands. He starts to pant in short bursts, and I reach for him, cupping the side of his neck. “Okay,” I assure him, pointing to the radio. “Responders.”

“Right,” Lucky says, nodding and clenching his phone tight. “Yeah, you’re right. Police and ambulances are out. They’ll find us.”

He doesn’t sound so sure, though, and he curses again before sinking down to the stone steps. I follow, sitting beside him andtucking him against my body, doing what I can to soothe his worry. Despite the circumstances, he feels perfect in my arms.

“This is so fucked,” he says, shaking his head before setting it against my shoulder.

I turn to press my lips to his hair, not disagreeing.

“We’re stuck in some basement—no, not even a basement,” Lucky says, voice muffled against my neck. “A cellar. We’re stuck in a goddamn cellar because a tornado razed the house above us. Because that’s what happened, right? I mean, we both heard it. The house…” He jolts. “Shit, are…are weburieddown here? Is that why the door’s stuck? How are they going to find us, El? No one even knows we’re here. We could be stuck down here for days, or—”

I shush Lucky’s ramblings, tugging his face around. He grabs my wrists, and I bring my lips to his. He goes quiet, and after a moment, the tension leaves his body. It’s not so much a kiss as a reassurance, but it snakes inside me like a wild, living thing regardless, taking up camp. A vein of lightning, leaving behind a permanent, welcome scar.

When I pull back, Lucky looks calmer. His eyes are dark in the dim light, but they’re no less familiar to me. I’ve seen those eyes in every color, every shade. I’ve seen them happy, sad, overjoyed, and, like now, worried.

I brush my thumb over his cheekbone. “Okay,” I say again. We will be; I know it. My mom and Gabby both know I’m somewhere out here.

Lucky nods, and letting go, I pull out my phone. He understands my intent when I brandish it.

“Yeah, we should keep trying,” Lucky says, making another fruitless attempt to call 911. “Still nothing. You?”

I shake my head.

“Do you think the tornado took out the cell tower?” he asks.

I shrug. It’s entirely possible, but this area got poor service to begin with, and we’re underground. It might be enough to block the signal. Either way, I compile another handful of messages with our location and the fact that we’re uninjured but trapped. None of my texts have gone through, and a quick glance at Lucky’s phone shows the same.

Lucky sighs. “I didn’t plan on pissing in jars today.”

I can’t help but snort, and Lucky gives me a small smile. He grabs my hand, toying with my fingers, and the feel of his smooth skin tracing along the digits is so distracting I almost miss his question.

“Do you think it’s safe here or should we head back down?”

I consider that, not entirely sure. If the house is toppled above the hatch, the foundation could very well be more compromised over the stairs. But it’s impossible to know for certain from down here. The entire upper portion of the house could be crumpled, for all we know. It might not be safe anywhere.

Getting up, I give Lucky’s hand a squeeze before heading down the steps. Walking around the perimeter with the light from the radio, I take a closer look at the ceiling. The crack that leads to the broken beam runs along one end of the room. There’s a portion of the ceiling that looks bowed, and I stay far away. But the other side looks fairly unmarred and possibly sturdy. There’s not much in the space we could use as protection. A large rack with canned goods. An old washing machine.

---