Page 172 of Capturing You
They were going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Brooklynn could feel Forbes’s despair. It matched her own.
“Please.” She gripped his T-shirt, hating that he was there and not wanting to let him go. “Please go. Maybe you can get help.”
“From the murderers and thugs? I haven’t heard any sirens.”
Would they, though? With all the noise? From the basement?
Probably.
He shifted, and a spark of hope lit. Maybe he would actually leave.
But no.
He dropped to his bottom right beside her.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable.”
“No! Please…” But he wouldn’t leave. Of course he wouldn’t.
That wasn’t the kind of man he was.
The space was too small for his overlarge body, but he settled beside her, pulling in a deep breath.
“Air’s cleaner down here.” His voice was gruff with smoke damage.
He shifted to his butt, putting the soles of his shoes on the board.
It shifted.
His eyes widened. “Can you try again? To stand?”
She wouldn’ttry.It was their only chance. “I’ll do it.”
He shimmied down so his back was pressed against the corner of the wall and the floor, his neck bent at a terrible angle. He pushed with both feet as hard as he could.
The board lifted off her.
She angled and twisted, leaning over him in the cramped space.
He closed his eyes, holding the board away.
Please, God. Help me. Pull me up.
And then she stood. Just like that.
He opened his eyes “Yes!” He let the board drop, scrambling up beside her. “Let’s get out of here.” He wrapped a wet sheet around her head and shoulders. “Can you walk?”
“I’ll figure it out.” She’d deal with the stupid ankle later. That was the least of her worries right now.
“Let’s go.” He took her hand and led the way over the charred remnants of furniture and under the smoking rafter.
At the bottom of the stairs that led to the door, he said, “They might still be out there.”
