The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (19)

There are two elevators in this building, side by side, and I can hear the one on the left zooming toward the ground floor in a hurry. I cradle my stomach and hope with all my might that the one on the right will be swift to arrive.

Just as another pain shoots through my stomach, the doors open gallantly, and I stumble inside and hold on to the golden rail on the back wall.

God, why is the heat getting to me so badly today?

I take several deep breaths and lean into the wall, looking to the ceiling to find some kind of blind solace. You know, where you kind of black out a little, and everything that’s plaguing you fades away for a bit?

If I could just black out for like two, three minutes, and then be on my way to my next—

“Ah!” I scream unexpectedly as the elevator jolts so hard it forces my feet to stumble forward. In a matter of seconds, the main lights flash off and the cart settles to a dead stop. “Oh my God!” I stomp my one heel to the ground and stare at the emergency lights, the only source of illumination inside this small, confined space. “Are you kidding me?”

I look around manically. Up, down, at the wall, at the floor, and when the elevator cart still doesn’t budge and the lights don’t come back on, I smash my fingers against every damn button I can find.

I will take any floor at this point. I don’t care if I have to trek seven hundred flights of stairs. I refuse to be stuck in an elevator again.

But nothing changes.

I’m still inside the elevator, and the damn thing isn’t showing any signs of life.

Oh my God! This isn’t funny, universe! This isn’t the blackout I meant!





Remy

This kid, I swear. I laugh down at my phone as I read a message from Lexi.

I just dropped her off with Wes and Winnie after she spent the afternoon with me at Coney Island, but apparently my niece is none too thrilled with what her parents are up to.

Lexi: They’re currently potting a vegetable garden and talking about the meals they’re going to make with it, Uncle Remy. As if all of these plants won’t be dead within the month.

My sister and brother-in-law have a track record with plants. A can’t-keep-them-alive kind of sad reality. I know this because my annoyed niece always gives me the inside scoop.

Me: You have to give them credit for trying over and over again. That’s determination.

Lexi: Or botanicide.

Me: Botanicide? Is that a real word?

Lexi: It would be if more people killed plants at the rate of my parents.

I snort and shake my head just as I’m nearing the door to my building. My doorman, Nathan, rushes to beat me there from his spot at the curb, assisting a fancy-looking woman as she climbs inside a black Escalade, but I’m five steps ahead of him.

“Sorry, Mr. Winslow,” he remarks, making me purse my lips and shake my head.

“Don’t be, Nate,” I call over my shoulder. “I can open doors myself. Been training my whole life for it.”

Once I step inside the fresh air conditioning of my building, I sigh in relief. It’s another hot one today, and according to the meteorologist, it’s only set to get hotter in the next couple of hours.

Lukas, my building’s front desk manager, looks up and waves from his phone call as I pass him by, and I offer him a smile as I close the distance to the elevator. While glancing down at my phone and typing out a text to Lexi, I push the gold call button for the next available cart.

Me: Just let them revel in their blind, plant-growing ignorance, Lex. I mean, it’s too late for these plants, but in the future, I’ll try to help you stop your mom and Wes from committing any more botanicide.

Lexi: Fine. But maybe I’ll pull up some plant facts from the web and read them off in their vicinity. Consider it a last-ditch effort.

Me: HAHA. Sounds like a plan.

Lexi: Why are you laughing? I’m not joking.

I bite my lip and chuckle to myself. Lexi is on the autism spectrum and sometimes doesn’t interpret humor in the same way I do. She’s also a million times smarter than me, however, so in all honesty, I usually just default to her opinion.

Me: Oh sorry, Lex. Of course. You can tell me some of the facts the next time I see you.

The left-hand elevator dings, and I step inside, the doors sliding closed in front of me.

Lexi: Are you considering a garden?

Me: No. Not exactly.

Wes and Winnie’s brownstone has a backyard. My apartment is located inside a high-rise with only Central Park as the closest source of nature. Pretty sure I’d get arrested if I started digging up the grounds.

Lexi: Then why do you want to know facts about plants?

I chuckle again, shaking my head and poise my phone at my fingertips to type another response, but the elevator cart rocking to a hard stop forces my attention. Mere seconds later, the power goes out completely, and the emergency lights inside the cart illuminate.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

I furrow my brow and hope this is only a momentary pause in power, but when nothing changes, it’s pretty fucking obvious that I’m trapped in an elevator…again.

But this time, there’s no gorgeous woman by the name of Maria to keep you company.

My mind could dive deep with thoughts of her or the reality that a month has passed without her following through on using my number, but clearly, I have something that’s a little higher priority to deal with at the moment. Like getting the hell out of another elevator.