falling for 13 || Johnny Kavanagh

Locked Away

G R A C E

I heard the door close behind me with a click, the kind that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. At first, I didn't think much of it—until I went to turn the handle and felt the unyielding resistance. I twisted it again, harder this time, but the door didn't give.

"Oh, no," I muttered under my breath, leaning my weight into the door as if sheer willpower could force it open. It didn't move. Panic surged in my chest, and I banged on the door sharply, making my knuckles sting. "Orlaith!" I shouted, my voice rising a bit too high for comfort. "Open the bloody door!"

Muffled laughter from the other side confirmed my worst suspicion. This wasn't some accident or random malfunction. No, this was deliberate.

I leaned my head against the door, groaning. "Are you kidding me? You're locking me in a storage room?"

Orlaith's singsong voice came from the other side. "We're helping you, Grace. You'll thank us later."

"I highly doubt that!" I shot back, tugging on the handle again for good measure. But it was no use. Whoever was holding the door had no intention of letting me out anytime soon.

Then, I heard Gibsie's voice join hers. "Not until you and my handsome outside centre talk. Properly."

My heart sank, and my stomach dropped like a stone. Slowly, I turned to face the room, feeling the full weight of my situation. There he was—Johnny Kavanagh. Leaning against a stack of boxes, arms crossed over his broad chest, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression. He looked as unimpressed with the situation as I was, but there was something in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, that told me he wasn't about to let this go easily.

Brilliant. Of all the people Orlaith and Gibsie could have trapped me with, they chose him.

"Fantastic," I muttered, pressing my back against the door and crossing my arms. "Just fantastic."

Johnny didn't say anything at first. He just stood there, staring at me with those intense blue eyes that had always made it impossible for me to look away. It was infuriating, really—how he could just exist like that, completely composed, like he had all the time in the world. Meanwhile, I felt like I was unraveling inside.

The silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable, until finally, he spoke.

"You can keep banging on the door," he said in that low, calm voice of his, "but they're not letting us out until we 'talk.'"

I rolled my eyes. "It doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure that out."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my attitude. "So what's your plan, then? Stand there and sulk until they get bored?"

"I'll take my chances," I shot back, trying to mask my irritation with sarcasm. But the truth was, I had no idea what to do. The thought of being locked in here with Johnny for an indefinite amount of time made me want to scream. This was the absolute last thing I needed.

Johnny didn't seem bothered by my sharp tone. He pushed off from the boxes and took a step closer, his arms still crossed, his expression unreadable. "You really think avoiding this is gonna make it go away, Gracie?"

"Make what go away?" I snapped, feeling my frustration rise. "There's nothing to talk about."

Johnny's eyes narrowed slightly, and I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten. "You don't actually believe that, do you?"

"Believe what?" I threw my hands up. "That we've got nothing to say to each other? Yeah, I do."

Johnny took another step toward me, and I felt my pulse quicken. He was too close now, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. It made me want to step back, but I refused to give him the satisfaction. I held my ground, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as I could muster.