by Skye Jordan
She was rambling. She did this when her anxiety wound out of control with no outlet, and he didn’t want her winding up so tight, she blew in this dangerous setting. “Ellie, you need to—”
“And not only are you you, as if that wasn’t bad enough, but you’re not you. You’re some wickedly bastardized version of you who screws up my head and makes everything worse. In case I haven’t mentioned it, I hate you, just so you know.” She paused only to draw air, then yelled at the ceiling, “Either get me the hell out of here, or put me out of my misery!”
And then she burst into tears.
Troy exhaled and pressed fingers to his closed lids.
She hated him.
Beautiful.
His miserable life was now complete.
God, she hated this. Hated the shaking. Hated the nausea. Hated the gnawing fear. Hated the chills. Hated the aches. Prolonged anxiety attacks affected her like a rabid case of the flu, and her body was being ravaged while she struggled to keep a grip on her mind. And that crying jag she’d just gotten a hold on had wiped her out.
Her automatic instinct was to lean on Troy. But she didn’t trust him. Not now. Not after all the Jekyll and Hyde shit he’d pulled. Which she still didn’t understand. But after that degrading dismissal he’d given her from his hotel room, she’d written him off as a major douche bag she no longer even wanted to know.
“How long does this amount of air last?” she asked.
“We’re not in an airtight container, El. We’ll be fine if we just hold tight. Rescue crews are probably already mapping out a plan.”
She fought to hold the questions back, but the silence crept in and pried them out like a crowbar. “How long have we been in here?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
“Why does it feel like hours?”
“Because you’re scared. And because you’re stuck with me.”
She wrapped her arms around her bent legs and rested her chin on her knees. “We’re going to be down here forever, aren’t we?”
“I imagine rescue efforts of this size take time, but they probably already know we’re missing. Depending on what happened up there, they may not be able to access the cave to start digging right away.”
“How did this happen?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.”
His voice held an and-heads-will-roll edge that only intensified Giselle’s anxiety. “I don’t hear anyone else. Did they get out? Or are they…” Her stomach cramped. Her throat swelled. Her mind started to fray again. “Oh God…”
“Ellie, don’t. I think most people got out.” His hand stroked down her back. “We’re going to—”
She shrugged his touch away. “Stop. What is this? One of your nice moments?”
When he just hissed through his teeth, something inside Giselle snapped. Because even though her mind knew she should write him off, her heart still struggled with all his contradictions.
“Who the hell are you? Every time I see you, it’s like seeing a different person. You’re nice, then you’re mean, then you pretend you care, then you’re an ass, then you’re nice again. You’re like a psychotic yo-yo. Sometimes I think I see the man I fell in love with, then I’m sure there isn’t even a flicker of that man left in who you’ve become.”
“I’m not that kid anymore,” he bit out, sullen. “I’ve grown up.”
“Really.” She didn’t care how much attitude dripped from her voice. She was so done with the façades. “Because that kid was ten times as mature as you are. That kid had compassion and honor and loyalty and decency and fucking impulse control. Those are the things you’re supposed to gain when you grow up, not lose.”
“If that kid was so awesome,” he yelled back, “why’d you dump him?”
“That’s a stupid question, because you already know the answer. If you need to hear me say it, fine, you made it impossible for me to stay. After a lifetime of having nothing, you made me choose between you and my music.” She sucked a lungful of dusty air. “Now it’s my turn. If you hate me so much, why’d you fuck me at the club? Why didn’t you just walk away?”
Troy heaved a muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
“Or even better yet, why didn’t you let me walk away? I was headed toward the door twice. But no, you taunted me back. I want to know why, dammit, and I’d rather focus on this than on our potentially insanity-inducing situation.”
He winced. “Can you stop yelling? It’s really, really bad for your voice, my head is killing me, and I’d rather not have you dislodge more rocks.”
“Don’t pretend you care now.”
“I didn’t want you fucking some other random guy, okay?” he yelled, right after asking her to stop yelling. “You don’t know what kind of shit goes on in clubs like that, El. I could have been anyone. I could have gagged you in addition to cuffing you and done any goddamn thing I wanted, as long as I wanted, and there wouldn’t have been a damn thing you could have done about it. Didn’t you see the whips and chains hanging on the wall? Don’t you think half a dozen other people would have come running if I’d opened that curtain and snapped my fingers? If you don’t know what you’re doing in places like that, you could get physically and mentally scarred.”
That wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. And the pictures he painted made her shiver with disgust and unease. “Is that why you go? So you can do whatever you want with whoever you want?”
“No, El,” he snapped. “I go because it helps me forget, okay?”
“Forget what?”
“You, goddammit,” he yelled. “What do you think?”
Her mouth dropped open. Damn this darkness. She wanted to see his face, read his expression. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Bullshit. I haven’t heard from you in seven years, and you’ve treated me like shit from day one.”
“You chose your career over me, and then the first time I see you again after all that time, you jumped down my throat when I tried to do the right thing and tell you it was me at the club. I don’t like the way you’ve disrupted the life I’ve pieced together after you left. I don’t like having you on the set. I don’t like having to think about or watch you get it on with Alex. I don’t like being reminded of all the dreams I’ve missed watching come true for you. Your presence is a constant reminder of how badly I fucked up the only good thing in my life, and it hurts, goddammit. It hurts like hell. Yet I can’t seem to keep my goddamned hands off you when you’re within five feet. So yeah, I’m treating you like shit for a reason. I want you to stay the hell away from me and get the fuck out of my life.”
He stopped yelling as suddenly as he’d started, and the silence was so complete, it rang in her ears.
“I”—she took a few shallow breaths and blew them out to take the edge off the tears tightening her chest. This pain felt deep enough to break her open, and she couldn’t do that—not here, not now—“didn’t see that coming.”
She lowered her face to her knees and tried to hold herself together, but as his words sank in and touched on memories, pain swelled in her heart. He was right. Her mind scrambled with the ramifications of everything he’d said and how it all related to the past, the present, how it would alter the future. Her mind spun and spun, tying her heart in a knot so tight, she was sure it had lost blood supply.
Part of her wanted to confront Troy on what he’d just said, delve deeper into what that might mean, but she knew she couldn’t take it. Not under these conditions. Her brain felt frayed, her nerves fried, like she was one trigger shy of losing her mind. Her skin was crawling. Her muscles ached from trembling. Every part of her felt raw and exposed and vulnerable.
“Troy?” A male voice pierced the quiet from a distance. Giselle thought it was her imagination until she heard, “Troy, can you hear me?”
“I’m here,” he yelled back, his voice so loud, Giselle’s heart bounced against her ribs. “I have Ellie. Get us the fuck out of here.”
/>
“Working on it. Hang tight.”
Troy grabbed her arm. “Hear that, El? We’re gonna be fine.” His hand slid down and covered hers, threading their fingers. Then he pulled her in until she was leaning against him, wrapped his other arm around her, and kissed her temple. “We’re gonna be fine, baby.”
For a guy who wanted her out of his life, he sure had a twisted way of showing it. But then their relationship had always been different from most—deeper, more intense, more passionate, a hell of a lot more confusing.
And she was definitely not fine. Nothing about her was fine, not her head, her heart, or her body. Her emotions were slipping little by little from her control. She could feel them sliding out from under her like sand through her fingers. And even though she knew the cave was stifling hot, she was growing cold.
“I’ll be good. I’ll be good,” she whispered to herself, a soothing mantra from her childhood. She knew it didn’t make any sense, knew this situation was very different, but she couldn’t stem the compulsion to repeat the phrase over and over, words that gave her hope when no hope existed. Words that helped stem the slide of her mind and body. “I promise. I’ll be good. Promise, promise, pinkie promise.”
“Shh, honey.” Troy held her close and rocked her. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”
He was so warm, but she couldn’t absorb his body heat. Her head grew fuzzy, and her mind drifted where it always had during her childhood while she’d been trapped alone in spaces like this—to death.
“I thought about calling,” she said, letting her eyes close. “I need you to know that I thought about calling. I picked up the phone a hundred times, wanted so badly to hear your voice, to make things right, but it was so complicated.”
“Ellie, don’t. You’re not dying. It’s just anxiety. You’re going to be fine.”
“I couldn’t find the words.” She had to get it out. The guilt had weighed on her so heavily for so long. “Nothing seemed right. The more time that passed, the harder it got. And as long as Nathan assured me you were fine, I told myself I should just leave you alone…”
“Troy.” Zahara’s voice, closer to their location, cut off Giselle’s words. “We’re setting up a rescue op. Tell me where you’re at.”
“I grabbed Ellie from the stage and dove under the first table I could find.”
“You’ve got cover?” Duke’s voice penetrated the stone.
“Don’t get too excited. The table’s already broken.”
“We’ve talked to the engineers, and we’re going to get the top layer of excavation started. There may be some sift and backfill as we go. Let me know if it gets bad. The engineers will be here soon.”
“Those propeller heads are the reason we’re down here,” Troy said, angry.
“Wait till Josh hears about this,” one of the Renegades said on the other side of the darkness. “He’s gonna shit a cow. A full-grown fucking cow.”
The thud of rock made Giselle’s nerves fray a little more. The group’s banter was foreign to her, just like their dedication and total trust in each other. And the process of disturbing the precarious cocoon terrified her.
“Shouldn’t we wait?” she asked. “For, I don’t know, the fire department or someone? Don’t they get people out of disasters?”
“All kinds of people rescue others from disaster, honey. It’s a hundred and ten degrees outside. Without the air conditioning, plastered together like this, without air circulation, we’re going to be smoldering soon.“We can’t wait.”
The scrape and thump of rock invaded their tiny space. The trickle of sand slid into their only fresh air. A sliver of light penetrated the darkness and seemed cuttingly bright to Giselle’s eyes, and it gave her a view of the small, rubble-filled space surrounding them. The sight flipped one of those terror triggers inside her brain. It didn’t matter that there were people outside trying to help her. It didn’t matter that Troy was in this with her. She felt the life getting squeezed from her body. Saw gray edges lining her vision.
“I’ll be good,” she whispered. “I’ll be good.”
“Hold on,” Troy said, his voice soothing now. “Just hold on.”
“Duke,” Zahara said, “help me with this big one.”
The sound of scraping rock seemed to rip at Giselle’s skin. She pressed her face to Troy’s shoulder, dug her fingers into his arm. “Pinkie promise.”
“Just a little longer,” he said.
But when they lifted that rock out of place, the opening destabilized and sent the far wall falling against Giselle’s back. She screamed as the mass forced her against Troy, and she found herself layered with dirt, sand, and rock from the back of her head to the backs of her heels. Her face smashed against Troy’s chest, and dust darkened the cave again.
“No, no, no. Can’t do this… Can’t do this.” She coughed hard as the dust filled her lungs. “Gotta get out. Out, out, out.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” Troy said, “I know this scares you, but we’ll come out okay.”
He would. She wouldn’t. She could feel her sanity taking that last thin slide out from under her.
She curled her fingers into his biceps hard, digging her nails into his skin. This was that moment to say what needed to be said before she never got the chance.
“Nothing’s been the same since I walked away from you, like half my soul was missing. But it was better for both of us. I must have known it would be somehow…”
The darkness swept across her vision, and she clutched Troy tighter.
“Giselle, don’t talk. You’re going to be fine.”
“I never stopped loving you.” Fingers of darkness invaded her brain. “Never stopped thinking about you. I’m sorry it ended so badly…”
And unconsciousness dragged her under.
Troy sat on a chair beside the gurney next to Ellie in her room in the emergency department and stroked her hair. He’d unbraided the honeyed strands once all her urgent care had been finished, planning to brush out the dirt, but he’d found it surprisingly clean from the braid. The nurses had focused on sterilizing her wounds, but Troy had cleaned the grime from any exposed area with paper towels and hospital soap after the nurses had gone.
Now, he heaved a sigh and pulled the chair closer so he could sit beside her. Then he pulled one of her hands from beneath the blanket and curled her hand into his. Emotion welled inside him as he stared down at her long, slim fingers and felt her chord-calloused fingertips against his.
“I never stopped loving you.”
“I never stopped loving you.”
“I never stopped loving you.”
It just played over and over in his head and heart like a skip in a record. The words brought hope and fear, joy and pain. So much confusion. She’d said them under duress, when her mind was twisted, when she’d believed she was going to be crushed to death. Not exactly a profession of free will.
And what if it was? That didn’t mean she planned on acting on those feelings. She’d loved him when she’d walked away before. The fact that she’d never stopped loving him—yet never contacted him over the years—didn’t give him any sort of hope anything would change now. That she’d want to try again.
The room’s curtain moved, drawing Troy’s gaze. Zahara motioned to him. When he stepped outside the room, he found his makeshift family of Renegades and their women clogging the ER’s corridors, including Jax Chamberlin, Renegades’ owner, and worse, Ryker.
Ryker’s presence at this fragile time between Troy and Giselle could ruin everything.
“Jesus Christ,” Troy said to Jax, exasperated. “I told you we could handle this.” To Ryker, he said, “You’re supposed to be in Syria.” To Rachel, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Good to see you too, bro.” Ryker stepped forward and pulled Troy into a quick hug. And just like always, Troy’s frustration melted.
Maggie, the nurse who’d been taking care of Giselle gave Jax a stern look. “Take this int
o room six, Jax. You’ve got twenty minutes. Not a second longer. We need that room.”
Jax grabbed the hand she used to wag a finger at him and dragged her close for a hug. “Thanks, Mags. You’re the best.”
She hugged him back, then pushed him away. “Go on, get out of here.”
Troy looked back at Giselle. “I don’t want to leave—”
Maggie gave his arm a squeeze. “I’ve got her. I won’t let anyone in until you get back.”
He exhaled. “Come get me if she wakes?”
“You bet.”
Troy gave her a smile of thanks and followed the others into a room nearby, where Wes, the Renegades best stunt driver, closed the glass door behind them. Troy scanned the stoic faces in the room—Jax, Wes, Ryker, and their girls, Lexi, Rubi, and Rachel. Zahara also stepped in. She’d been acting as liaison between the crew and the hospital all night.
Ryker spoke first. “How’s Giselle?”
He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and leaned against the glass wall to the room. His hands were too torn up to shove into his pockets, his arms too bruised and cut to cross. And he couldn’t find a comfortable spot on his back to press against the glass. “Physically, not as bad as she looks. She has a concussion, a few cuts that needed stitches. Mentally, she’s a mess. They had to knock her on her ass with some heavy-duty drugs just to get X-rays.”
“I can only imagine.” Ryker said, then explained to the rest of the group. “She’s claustrophobic and nosocomephobic. One freaks her out bad enough to be problematic, but together they’re obviously—”
“Noso—what?” Zahara asked.
“Fear of hospitals,” Troy explained. “She spent a lot of time in them as a kid. Abuse involved cops. Cops involved custody battles, custody battles involved more beatings. It was an endless cycle that created a horrible fear of hospitals.”