“You would have done the same for me.”
“I would’ve tried,” he said, holding my gaze. “But I’m no you.”
“No, that’s true.” I grinned, loving this newfound side of Chad Woodcock.
“When we get out of here, I’m going to make it up to you in a big way.”
“Yeah? And how do you plan to do that?” I asked, blowing the hair from my eyes as I continued my digging.
“By buying you whatever you want.”
It was a weird thing for him to say. He lived next door to me, so clearly, Chad wasn’t bathing in cash. Conrad was right. I knew nothing about this guy. I wasn’t even sure if he worked. Did he have family? Friends? No one came to visit him…ever. I studied him now, getting perhaps my first full and unobstructed view of his shaggy face, and to my surprise, he looked oddly familiar. Not the neighbor-next-door familiar either. There was something about him…
“Oh, okay.” I chuckled, pointing to my mangled car. “How ’bout we start with that?”
“Done.”
My eyes widened. “Done? Just like that? You’re going to buy me a car?”
“That’s right.”
“With what money? Do you have a trust fund that doesn’t mature until you’re thirty or something?”
“No, I’m a self-made millionaire.”
I scoffed. More like self-made working-class poor, if you asked me. But what struck me about Chad was how effortlessly he could lie. All right, fine, I’d take the bait. “Wow, Chad, I had no idea I was living next door to such a big shot.”
“That’s right.” He grinned.
Our eyes met. Even entombed, Chad was so full of shit. “Okay, Moneybags. Since you’re waving your make-believe cash around, I’ll take one of those new Broncos in steel-blue please.”
“Two or four doors?” he asked, acting as if this little fantasy of ours was reality.
“Hmm…” I smiled. “What the heck, let’s make it a four.”
“Sounds good. Four-door it is.”
I glanced up, smiling at our little game, but surprised to find him not returning the gesture. I stopped digging, confused by our conversation, but before I could question him further, Chad grabbed my wrist, and I could see the color drain from his face.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s stuck.”
“What do you mean, its stuck?”
“My ankle.”
Crouched down into the hole we’d dug, Chad swept away a layer of dust to reveal a concrete slab pressing down on his ankle and completely enveloping his foot. Chad frantically tried pulling his leg free, but it didn’t budge. These weren’t the manageably sized cinder blocks we’d been steadily removing either; this was a giant chunk of concrete and mangled rebar.
I dug deeper, trying to see how far it stretched and if I could dig him out from behind. But it was no use, his foot was locked in a clamp.
“What about your right leg?”
“I can move that one,” Chad said. “I think maybe it’s just buried and not entombed.”
Redirecting our efforts, we dug around his right ankle until Chad managed to pull it free of the rubble.
Seeing our efforts paying off renewed my faith. “Okay, I can do this. Just one more foot and we’re home free.”
With him assisting from above, I pulled and pushed and heaved with all my might but it was no use. Chad was hopelessly shackled to the earth.
“Dani, stop.”
“No,” I cried. “I can do this.”
He grabbed my hands, the tips rubbed raw from the coarse concrete. “You’ve done all you can.”
“But—” I gulped, a stream of tears cutting dusty ravines along my cheeks. “We can… maybe if…”
“No.” Chad shook his head. “It’s time for you to go and get help.”
He was right. I knew he was, but I hated even the thought of leaving him alone, vulnerable and in pain. We weren’t just neighbors anymore. As weird as it sounded, we were bonded now, his fate forever tied to mine. Decades might pass without seeing each other, but neither of us would ever forget.
“Go, Dani. Find a phone. Call for help. I’ll be okay.”
I stood up, hesitant but resigned. It really was the only way.
“Okay,” I said. “But I’ll be back.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, Chad. I’ll call 9-1-1, tell them where we are, and then I’ll come back.”
“Dani.” He sighed. “You have to get as far away from this building as you can.”
“I won’t do that,” I answered stubbornly.
“It’ll be worse for me if I have to worry about you coming back here.”
“And it will be worse for me if I have to worry about not coming back here.”
Chad eyed me, contemplating his next move. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. If you promise me you won’t come back, I’ll promise you that I’ll come out of this alive.”
He couldn’t promise me that any more than I could promise him compliance. I understood that he didn’t want to be responsible for my death any more than I wanted to be responsible for his, so if it made Chad happier to think I wasn’t coming back, then I’d play along.
With my fingers crossed behind my back, I replied, “I promise.”
“Thank god.” He let a breath out. “She does listen.”
I caught his eye. “Occasionally. Just don’t get used to it.”
“Never. See you topside.”
I nodded, turning to leave.
“Oh, and Dani?” Chad called out to me. “Tell them RJ Contreras is trapped in the parking garage.”
I spun back around, puzzled. “Wait, RJ Contreras—from AnyDayNow? Why would I tell them that?”
Chad raised a brow as he waited for me to catch up.
My mouth dropped open.
Oh, my god—that wasn’t Chad Woodcock.
7
RJ: World’s Worst Lois Lane
“You’re RJ Contreras?” she asked, not yet ready to believe her eyes.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“You?” she queried again.
“Yes,” I reconfirmed. “I think we’ve established that already.”
“No!” she snapped back. “We haven’t established shit.”
My eyes widened, surprised by her anger. What had I expected, that she would drop to her knees in worship after hearing my confession? Yes, actually that was exactly what I’d expected—what always happened when women realized who I was. But that wasn’t how long-term deception worked in the real world. I couldn’t expect Dani to forget the past five months she’d spent despising my every breath.
“Just because you say you’re RJ doesn’t make it true,” she challenged, drawing her fingers over her smooth jawline, miming my beard as if the whiskers somehow disproved everything.
“Okay, then,” I challenged. “How can I prove it to you?”
“Quick! Name an AnyDayNow song!”
“‘Desperate for You,’” I fired back.