forty-two

GRIFFIN

Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

Breakaway Hockey’s head of marketing lets out a shriek as the elevator lurches, the lights inside flicker, then the whole thing shudders to a stop and goes dark. Silence fills the dark car, broken only by Serena’s increasingly fast breaths.

“You okay, Miss Kent?”

Her laugh is breathy and a little wild. “Serena. Seriously, please call me Serena.”

“Right. You doing okay, Serena? You sound like you’re freaking out a little.” She’s not the only one. The meeting with Breakaway went longer than expected, and I have to bust ass if I’m going to make it to Mira’s pitch on time.

And I will make it there on time. I promised my wife, and I keep my promises.

Serena sounds a little wheezy this time when she says, “I’m uh, I’m a little claustrophobic. Especially if it’s dark.”

Well, shit.

“Why don’t you turn your phone’s flashlight on? I’m sure that would help, right?”

She does another one of those borderline-crazy laughs. “I’m sure it would, but I left my phone up on my desk since I thought I’d just be walking you out and going right back up. I’m sure the elevator will start working again any minute.”

I sure as hell hope so. I take out my phone to text Mira and let her know I’m running late and why, typing out a quick message telling my girl I’m stuck in an elevator with the head of marketing, that I’m sorry, and I’ll get there as soon as possible.

Except, the message fails to send.

“Shit.”

Serena looks my way, and even in the dim light of my cell phone screen, I can see the sweat beading on her brow.

She looks tense. I’m down to seventeen percent battery life, and I need to conserve it, but what kind of asshole would I be if I turned it off and put it in my pocket when it could help this poor woman stop panicking?

“This whole building sucks for cell service, but the elevator is a straight-up black hole,” she tells me with a commiserating wince. “I don’t think you’ll be able to text or call anyone for help.”

As if saying that made her realize something, she reaches over and pushes the red emergency button.

A ringing sound fills the car, and soon a man is answering, his voice filtering out of the speaker on the wall panel and filling the space.

He asks if there’s an emergency, and after Serena explains that we’re stuck and the power is out, promises help is on the way.

“How long do you think it will take for them to get us out of here?” the poor woman to my left asks, hugging herself like a scared child. She’s shaking now, slight tremors racking her body.

“I’m sure it won’t take long at all. Here, I’ll put my phone’s flashlight on.

” Mira will understand. She won’t be happy if I miss her pitch, but once I explain, she’ll understand.

And I know if she was here, she’d tell me to use my phone’s flashlight.

Even if it does drain the battery. “Why don’t you sit down, Miss Kent? ”

“Serena.” She huffs out a shaky laugh, but she does as I suggest and starts to lower herself to the floor. When her knees shake and she almost falls on her ass, I reach out and help her. “I hope to hell someone has cleaned this floor recently.”

It’s my turn to chuckle at that. “Something to talk to maintenance about after they get us out, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

We fall silent, and I rock on my heels to burn up some of the nervous energy coursing through my body. I want to get out of here. I can’t let Mira down.

Even though it’s probably pointless, I try texting her again. This time, I warn her that I may run out of battery life and that if I don’t make it to her pitch, to head to the coffee shop and meet me there. Of course, the message fails to send.

“Crap.”

“You okay?” Serena looks up at me. “Please don’t tell me you’re also claustrophobic.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m supposed to be meeting my wife in like fifteen minutes at the university campus, and I’m worried I won’t make it.” Restless energy has me running my hand through my hair.

“Your wife, huh? I didn’t realize you were married.

” Serena sounds curious, and I kick myself for saying anything before we’ve gone public with our friends and family, but this is a marketing exec I’m talking to.

They’ve just signed me on to represent their company.

They won’t do anything to mess with my image or the relationship we just forged.

“Uh yeah, it’s not public knowledge yet, so I’d appreciate it if that didn’t leave this elevator.” I give her a smile that probably looks more like a grimace.

“Of course. Breakaway would never overstep like that.” The lights in the elevator flicker twice, then plunge us back into darkness. Serena shudders and closes her eyes. “Tell me about her. I need a distraction.”

So I do. For the next hour, I tell Breakaway Hockey’s head of marketing all about my wife.

I tell her about her work, her sense of humor, the way she makes me feel like I can do anything.

I pull the little black velvet box out of my pocket and show her the engagement ring I’m going to give to Mira today.

Tell her about getting married in Vegas—leaving out the part about how we were drunk and I basically blackmailed my wife to stay married to me—and how I want to give Mira a real engagement and wedding.

I talk until my phone dies and we’re encased in darkness, then I keep talking to keep both of us distracted and only stop when, finally, the lights turn back on and the elevator jolts to life.

When the doors open on the ground floor, I help Serena to her feet, and when she almost crumples to the ground after spending over an hour fighting off a panic attack, I wrap my arm around her shoulder and grip her elbow with my other hand and walk her to her toward the crowd of waiting people.

A man with jet black hair and a furrowed brow shouts her name when he sees us, and then he sweeps her out of my arms and holds her close.

“Are you okay?” he asks her.

Serena nods. “Yeah, I’m good. Griffin here helped me fight off a panic attack.”

The dark-haired main turns my way and extends a hand, which I shake. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I was so worried. She is deathly afraid of being stuck in small spaces.”

Serena nods. “I’d rather walk up thirty flights of stairs than take an elevator ever again. You’re never getting me back in one of those things.”

When I chuckle, she turns to me with a scowl, but it quickly turns into a smile.

“Thank you, Griffin, really. I’m looking forward to working with you, and we’ll be in touch. Now, go find your wife.”

Shit. My wife. With a nod of my head and a grateful smile, I say my goodbyes and run to my rental car. My stomach sinks when I see the time.

Mira’s pitch started over an hour ago. By the time I make it to the campus, I’ll be more than an hour and a half late. I wish I had a charging cord with me so I could call her.

I drive as fast as I safely can to the campus. I check the arena first, but she’s not there. Then I check the coffee shop. No Mira. I drive around looking for her for another twenty minutes before the twisting feeling in my stomach starts to make me sick.

“Maybe she went back to the hotel.”

It’s the only other place she can be. She doesn’t have a car, but she could have ordered a ride.

The need to find her is a prowling beast inside of me, scratching up my insides.

What if something happened to her? I need to know that she’s okay.

All I can think about is my sweet wife stuck outside in this weather, wondering where I am, scared, upset, alone. How did this day go so fucking wrong?

The ring box in my pocket urges me to drive faster, to get to her sooner. And when I finally pull up to the hotel and park, I run to the door, bypassing the elevators because there’s no way I’m risking being stuck in another one of those today, and race up to our room on the fourth floor.

Pushing through the door, I call for her. “Mira? Baby, are you here?”

I’m met with silence.

Shit .

My body feels hot and my skin too tight. I look for her in the bathroom, on the balcony, hell, I even look in the closet like a total idiot. And then I notice it.

Her things are gone. Mira’s white carry-on is gone. There’s no straightener in the bathroom. Her toothbrush isn’t lying next to the sink.

Where is she? Why would she take her stuff and leave the hotel room?

Now I’m really freaking out. My hands shake as I plug my phone into the charger. It takes forever to boot up.

“Come on, come on.”

When the cursed thing finally turns on, it buzzes with several notifications. Missed calls and texts from Mira. A lot of them.

“ Fuck! ”

There are texts from before the meeting started, asking where I was. They start off calm and get progressively more worried in tone. Then the texts stop, and forty minutes later, there are two missed calls and a voicemail.

My stomach twists when I hear the tremble in my wife’s voice.

“Griffin? Where are you? I’m done with my meeting.

I… You weren’t here. Are you okay? Did something happen?

How am I supposed to know where you are or if you’re okay if you don’t answer your phone?

Just… Call me when you get this. Please be okay. ”

Dammit. Dammit .

I’m tapping her name on my favorites list, without even consciously thinking about it, and curse when it goes straight to voicemail. Holding the phone between my cheek and my shoulder, I start to throw everything in my suitcase. Wherever Mira is, I have to find her.

“Baby, hey. I’m so fucking sorry I missed your pitch. I tried to call and text you, but I didn’t have any phone service. It was the craziest thing, sunshine. I got trapped in an elevator for almost an hour.

“I’m at the hotel and all your stuff is gone. Where are you? Please call me back. I’m so so sorry, baby. I swear I did everything I could to get to you. Did the meeting go well, I hope?” I run a hand through my hair, agitated. “Please call me back. I love you.”

Hanging up, I text her, telling her the same thing I did in my voicemail. That I’m sorry I missed her meeting. That I was stuck in an elevator. That I love her and want to know where she is and if she’s okay.

Then I suck in a deep breath and make a call I really don’t want to make.

Maddox picks up on the first ring. I don’t even give him a chance to say anything before I ask, “Have you heard from your sister?”

Silence stretches down the line, and a prickle of unease makes the hair on my neck rise.

“Yeah, Wright. I’ve heard from my sister.” My best friend’s voice is colder than the ice we skate on when he says, “The fuck did you do?”

I have no idea what she told him, and right now I don’t care. Let him hate me, let him beat the shit out of me; it doesn’t matter. I need to know that my wife is okay. “Where is she, Madds? All her stuff is gone from the hotel. I just need to know where she is and if she’s safe.”

Maybe it’s the sheer panic in my voice, maybe he doesn’t know anything, or maybe he’s merely lulling me into a false sense of security before he buries a skate in my throat, but he doesn’t bullshit me. “She’s safe. Changed her flight to an earlier one. She’s on her way home.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“She was crying, Wright. Wouldn’t tell me what happened, but my little sister, who you were supposed to take care of, called me crying.”

My momentary relief burns away, and that panic claws at my chest once again. “I can’t get ahold of her. Please have her call me, man. I fucked up, but I couldn’t help it. I need to tell her what happened.”

Maddox scoffs. “You couldn’t help fucking up? I love you, man, but you need to do better than that. You own your mistakes when you make them. Whatever the hell you did—which I will find out when I pick my sister up—was a big enough screwup that she asked to stay with me and Isla.”

“No.” The word is a broken plea. I need to talk to her. Explain what happened.

All of this is a stupid misunderstanding.

I won’t let Mira do the same thing her brother did when he overheard his future wife having a tense discussion with her ex, assumed the worst, and blew up his relationship without ever asking for Isla’s side of the story.

I won’t let her walk away without talking to me.

“Please, man, you can’t let her do that. I need to talk to her first. She needs to hear what happened.”

Maddox, my best friend in the world, outside of Mira, scoffs.

He fucking scoffs like what I’m saying is stupid.

Like I’m stupid. “I’m not telling my sister that she can’t move in with me.

She’s my sister, Wright. It’s my job to protect her and be there for her, and if you did something that made her want to move out, I’m sure as shit not telling her she has to stay with you. ”

“I didn’t do anything,” I say, pleading with him to believe me. “Seriously, Madds, this is all a misunderstanding.”

My friend sighs. “All I can do is tell her you want to talk to her. But I swear to god, Wright, if I don’t like what I hear when I pick her up from the airport, I’m going to kick your ass, best friend or not.”

My lungs seize up. I can’t breathe, can’t respond, can’t do anything but freak the hell out that everything I was planning, everything I had finally let myself hope for, is falling apart, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Mira’s engagement ring feels like a thousand pounds in my pocket.

The lack of her belongings in the hotel room is a noose around my neck.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Please, whatever she tells you, just know I’m going to make it right.”

I don’t give my best friend a chance to reply before hanging up. Frantic, I try to find an earlier flight out, but nothing will get me back to Minneapolis sooner than our original flight. I drive to the airport, anyway. Just in case.

I refuse to lose my wife because of a stuck elevator and horrible timing.

I told Mira that I would never give up on her or let her go. That I’d fight for her. For us. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Whatever it takes, Mira will wear my rings and never want to take them off again.