“Go for it,” Kenna says from across the room. I didn’t even hear her come in from the track.
“I don’t care,” Matias says, shrugging. “I look exactly like you underneath these clothes, by the way.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “You feeling okay, man? You don’t look like yourself today.”
“I’m okay.”
I look to the other side of the table, meeting Erin’s gaze. “Okay with you if I wash my clothes?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Make sure it’s a big towel.”
I arch a brow in amusement. “Gotta be a big one to cover up my goods.”
“Oh no.” She groans. “Don’t start that.”
Her discomfort makes me smile. “I’m just stating a fact, Sherpa.”
“Sherpa?” She gives me a pointed look.
“Yeah, you know, a seasoned mountain guide. A sensei. A Yoda.”
Erin rolls her eyes and laughs. “I know what a Sherpa is. And I never said I was one.”
“Okay, Miss 5.14b.”
Her lips part, and then she laughs. “Okay, then. Go get your towel on, and let’s play some chess.”
“You think you’re gonna beat me?”
“I’m definitely gonna beat you.”
I hold her challenging stare, the light blue of her eyes reminding me of the sky on a perfect noon game day. It feels damn good, that momentary connection with the outside world.
“You think ’cause I’m a jock I can’t be good at chess?”
She scoffs. “You think ’cause I’m a blond I can’t be?”
“We’ll see, Sherpa.”
“Soon as you stop talking and start playing, we will.”
I shake my head and head for the storage room to wash my clothes, still wearing a stupid grin. Once I drop my sweaty boxer briefs into the washer, that’s all I’m wearing. I grab a towel and wrap it tightly around my waist, fastening it at my hip.
Erin said I stink. Now I’m wondering if I do, and not really wanting to go sit three feet away from her if I do. I sniff one pit, then cringe.
Shit, I do stink. Wearing the same clothes for a week will do that. I tell Erin I’m taking a quick shower on my way to the bathroom, and she tells me to hurry up because she’s ready to kick my ass.
It’s been a while since I played chess, but I used to be great at it. My dad taught me as a kid. Football is a lot like chess, he told me. The quarterback has to be aware of all the different players and what their next move may be.
Any distraction from my thoughts is welcome. Thinking about what I’m missing on the outside is tearing me up.
I’ve been through this bunker inside and out, trying to find any means of escaping or getting a message out. The ducts are too small to fit through, and the place is soundproof. It was designed to be impenetrable, and it is. Just as it’s impossible for anyone to break in, it seems impossible for me to break out.
It’s a shitty deal, being trapped down here, but I have to keep my shit together. I need to keep up with my physical training as much as I can and stay mentally sound.
I lather my body, hair, and week’s worth of dark beard, then rinse and dry off. No reason to shave down here, I figure. Might as well go full caveman.
There are razors in the bunker, but they’re locked in a safe the others don’t know about, along with a couple guns. When the contractor told me he could add a secret safe for that stuff, it seemed like a good idea. Tempers can flare in stressful situations, and even though everyone down here seems okay, I don’t want to risk anyone hurting themselves or someone else. Depending how long we’re down here, things could get ugly.
Erin seems to have settled down in the past week. Like the rest of us, I think she’s accepted that for now, this is our situation.
We may not have blankets and pillows down here, but at least we have food and unlimited water. We’re alive. And hopefully, help will come.
I take a deep breath and rub the steam off the bathroom mirror, lingering over the face of the man staring back at me. Thirty-two years old and I still look pretty okay. Full head of hair, a few lines starting at the corners of my eyes.
I can’t look at my own face without also seeing my dad’s face. My whole life, we’ve both given our all to my football career. It’s paid off in many ways. I wasn’t born exceptionally talented—I had my skills drilled into me and practiced most every day as a kid. To make it to the NFL was a big fucking deal for me.
But I’m standing out even in that elite company. Setting records. Unlike some of the guys I compete against, I don’t have any distractions in my life. I’ve never let myself get tied down in a serious relationship.
There’ve been women I saw when I had free evenings for a few months at a time, but I never made promises. And they inevitably got tired of hoping I’d change my mind about wanting more.
Football is my more. Every aspect of my life is tailored around the season—even my off-season training. I’m at my peak, and I’ve never loved the game more.
I can’t let myself think about where I’m supposed to be. Control the controllables, I remind myself as I wrap my towel around my waist again.
When I walk out of the bathroom, Kenna looks up from the book she’s reading on the couch and gives me an approving once-over. Fuck. That situation’s not going away anytime soon.
Erin’s waiting for me at the table, the board already set up. There’s a cup of ice water on the table next to my side of the board.
“For me?” I ask her.
She half shrugs. “Figured I should foresee any more excuses you might make.”
My single note of laughter is wry. “The shower was because you said I needed it.”
She gestures at my chair with her palm. “So have a seat, then. And keep that towel closed.”
Unlike Kenna, Erin doesn’t even spare me a glance. She only looks at the board, taking her time with every move she makes. When she’s thinking, she brings a closed fist to her mouth and rests her pursed lips on her knuckles.
“Ohh,” I say, shaking my head as she moves her hand toward her rook. “You sure about that?”
Her hand freezes, and she narrows her eyes at me. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I weren’t sure.”
I shrug. “Go ahead.”
“Stop trying to mess with my head.”
I give her an indignant look. “Me?”
She glares. “I’m confident in my move, so just worry about your own next one, ’kay?”
She moves her rook and then sits back in her chair, crossing her arms. I capture it with my remaining knight. “Check.”
Erin knits her brows together and shakes her head. She’s looking at all the pieces, running through possible moves in her head.
“I’ve got this game,” I say, leaning my elbows on the table. “But we can play it out if you want.”
She meets my gaze across the table. Damn, she’s got pretty eyes. I can’t believe I’m just now noticing that.
“You’re sure?” she asks.
“Yeah. But you played well. It was still anybody’s game until two moves ago.”
She looks down at the board, then lifts her chin to meet my eyes again. “Okay. Let’s play again.”
My cock twitches beneath the towel. I can’t help my physical response to Erin right now. It’s not about her looks—though she is beautiful. She’s got an amazing body, and her skin has a smooth, golden glow from time spent outside.
She’s the first woman I’ve ever known who reminds me of myself. Other women flip their hair and feign interest in football. They laugh too loud at my jokes and offer themselves up for anything I want.
But Erin is more interested in this game than in me. She lost with grace, but I saw the spark in her at the moment she conceded. It’s just like every time someone outran me in a sprint at a football practice growing up. Every time a coach told me I’d missed a pre-snap read.
Let’s do it again.
That had always been my response. I always wanted to try
again and again, however many times it took to win. To be the best.
“Where’d you learn to play chess?” she asks me as we line our pieces back up on the board.
“My dad. You?”
“I used to play with my uncle and my cousins when I was a kid. It’s been a while since I played.”
“I’m not great at many things,” I admit. “Chess just happens to be something I’m decent at.”
Erin gives me a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. I’m not buying the whole humble Derek thing.”
I arch my brows and laugh. “I am humble.”
“You just have your assistant let everyone know you’re the highest-paid quarterback in the league,” she murmurs, her tone playful.
I glance at Kenna, who’s sitting on the couch holding her hand in front of her, studying her nails.
“I’ve never asked her to do that,” I tell Erin.
We finish setting up our pieces at the same time, and then we lock eyes across the board for a few seconds. My cock is still stirring beneath the towel. Is she feeling anything right now, or is it just me?
“You’re white.” She nods at the board. “Make your first move, hotshot.”
“I prefer hot shit.”
Her lips twitch into a smile. “Move, Derek.”
I arch a brow. “You planning to make symmetrical moves?”
She scoffs. “I’m not telling you what I plan.”
“You don’t have a plan, do you?” I smile knowingly.
“My plan is to win.”
I reach down and rotate the board so she’s got the white pieces and I have the black.
“I don’t care if I’m first,” she says.
“You should. White is statistically more likely to win. But if the black player makes symmetrical moves, it sometimes psychs out the white one.”
“Ah!” Erin’s face lights up, and she points at me. “That’s how you beat me! You were white last game!”
I roll my eyes. “Please. I outplayed you, Sherpa. I’ll play you as many times as you want and you can be whatever color you want every time, and spoiler alert—I’ll still win.”
“So humble.”
She holds my gaze for another second before looking at the board to consider her move. My eyes stay on her, though.
Good thing I’ve played thousands of games of chess and I know what I’m doing. Sitting across from Erin, it’s really easy to be distracted. And right now, a distraction is just what I need.
Chapter Seven
Erin
My eyelids droop until they’re nearly closed. I grab my glass of water and down half of it, trying to wake myself up.
I’m not sleeping well in here. It’s no surprise. I fight sleep because I know what’s inevitably coming. My nightmares are relentless. In some, I relive the childhood trauma that left me claustrophobic. In others, I’m locked in the bunker, but it’s being overrun by bugs or it was set on fire.
Every nightmare feels the same—straight-up, heart-seizing panic that leaves me crying out or sitting up in bed, wide awake and covered in sweat.
Kenna and I each have one of the queen rooms, and the guys are sleeping in the bunk room. This means I at least get to keep the nightmares to myself. Downside, though—I’m pretty sure being closed in the dark bedroom alone is part of the reason I’m having the nightmares.
Being alone is another thing that sets off my claustrophobia. I’m just trying to get through. The immediate terror isn’t there anymore, but I still hate it down here. And the more time passes, the less hope I have we’ll be rescued.
We’re all sitting at the dining table for dinner, which is pureed canned pumpkin with cinnamon, green beans, and some kind of meat jerky. It’s not amazing or anything, but it’s the only food I’ll be eating today, so I plan to consume every bite.
I’m not picky about food. It’s another by-product of my childhood, and also a way of life for hikers and climbers. We’re used to opening a can and eating dinner right out of it. After a day spent on the trails, just to sit down and eat anything feels great.
I glance at Matias, who’s just sitting in front of an empty plate, looking down at it. He’s gotten worse, but I’m trying to not think about it since there’s really nothing I can do to help him. It’s a helpless feeling, seeing someone so young and kindhearted suffering.
“Hey, man,” Bryce says, lowering his brows in concern as he looks at Matias. “I think you need to try to eat something, hungry or not. You don’t look so good.”
Kenna nods. “He’s right. You’re all swollen. You want some of this pumpkin? It’s not bad.”
Matias sighs and shakes his head, giving me a sad look. Quiet falls, the only sound the clink of forks on plates, until he finally speaks.
“I have Stage Four kidney disease, guys.” He fixes his eyes on the empty plate again. “So that’s what’s going on with me.”
Everyone—except me—just looks at him in stunned silence for a second. Then Derek turns his face to look at me, his eyes wide.
Kenna and Bryce start throwing questions at Matias—what does this mean, how long have you had it, and—from Kenna—are you going to die?
“No, he’s not going to die,” I answer, my tone sharp. “Now leave the poor kid alone. He doesn’t feel good, he doesn’t need the third degree.”
Matias gives me a slight smile. “I may die. I’m pretty sure I’m in kidney failure right now, and without dialysis, the survival rate is…well, really bad.”
“What can we do for you?” Derek asks, his fork now sitting on his plate and his meal forgotten.
“I have to ration my water intake,” Matias says. “What will help is if I can have just enough to keep me alive, but no more. It cuts down on the fluid retention. My kidneys aren’t working right now, so the extra water builds up in my body.”
Derek nods. “I can help with that. I know the signs of dehydration.”
“I’m tired a lot,” Matias says. “I don’t know if I should sleep or if activity is good for me.”
Derek jumps in again. “I think you should walk around, maybe a trip around the track, a couple times a day. But other than that, rest will help you. We can bring you anything you need.”
Matias nods his appreciation. “I guess…I mean, I’m sorry, guys. This could get ugly.”
Derek sighs heavily. “No apologies, man. This is more my fault than anyone’s. If I’d never had this damn bunker built for my dad, this wouldn’t be happening.”
“It’s no one’s fault,” I say. “And Matias, we’re all here for you. That will never change.”
“It’s someone’s fault,” Kenna says softly. “Whoever locked that door. I wonder if they knew they were literally killing someone.”
My temper flares. “Shut the fuck up about that, Kenna.”
“It’s okay,” Matias says, holding up a hand. “Let’s not sugarcoat things.”
“We’re not giving up,” I say. “I don’t know what’s going on up there, but I do know this. Five people, one of whom is the highest-paid, goldenest boy of football, just seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet. There is some serious investigating going on up there. I truly have hope, every day, that we’ll be found.”
I look at Derek, and the corners of his lips are crooking up just slightly in a smile. “Me too,” he says, nodding. “And Matias, I’m no doctor, but I know a few things. There are some medical supplies down here, including some books. They’re in a compartment in the floor in the storage room. I’ll get the stuff out as soon as we’re done here.”
Matias nods, and I see a new light in his eyes.
“Anything I can do,” Bryce says, his voice breaking, “you just let me know, man.”
“Team Bunker,” Matias says with a weak laugh.
“Maybe,” Kenna says tentatively, “just a bite of the pumpkin, so you have something in your stomach?”
Matias nods and lifts a bite to his mouth.
Did you know?” Derek asks me later that night in a low tone.
We’re walking around the track, our pace slow. It’s after ten p.m., and everyone else is in bed. Derek and I played two games of chess before deciding to come out here.
I nod. “I knew something was wrong, so I asked him a few days ago and he told me.”
“That kid’s about halfway in love with you.” He turns and looks down at me with an amused expression.
I scoff. “Are you kidding me? He’s nineteen.”
“And you’re…?”
“Twenty-six.”
Derek does the math. “So you’re seven years older than him and six years younger than me.”
“It’s like a brother-sister thing with me and Matias,” I say, shaking my head. “Not everything is about sex, you know.”
He chuckles softly. “If you say so.”
“Did you find anything in the medical supplies?” I look at him hopefully.
He mouths “hang on,” and we keep walking. After a minute, he stops, leaning his back against the smooth, rounded white wall.
“We were right by the bunk room before,” he says in a whisper. “I’m gonna read about his condition in one of the books I found in there. It lists tons of medical conditions and what we can do to treat it with limited resources.”
I nod, putting my back next to his against the wall. “I’m worried,” I admit, also whispering. “He’s not supposed to have canned food or preservatives.”
“It’s rough,” he concedes.
I turn my face to look up at him. “Will you tell Kenna to keep her insensitive comments to herself?”
Derek gives me a puzzled look. “Why me?”
“Aren’t you her boss?”
He shrugs. “I guess. But I thought you put her in her place pretty well at dinner.”
“Oh, I’ve got a place for her, all right…”
Derek laughs softly.
“Sorry if…you guys have a thing,” I say, shaking my head.
“A thing?”
“Yeah…a thing.” I arch my brows, looking at him like my meaning should be obvious.
“There’s no thing. I don’t have things with women I actually know.”
Buried Page 4