***
“Once this is over,” she whispers, “what will you do? Will you go out of town, or out of the country, until things calm down?”
“I might.”
I don’t wanna admit to her that for the first time since I concocted this crazy plan, I’m not sure I will get out. We’re checked the doors leading to the stairwell. I can’t see how to pick the lock or break it.
And it pisses me off, because I need to get her out of here, and I can’t.
Suddenly, I’m hit with the need to tell her more, to tell her everything, not just about my grandpa, but about how I feel. How I’ve discovered I feel when she’s around. The things I discovered I want for the future.
But I haven’t even opened my mouth to spill my guts to her, when she gasps and slaps her forehead.
“Of course. The seats.”
“What seats?”
“The metal boxes. By the double doors.”
I give her a concerned look. “I know I asked this before, but are you feeling okay?” I lift my free hand to touch her forehead.
She bats my hand away. “I’m fine. Come on.” She tugs me toward the double doors. “We can’t get out on our own, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“We can’t get out until they come to get us, until they unlock the doors.”
“Yes, but that’s—”
“So we need to hide when they do. They walk inside, start looking for us. We get out of the boxes, go through the door and lock it, then go up and leave.”
I stop and stare at her as if seeing her for the first time. “That’s… fucking clever, Hot Body.”
“Layla,” she says automatically.
I grin. “My Layla, then.”
A flush suffuses her cheeks, and fuck, I wanna kiss her, but she turns away and tugs on my hand once more.
“Let’s check if we fit inside.”
“I’m so hard right now, I’m not sure I’ll fit.” I waggle my brows at her.
“Stop it.” But her mouth quirks. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Nah, but you’d be so full of me, if I fit.”
“Jesus, Hawk.” She shakes her head. “Nothing ever puts you down, does it?”
“You gave me courage,” I admit as we reach the boxes. “I’d lost my wits at some point, and you showing up…” I shrug and wince. “You reminded me what I’m fighting for.”
“For the future generations?” she asks, and there’s a sadness in her eyes.
I remember then she said she can’t have children, and I wish I knew how to comfort her. Let her know that it doesn’t matter to me.
I grip her chin, turn her face toward me. “Layla, if we get out of this alive… Would you go out with me?”
“Go out… Like a real date?” Her eyes sparkle, and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or unshed tears.