The Fear of Letting Go Page 7

  He rubs his hand across his cheek, his eyes bright. A smile teases the corners of his mouth. “I can't even imagine what I'd do,” he says. “I've always wanted to travel. And I don't mean my parents' version of traveling, where it's meeting after meeting and you only stay at five-star luxury resorts that you never even get to enjoy. I've always wanted to go to more exotic, spiritual places, like Tibet or the Amazon rain forests, with nothing but a backpack. No tour guides or concierge service. I would love to explore the kinds of things you don't see as a typical tourist.”

  My heart skips a beat. “That's one of my biggest dreams,” I say, almost breathless. “I've never even been out of Georgia, if you can believe that?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Dead serious,” I say. “Not even one foot out of this great state my entire life. But I have always dreamed of being able to travel, just like you're saying. Take a backpack and go exploring places off the beaten path. There are ancient Mayan ruins in Mexico, deep in the jungle, that I would kill to visit someday. It's never really seemed possible, though.”

  He reaches over and takes my hand in his. “Anything's possible right now,” he says. “What about you? What's in store for future Jenna, besides traveling the world?”

  A flutter goes through my stomach as I look up at him. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I'm wondering if there really is something more out there for me. Something bigger than what I've ever dared to hope for.

  “Graduation's coming up in May,” I say. “After that, I don't know. I've put in some applications here and there, but I don't have my heart set on anything yet. That sounds incredibly dull, doesn't it? Graduate and get a job. Boring and not at all adventurous, but unlike you, I don't have a mountain of money sitting there to pay my bills when I get out of school.”

  “Okay, so let's pretend for a minute that money's no object,” he says, turning my game around on me. “What would you do if you didn't have to be practical?”

  I look away. “It's not as fun for me to pretend and dream, because there's no safety net keeping me from hitting rock bottom,” I say. “I have no choice but to be practical.”

  “That's not true,” he says. “People take risks every day. They follow their hearts and take chances, and don't let anything stand in their way. I had to say what I would do if I faced my fear of disappointing my parents. Now, you have to say what you would do if you faced your fear of taking a risk after graduation.”

  I take a deep breath. “There is one thing,” I say. I pull my hand away from his and look back out over the ocean. “I've never told anyone this before, so you have to promise you won't laugh at me.”

  “I swear,” he says.

  “I would love to be an artist,” I say.

  He turns his head in surprise. “What kind of art? Like paintings and stuff?”

  “No,” I say, my cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Nothing that normal.”

  “What?” he asks again. “I want to know.”

  “You know those little animals I'm always making with spare napkins and beer labels and stuff?”

  He nods. “Origami?”

  “Yes, but so much more than just that,” I say. “I'm into all kinds of paper art. Quilling and paper sculptures. I even make my own paper.”

  He doesn't say anything at first, and when I glance over at him, his mouth is slightly open and he's staring at me.

  “I know it's weird, but I got into it in high school when I was going through some rough times,” I say. “It sets me at peace. Helps me find focus. If I could do anything I wanted and not have to worry about money, I would just create all day long. Is that crazy?”

  “It's wonderfully surprising,” he says. “I had no idea.”

  I shrug. “It's what I end up doing with most of my free time.”

  “Can I see some?” he asks.

  My heart warms. I expected him to dismiss it as something ridiculous or silly, but the fact that he's interested enough to want to see some of my art touches me. “Maybe someday,” I say. “It's just a silly dream, anyway.”

  “Our deepest hopes and dreams are never silly,” he says, his voice low. “Want to know a secret?”

  I give him a sideways look. “Okay.”

  “I have one of your little frogs,” he says with a laugh. “I took it from the bar the other night.”

  My mouth opens and I turn to face him. “Are you serious?”

  He's blushing like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It's sitting on the side table in my apartment. I don't even know why I took it. You left and I was standing there, trying to decide whether to finish my drink or head home, and I picked it up. I couldn't figure out how in the world you made something so elaborate and perfect with the label off a beer bottle. I just couldn't stand the thought of someone throwing it away.”

  “Stalker,” I tease, shoving him slightly.

  He takes my wrist and pulls me toward him. Before I know it, his lips are on mine. Warm and soft and perfect.

  Suddenly, we are alone in the universe, connected to each other heart and soul, our bodies drawn together like magnets. I don't think about consequences or fear. All I can think about is him. The weight of his hand on my wrist. The warmth of his tongue as he tastes me for the first time, coaxing my lips open.

  His other hand slides around my waist and we move together, lifting to our knees on the platform, erasing the space between us.

  I feel his kiss vibrate through my entire body, waking up some long-dormant desire to be closer, not just physically, but spiritually. To be seen for who I am, and loved anyway.

  I lean into him, grip his muscled arms. Beg him to tighten his hold on me.

  And he does.

  Soft touches turn to hungry exploration, his hands sliding under my shirt and gripping my bare back, pulling me against the hard length of him.

  I feel him smile against my lips, his nose nuzzling my cheek as I turn and bury my face against his shoulder. We hold each other tight as we catch our breath.

  “I could stay up here with you forever,” he whispers against my neck.

  I smile and turn to look at him, seeing him in a new light. One that terrifies me so much my body trembles against him.

  “You're only saying that because you're dreading having to climb back down,” I say.

  “I don't know. Maybe falling isn't such a scary thing, after all,” he says, and kisses me again.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jenna

  Storm clouds gather in the sky outside my apartment. They're the deep gRob, ugly kind of clouds you know are getting ready to unleash hell any minute. I don't want to leave the comfort of my apartment, but I have less than an hour to get downtown and pay my electric bill. It has to be done today or my power will be shut off for the third time this year.

  Leave it to a small town like Fairhope to have an antiquated payment system that won't take credit cards over the phone. Most months, I'm barely scraping by. I usually end up taking extra shifts at Brantley's so I can pay bills that were due yesterday. If I want to keep my power, I'll have to drive over to the corporate offices downtown and pay in cash. I just barely made enough on the lunch shift to afford it, and after this, I'll have less than five bucks to my name until tomorrow night's shift.

  It's not the most relaxing way to live, but I'm proud of myself. I'm doing this alone, paying my way through school¸ keeping a roof over my head, and putting gas in my car. Most days.

  I spend ten minutes looking for my umbrella before I finally give up and make a run for the car. Which is exactly when the rain begins to pour in earnest. Figures. The whole way there, I can barely see out the windshield, even though I'm only going about ten miles per hour. It takes me twenty minutes to go seven miles, and I barely have time to park and run inside before the office closes.

  As I'm dodging raindrops on my way in, I notice Preston's Escalade parked in one of the prestigious spots marked for the elite Wright family. His father owns this building, and
most others along this strip, but their main offices are at the Wright Building across the street. I wonder for a moment what he's doing here on a Wednesday afternoon.

  We haven't spoken since this weekend's kiss on top of the old water tower. After we both made it down safely, I drove him back to his apartment and we made out like teenagers for another thirty minutes, the windows fogged over, and our bodies sweaty. It was delicious.

  By the time I made it home, though, the fear had already begun to take hold.

  What was I thinking? I'd agreed to hang out with him for one night, thinking we'd both get so bored it would cure us both of this insane attraction. Instead, we'd connected on a level I never expected.

  My stomach flip-flops now, just thinking about it.

  He's texted me a few times since then, but I've been avoiding him like the plague. One more night like that and I'm going to be in serious trouble. Still, as I run past his car, I can't help but hope I run into him inside.

  The security guard at the front desk frowns as I track water through the lobby, but it can't be helped. I'm a woman on a mission. Ten minutes remaining. I ride the elevator up to the sixth floor, tapping my toes the whole time, my eyes glued to the display of numbers as I make the short journey upward. I'm convinced this is the slowest elevator known to man when it finally dings and the doors open.

  A woman with gRobing hair and a flowered blouse sits at the desk just beyond the glass double-doors of the electric company offices. She gives a tight-lipped smile as I walk off the elevator and pull the doors open.

  This is not the first time she's seen me here, cash in hand, ten minutes before closing.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Lewis,” she says, glaring at the clock on the wall to her left. “You just made it.”

  “Thank goodness,” I say. “It's pouring out there.”

  “So it appears.”

  I pull a stack of bills from my back pocket—mostly fives and ones—and lay it on the counter.

  “Did you bring your bill with you?”

  Crap. “No, I forgot it,” I say. “Can you pull it up by my address?”

  She sighs and nods, typing away at her computer for a moment as I recite my apartment's address. “Sixty-two dollars even,” she says. “There's a five dollar late fee as well.”

  I count out sixty-seven dollars and tuck the remaining four back into my jeans. It will be ramen noodles again tonight, but at least I'll have electricity.

  “Thank you, dear.” She hands me a receipt. “Be safe out there. I hear there's a tornado watch until five-thirty.”

  “Thanks Mrs. Williams,” I say. “Have a good weekend.”

  “You too,” she says.

  I head back out to the elevator and it opens right away. It's empty and I notice with frustration that there's a nagging disappointment in my heart. In and out with no sign of Preston.

  But the elevator stops on five and guess who is standing there?

  My heart does a double-pump, and I straighten. Preston's eyes widen and a sly smile spreads across his face.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks as he steps inside.

  I smile back. I can't help it. He has one of those smiles that is contagious. Besides, I can't stop staring at his lips and thinking of that kiss.

  “Oh, you know me, when I get bored I like to come downtown and ride the elevators for a cheap thrill,” I say.

  He laughs and steps beside me, his arm brushing against mine. “Well, in that case, maybe we should get crazy and head back up once we hit the ground floor.”

  I press my lips together and try not to act amused. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I thought your dad's office was across the street.”

  “It is,” he says. “He's got me running some meetings over here with the accounting firm a few days a week now.”

  “Sounds fun,” I say.

  “You can't imagine how much,” he says, turning toward me. “My day is looking up, though.”

  The elevator makes it about half a floor down when the power goes out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Preston

  The elevator comes to an abrupt halt and the lights go off for a second before the backup lighting kicks in and fills the small box with its dim glow.

  I reach for Jenna, touching her arm. “Are you okay?”

  Her eyes are wider than I've ever seen and her lips are parted. “I'm okay,” she says. “Just surprised. Is this just a power outage?”

  “I think so,” I say. I open the small panel under the number pad and pull out a red phone. It begins dialing immediately and an elderly man picks up. “Hank? It's Preston.”

  “Mr. Wright? Are you stuck in that elevator?”

  I smile. Hank has been working security here at the Fairhope Building for about forty years. “Yes, sir,” I say. “Is the power out throughout the whole building?”

  “The whole town, I imagine,” he says. “The sky got dark, and suddenly everything just, poof, went right off. Not sure when they'll be able to get things moving again. Let me make some calls.”

  “What about a backup generator?” I ask. “Isn't there some kind of auxiliary power in this building?”

  Hank clears his throat. “Well, sir, now, this building was never upgraded with a backup generator. That was something Mr. Trent was supposed to take care of, I believe.”

  I close my eyes and groan. Of course. Yet another mess Mason's father got us into when he embezzled millions of dollars from the Wright Corporation. I'd been cleaning up his messes for months.

  “What can we do?” I ask.

  When I glance over, Jenna is watching me with a look of panic in her eyes. I've never seen her scared of anything, so this is a surprise to me. I reach out for her hand and she bites her lower lip and shakes her head. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her body and she's got her back pressed up against the wall of the elevator so hard I'm afraid it will leave a mark.

  “You just sit tight,” he says with a little laugh. As if we could go anywhere. “Everything will be all right. I'll be in touch as soon as I have a plan in place. We'll get you out of there.”

  “Hank, I'm not alone in here,” I say, watching Jenna. Her body is literally shaking. “I have a young lady in here with me and she seems a little frightened. You guys do whatever you have to do to get us out of here as soon as you can, okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Hank says and hangs up.

  I set the red phone back on the receiver and step carefully toward Jenna. I put my hands on her shoulders.

  “They're working on getting us out of here,” I say. “It shouldn't take long. You doing okay?”

  I realize she's soaked to the bone and shivering. I pull my sweater over my head and hand it to her. “Here, put this on,” I say. “We need to warm you up.”

  She nods and slips the sweater over her head. It's too big for her, and damn, she looks good wearing my clothes. It's such a small thing, but after everything that's happened between us, it feels intimate.

  I put my arms around her and her head rests against my chest.

  “What did they say?” she asks. Her voice is trembling. “Is there a backup generator?”

  “Not in this building,” I say. I spare her the details about Mason's dad. “But everything will be just fine. The elevators are programmed to stop when the power fails and nothing is going to happen to us. As soon as they get the power going again, the elevator will be running normally.”

  “How long is that going to take?”

  “I'm not sure,” I say. “Hank, our security guard, said he'd call back when he knows something.”

  She laughs.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Just realized the irony of the fact that I came here to pay my electric bill so my power doesn't get cut off today and the second I pay it, the power in their own damned building goes out.”

  I smile. “Maybe they forgot to pay their bill, too.”

  She laughs and pulls away, her eyes shining with frightened tears. “
Sorry. You must think I'm an idiot,” she says. “I'm not normally claustrophobic or anything, but I do not like the idea of being stuck in an elevator five floors above the ground, with a possible tornado outside.”

  “Tornado?” I ask. This is news to me. I had just gotten out of one of my long meetings trying to fix yet another mess Mr. Trent made a few months back, when I got on the elevator. I hadn't heard anyone say a word about a tornado warning or I would have taken the stairs.

  As I hold Jenna in my arms, I am so grateful no one told me. I would hate it if she was stuck in here, alone and scared.

  Plus, I am really starting to like the way she feels in my arms.

  We stand in silence for a moment, but when I realize it could be a while before I hear back from Hank, I need to find a way to distract her.

  “Sunday was—”

  The phone rings and we both jump. Jenna steps back and grips the metal bar with both hands.

  I answer the phone. “Hank?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Wright.”

  “Please, tell me you have some good news.”

  “I wish I did,” he says. “Unfortunately, there's a pretty nasty storm out there. There've been reports of a tornado touching down out by the Wilkes' farm. From what I'm hearing, several houses just outside of town are completely gone.”

  I curse and run a hand through my hair. Jenna moves closer, but I hold my hand up for her to wait just a second.

  “There are also a couple of serious car accidents in town on account of the heavy rain. Emergency services have their hands full right now. I could call your dad and see if he can pull some strings to get someone from the fire department out here to see if they can get those doors open for you, but it's going to be a while before they get the power up and running.”

  “No, don't worry about that Hank,” I say. “We'll be fine in here. Let them do their job, but just make sure they know we're in here and not to forget about us, okay?”