“Classy.” I roll my eyes.
“Look…can we stop whispering?”
“Sure,” I whisper.
Derek clears his throat and finds his actual voice again. “I don’t have as many things as you probably think. I’m completely focused on football. Relationships only get in the way when you devote most every waking hour to something else.”
“I don’t think anything,” I say lightly.
“You?” He sounds amused. “You’re always thinking, Erin.”
I push away from the wall to walk again, turning toward him and taking my steps backward. “Well, I don’t think anything about you and your things,” I tell him. “I do think you take your shirt off too much. And I think you cheat at chess.”
He’s following me now, and his mouth drops open with laughter. “Oh, I see. How about if you just stop looking so much? And you know damned well I’m not cheating.”
“Do you hate losing?” I ask as he falls into step beside me.
“Yeah, I do.”
“Did your parents have an expectation that you win when you were growing up?”
“No. It was just me and my dad. My mom left when I was five. She got remarried and moved away. I never saw her after that. And I guess I had anger over that.”
“Understandably. I’m sorry, Derek, that’s terrible.”
He shrugs. “Well, my dad thought football would be a good way for me to channel my anger. The more I channeled, the better I got. He taught me to work my hardest so that, win or lose, I had no regrets.”
“And did you feel that way? Do you?”
A few moments pass before he answers. “If you were a reporter interviewing me, I’d say yes. But truthfully, no. There’s still a part of me that feels like losing makes me a loser.”
“But no one wins every time.”
“I know. I get that, in my head. But my heart wants it every time. Wants to see my dad’s face after a win.”
“So he’s your person.”
“Yes. My dad is definitely my person.”
I smile. “You don’t build doomsday bunkers for everyone and then accidentally trap yourself inside them?”
“Ha—no. That’s actually been the hardest part of being down here for me. More than the records and the games I’m missing. The thought of someone telling my dad I’m presumed dead…” His voice becomes unsteady, and he clears his throat. “He’d have a funeral for me, I think. Maybe he already has, who knows?”
“That’s crazy to think about,” I admit. “I think my aunt and uncle would too. They’d bury me on the farm, except there is no me to bury. Maybe they’d put up a headstone anyway.”
“Did your aunt and uncle raise you?”
“Yeah.”
“Your parents passed away? If you don’t mind me asking, I mean.”
I pull the bath towel I have wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl closed a little tighter. “No. My mom never knew who my dad was. Apparently, there were many candidates. And my mom was just…unfit, so Aunt Carrie and Uncle Cal ended up taking me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I loved my life on their farm. Their two sons are like brothers to me.”
“They must miss you.”
“I miss them too.”
“Do you live with them?”
“I live on the farm grounds, about an acre from the main house. They converted the upper story of a barn into an apartment for me.”
“Wow, sounds like a cool place to live.”
“It’s simple, but nice. Nothing like your place.”
“You don’t think my place is nice?” He sounds amused.
I laugh and look over at him. “Your lodge is very nice. But this place—can’t say I’m a fan.”
“That’s fair.” He looks over at me. “Want to play some more chess? I’ll make popcorn.”
I hum skeptically. “What, 17-0 isn’t enough for you?”
“We could play checkers instead.”
“Eh…I’ll play chess again.”
I ditched my hiking boots a couple days ago, because there’s no need for them down here. Derek holds the door back into the bunker open, and I pad through it in my socks, my towel still keeping my shoulders warm.
Nights get chilly down here. With no sunlight, the evening chill and our watches are the only way we know what time it is.
The days pass slowly down here, but with my sleeping issues, the nights seem to pass even slower.
Chapter Eight
Derek
After the fourth lap, I force myself to stop running. Instead, I do wall push-ups and then lunges around the track.
Running burns off my nervous energy, but too much is bad for me. It makes me leaner, and if we get out of here soon, I don’t want to require conditioning before I rejoin my team. A set of weights down here would be life-changing. I don’t have a single one, though, so I have to rely on body-weight exercises.
If my dad has a funeral for me, I wonder if my mom will come. I kind of hope so. I hope she’ll stand there and mourn the piece of shit mother she was to me.
After she left when I was five, she and her new husband had three kids. I never heard a word from her until my NFL contract was announced. And I sure as hell didn’t respond to her too little, too late card of congratulations.
Different things drive me to succeed. I’ve had nothing but time to evaluate stuff like that down here. My perspective is changing, especially as I see Matias getting worse by the day.
We’ve been down here more than two weeks, and he’s weaker now than he was last week. He rests a lot. Never complains. When he has the energy, he’s using the end of a drill bit from his tools to engrave all our names on a big square of scrap wood.
He’s in a dire situation. What I read in the medical book made me realize just how serious it is. I didn’t share what I learned with anyone but Erin. Without dialysis, Matias doesn’t have long to live.
Kenna was bitching at dinner last night about the beauty pageant she’s supposed to be prepping for. Apparently, she’s an aspiring model. I get now why she wanted to be my assistant—exposure.
As I listened to her, I was thinking about what a Grade A asshole she is. Matias is gravely ill and still looking for the bright side of things, and she’s moaning and groaning about a fucking beauty pageant.
I cringed inside, because it sounded a lot like me stressing about missing the football season. Matias would give anything for his biggest worry to be that he’s a multimillionaire missing out on setting an NFL record.
I finish another lap of lunges and then head inside for a quick shower. It’s early afternoon, and Erin’s been sitting in the bunk room with Matias since eight this morning. She got him to eat a couple bites of oatmeal, and she’s reading him a Jack London book.
After my shower, I have to put my sweaty clothes back on. I grab a small cup from the kitchen and add about two tablespoons of water to it.
When I walk into the bunk room, Erin is laughing. Her laugh always makes me smile. It’s full-throated, melodic, and completely genuine.
“Something’s funny,” I say, grinning as I pass Matias the cup.
He sits up and swallows the contents in one gulp.
“I’m so thirsty,” he admits.
“Matias was just telling me you confessed to him about your penis size,” Erin says, giving me an amused smile.
Matias’s eyes bulge in confusion. “What?”
“It’s okay, man.” I wave a hand, playing along. “I did tell him thirteen inches makes me feel different from other guys in the locker room.”
Erin laughs louder at that. “Thirteen inches, huh?”
I wink at her. “When I’m not excited.”
Matias sits on the edge of the bed, looking between us. “You two keep me on my toes.”
“We try,” I say. “You want some lunch before our walk?”
“Nah, I’m okay.”
I look over at Erin and say, “Take a break.
”
“I can stay.”
“I know. But take a break. Maybe a nap.”
She and Matias both stand at the same time. Matias looks unsteady on his feet. I reach an arm out for him to grab if he needs it.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“I think.”
“We don’t want you falling. Don’t be too proud to hang on to me if you need to, okay?”
He nods and takes a tentative step.
“Damn, my muscles are, like, gone,” he says.
“You’ll bounce back. One step at a time.”
Erin puts a palm on my back as she leaves the room, and I feel a charge of arousal run all the way down my spine. She meant it as a way of saying thanks, I know, but all my body can process is that her hand was on me.
Holy shit. Am I just deprived of female contact, or do I really have a thing for Erin?
“It’s like a hospital patient and nurse,” Matias cracks as he shuffles toward the door.
I drag my gaze away from Erin’s ass in those jean shorts and smile at him.
“Just don’t ask me to give you a sponge bath,” I say.
We slowly make our way to the track, my arms out and ready to catch Matias if he falls. The swelling has gone down some since we started rationing his water intake. The flip side is that he has less energy, though.
“I hope I get to see my parents again,” Matias says softly as we round the first curve in the track.
“What are they like?”
He smiles, and his brown eyes light up. “My mom’s a great cook. She worries about us kids a lot, and she’s proud of every single thing we do, you know? My dad’s a farmhand. He’s the hardest worker I’ve ever known. Kinda quiet, but there when I need him.”
“They sound like good parents.”
“Yeah, they are. They must feel so helpless.” He sighs heavily, then slows down a little. “They’re undocumented. So they can’t even go to the cops about me being missing, because…”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“I wanted them to see me graduate from college so bad. Just knowing I was going made them so proud.”
He stops and looks down at the ground.
“You okay?”
He shakes his head, then brings a hand to his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, crying.
“Hey, no.” I put my arms around him in a hug. “Don’t be sorry. I get it. I’m close to my dad too, and… I get it, man.”
He pulls back and exhales deeply. “I’m okay,” he says, wiping his thumbs across his cheeks. “Let’s keep going.”
“Hey, I wanted to ask you—is it okay if I use some of your tools?”
“Have at it, man. None of ’em are mine anyway. They all belong to Courson Builders.”
“Okay.”
“Bet my Dolphins are gonna win it all this season,” he says brightly.
“You never know, man. I never thought I’d be trapped in a bunker, but here we are, right?”
“At least we’ve got books. And TV.”
I shake my head. “I think Bryce is close to watching every movie down here already.”
“Dude loves his movies. I know he’d prefer ESPN if I had cable down here.”
“What’s the one thing you’d eat if you could get out of here and have anything you wanted?” I ask him.
“Oh, man…” He looks up at the ceiling, considering. “It’s a tie between steak and ice cream.”
“I’d give my left nut for a smoothie made with a bunch of fresh fruit and ice cubes.”
We’re almost back to the door when Matias looks at me and says, “I know this is weird, but one good thing to come out of this is getting to kinda know you.”
“I feel the same way,” I say, meaning it. “You’ve impacted me more than you know.”
He smiles broadly. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
“Does that mean you’ll give me a sponge bath?”
“Fuck no.” I open the door. “But you get more water in an hour. Let’s get you back to bed.”
He grins and shuffles through the door. And I’m once again seized with a desperate, helpless feeling. Life’s not fair, but death? That’s even more unfair. Matias has his whole life in front of him.
I’ve got more than a hundred million bucks in the bank—more than enough to save him, but down here, money’s worthless. If help doesn’t come soon… I can’t even think about it.
I won’t sit back and wait for the help any longer. I can’t. If there’s a way—any way—out of this bunker, I have to find it. Matias’s life is depending on it.
Chapter Nine
Erin
I’m woken by a loud, metallic grinding sound. I jump off my spot on the couch, where I must have nodded off in the night.
“What the hell is that?” I ask no one in particular.
There’s no answer, so I go toward the noise coming from the stairway into the bunker. The wailing starts up again, and I cover my ears as I walk up the stairs.
Derek turns to me, a spinning circular saw in hand. I give him an incredulous look as he presses the saw blade into the seam of the door.
The grinding sound continues as he runs the saw blade along every surface he can reach on the door. His biceps flex with effort, and his expression is determined.
“Derek!” I yell.
He turns off the saw and looks at me.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to get the door open.”
“But…with that? You really think it’ll work?”
He shrugs. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.”
“Isn’t that door steel, though?”
“What’s going on up there?” Kenna cries, climbing the stairs to join us. “It’s seven a.m.”
Derek gives her a look. “Sorry for ruining your beauty sleep by trying to get us out of here.”
“Is it working?” she asks him.
“Not so far. But there are other power tools down here.”
“Let’s talk this out,” I suggest. “You could hurt yourself if you’re not careful.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not sitting back and waiting for that door to magically open when there’s stuff I could be trying to get us out.”
“Stuff that makes you bleed profusely won’t help us,” I point out.
“No one’s bleeding.”
“He knows what he’s doing,” Kenna says.
“Oh, really?” I glare at both of them. “Let’s have a look at that saw blade.”
Derek holds up the saw, which has a mangled blade. I give him a pointed look.
“I have to try, Erin. For Matias.”
My heart swells with emotion. I feel the same desperation to get Matias out of here.
“Okay,” I say softly. “But can you at least wear goggles? And gloves?”
“None down here. I’ll be okay.” He winks at me. “Now go make me some toast.”
I laugh as I walk back down the stairs. “Yeah, you just keep waiting for that toast, buddy. And don’t call me when you’re squirting blood all over the place.”
“I’ll make you some toast!” Kenna says as she walks back downstairs.
Of course. Kenna would walk through fire if she thought it would win Derek over.
Bryce walks out to the living room with pillow marks on his face. His white T-shirt is rumpled and stained yellow in the armpits. He’s zipping and buttoning his wrinkled khakis.
“What’s going on?” he asks me.
“Derek’s trying to bust us out with power tools.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Hey, did anyone give you plans for this bunker? So you’d know where to run the cables?”
Bryce gives me a half-asleep look. “Not that I remember. The walls are concrete, so the cables were gonna need to be run inside anyway.”
“Oh, okay. Makes sense. I’m just wondering if we could m
aybe find some spot where we could make even a small hole to the outside.”
He shrugs. “I can look around, but I think this place is solid concrete. We’d need a jackhammer.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
My shoulders drop with disappointment as I walk into the bunk room to check on Matias. He’s curled up, still sleeping. I quietly close the door so he can keep resting.
This is always a tough part of the day down here. When we all get up and the smell of brewing coffee fills the bunker, but there’s nothing to actually do. No job to get ready for and go to.
I brush my teeth, wash my face, and go back to the living room, picking up the medical book Derek left on the coffee table in front of the couch. Might as well learn what I can about Matias’s condition. It can only help.
By that evening, Derek has given up. The tools have all been packed up and returned to the storage room, where Matias was keeping them on the day we got locked in here.
It was Derek’s night to cook dinner, but I was so bored I gladly offered to do it so he could run. That seems to be his way of blowing off steam, and I can tell he’s frustrated that nothing he tried today worked.
“Looks good,” he says to me when he walks into the kitchen after his shower. I can’t imagine seeing anyone down here wearing anything but the only clothes I’ve ever seen them in, which in Derek’s case is a gray T-shirt and athletic shorts. The shirt is usually sweaty, but at least he showers.
“It’s rice with dehydrated carrots, corn, and dried beef,” I say. “I added a few spices too.”
“Better than what I would’ve made.”
Bryce helps Matias to the dining table, and we all sit down to eat. The rice has so much water in it that I don’t think it would be good for Matias, so I give him some dried fruit instead.
Matias eagerly gulps down the small serving of water Derek hands him. I think, from the expressions around the table, everyone else feels guilty about the full glasses of ice water in front of them.
We eat in bummed-out silence for a minute before Derek says, “Hey, why don’t we go around the table and all share something? How ’bout…the house you grew up in? Tell everyone about it.” He clears his throat. “I’ll, uh…go first.”
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