Broken Beautiful Hearts(81)

Owen seems confused. “You mean the game? It’s no big deal. We play all the time.”

I slip my hand out of his and wrap my arms around myself. “Did it ever occur to you that you could get killed? If that part of the building caves in…”

I can’t say it.

“That’s not gonna happen. The building has been like this for years.”

“Now you’re a structural engineer?” I ask, frustrated. “That part of the building is condemned for a reason. If it’s unstable, the roof could cave in. Someone could get trapped down there, or worse.”

An image flashes through my mind—a dirt ceiling crumbling over my dad’s head—and I shudder.

Owen notices and starts to take off his jacket. “Are you cold? You can have my coat.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“I didn’t realize the game bothered you so much. I won’t play. I’d rather hang out with you anyway. Come on. I want to show you something cool.”

“What?”

“You’re not good at surprises.”

I pout. “Fine.”

Owen leads me around the side of the building to a crumbling concrete staircase that leads down to a padlocked metal door.

“I’m not going in the basement. Did you miss the whole conversation we just had?”

He walks down two steps, our joined hands stretched out between us. “All the damage was on the north side of the building.”

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred and ten percent. A bunch of newspaper articles came out about it. They had inspectors here and everything.” He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Want me to look it up?”

“No. I trust you,” I say without thinking about it. “I mean … I believe you. But what’s worth seeing down here?” I’m imagining a dark basement full of more rusty machinery. “There are probably rats.”

“I’ll protect you from the vermin.” Owen grins. “I protected you from the bears, didn’t I?”

“Fine.” I follow him down the steps. “But if I see a rat, I’m gone.”

“Deal.” He reaches the second-to-last step and jumps down.

I notice the padlock again. I sigh dramatically. “Oh well, I guess we can’t go in.”

“I just need a minute.”

Owen hunts around near the door and holds up something.

“Is that a rock?”

“That’s what the millionaire who invented these wants you to think.” He slides a panel off the bottom of the rock.

It’s a Hide-A-Key. We had one for our garage when I was a kid.

Owen holds up the key. “Behold.”

He unlocks the padlock and takes it off the door. “You know I did that to impress you, right?” His tone is playful, but there’s also something serious about the way he says it.

“I’m impressed you found the plastic rock.”

He grins and pushes his shoulder against the heavy metal door. It opens slowly and makes an awful scraping sound. “I can’t wait for you to see this. Nobody knows about it but me.”

Owen keeps talking, but I’m not listening anymore.

On the other side of the door, a tunnel stretches out in front of us.

Metal walls rise up from the cracked concrete floor. The ceiling is standard elevator height, and the tunnel is wide enough for three people to walk side by side.

Owen steps inside and turns back to look at me. The moment he sees my face, he realizes something is wrong.

“I can’t go in there.” I’m shaking my head back and forth, over and over, and I can’t stop.

He rushes back to me and cups my cheek with his hand. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re going to pass out.” He touches my forehead as if he’s checking for a fever.

“I can’t go in there,” I repeat. It’s only the second time I’ve said it out loud, but the words keep repeating over and over in my head.

Owen looks back at the tunnel. “Are you claustrophobic? It’s okay. It’s not that far. And I’m gonna be with you the whole time.”

I can’t find the words to explain what’s wrong.

He takes my hand. “Maybe if you close your eyes, I can walk you through.”

I don’t know if that actually works for people with claustrophobia, since I’m not one of them. I don’t know if they can feel how close the walls and the ceiling are, even with their eyes closed. I feel it all. And I’m not even in the tunnel yet.

“If you don’t want to try, it’s okay.” Owen touches the side of my face.

I don’t want to feel this way every time I walk up to a football stadium with the wrong type of entrance or an underwater exhibit at an aquarium. I don’t want to see rocks and earth raining down on my father, crushing him, wondering how long he stayed alive.

Did he suffocate? Or try to dig his way out?

How long did he survive under there?

I’m sick of feeling like a hostage in my own body. “I want to try.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

Owen takes my hands and he backs into the tunnel one step at a time. The toes of my boots touch the strip of metal that runs across the threshold, and I can’t go any farther. My feet feel like they’re trapped in quicksand and it’s swallowing me inch by inch.