After a stop in Detroit, the rest of the trip had been uneventful until we got to the last destination—Chicago. The original plan was to stay at a bed-and-breakfast just outside of the city. Then the owner called to say a pipe burst and that we wouldn’t be able to stay there. It had been late when we got that news, and no one was returning my calls for last-minute Airbnb vacancies. Somehow I’d convinced Luca to stay with me in the penthouse suite of a high-rise hotel. I’d stayed there several times in the past and knew it offered a private elevator for penthouse guests. I figured it was the best option for us in the city and offered the least opportunity to be noticed.
This particular penthouse was one of the nicest I’d ever stayed in. Overlooking downtown Chicago, the four-thousand-square-foot space featured panoramic views and ornate furnishings. It was lavish, to the point where I’d worried that maybe she would think I was showing off. But thankfully, Luca seemed to be able to relax a little and really enjoy staying there.
I’d go to shoot the music video during the day, and Luca would stay in the suite and write by the window. She said the view of the city had given her lots of inspiration for the urban-based story she was plotting. It would be set in Chicago. I was thrilled that we would be ending this trip on a positive note.
Unfortunately, that all changed on our third night. Luca and I were sound asleep when a loud noise caused us to jolt out of bed. It took me a few seconds to realize it was the fire alarm.
Fire?
No.
Please, no.
Anything but this.
This was bad. Very bad. Worse than anything that could have transpired.
Her eyes were half shut. “What’s happening?”
“It’s the fire alarm. We have to go. Get your clothes on.”
Luca froze. I was an idiot if I thought she was going to be able to calmly get dressed at a time like this. I knew I needed to help her find her clothes and get her dressed myself. After grabbing her long T-shirt that was lying on the floor, I slipped it over her head. I threw on my jeans and a T-shirt and went in search of her flip-flops and my shoes. After we were both clothed, I grabbed her by the hand and led her to the door. I knew it wasn’t safe to take the elevator in the event that this was a real fire. We would have to take the stairs. Unfortunately, the stairwell wasn’t private.
Her hand trembled in mine as we made our way down the first set of stairs. Her body was limp as she let me lead her.
“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”
As swarms of people started to clog the stairwell, I knew this was becoming a very bad situation. Luca wasn’t saying anything. She didn’t have to. I knew this was her biggest nightmare come to life. And goddammit, I’d put her in this position; I’d failed her again.
“Stay with me, baby. It’s going to be okay. We just need to go downstairs, and then I’ll get you away from all these people.”
“Do you think it’s a real fire?” she finally asked, seeming in a daze.
“I don’t know. Probably not. I bet it was some kids pulling the alarm.”
Her face was turning white, and her teeth chattered. “What if it’s real?”
“Then we’ll still be okay. Just keep holding on to me.”
As we continued down the multiple sets of winding stairs that seemed endless, I just kept praying that we could make it out of here unscathed. Ironically, it wasn’t even fire I was concerned about but rather the prospect of getting mobbed with no security present. No one had recognized me thus far in the stairwell, but it was probably only a matter of time.
We’d gotten down to about the twenty-fifth floor when someone shouted, “Hey, I think that’s Cole Archer.”
I squeezed Luca’s hand harder. Luckily nothing more came out of that little shout-out.
It took a long time to finally make it down to the ground level. When we did, we were greeted by a mob of people. There was no sign of any actual fire. But the real shit show—getting through this packed lobby to the door—was about to begin.
We could hardly make our way through the crowd as it was, without anyone having recognized me yet. Then the inevitable happened. A gaggle of girls eventually spotted me in the crowd.
“Cole!”
“It’s Cole Archer!”
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”
The recognition spread like wildfire.
Suddenly I felt people touching me—touching us—hands, squealing, chaos. Everything meshed together and was closing in on Luca and me. But I couldn’t focus on any of it, couldn’t afford to look at anyone or respond. Nothing fazed me—not the people grabbing at my clothing or yelling my name, not the camera flashes in our faces. The only thing I cared about was getting Luca the fuck out of here, my eyes focusing on the revolving doors in the distance.