On Solid Ground

Riptide Publishing

PO Box 1537

Burnsville, NC 28714

www.riptidepublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All person(s) depicted on the cover are model(s) used for illustrative purposes only.

On Solid Ground

Copyright © 2018 by Quinn Anderson

Smashwords Edition

Cover art: Leah Kaye Suttle, leahsuttle.com

Editor: May Peterson

Layout: L.C. Chase, lcchase.com/design.htm

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

ISBN: 978-1-62649-720-7

First edition

January, 2018

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Chance Crawford and Kit Gibbons are on the cusp of an epic office romance. After months of saying hi in the elevator and making small talk at parties, they’re both dying to make a move. Too bad neither of them can work up the courage. Nerdy, risk-averse Chance is waiting for Kit to give him a sign, whereas Kit’s too afraid of being out in his professional life to date the cutie from IT. If only one of them could find the proper motivation, their shaky flirtation could become something real.

Then an earthquake rocks their city. They band together to help others escape, until an aftershock leaves them trapped in a collapsing office building with little hope of survival. The very earthquake that brought them together could also tear them apart.

Drunk on fear and adrenaline, passions run high, but how can they think about romance when any minute could be their last? They’ll have to face danger, themselves, and each other before they can get back on solid ground.

To my incredible betas, Tiffany and Riina. Thank you for your kindness, patience, and for kicking my ass when I need it.

About On Solid Ground

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Dear Reader

Also by Quinn Anderson

About the Author

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2:17 p.m., Monday, August 13th

After the world ended, everything was dark.

Chance pulled his shirt up over his mouth and tried to breathe normally, but there was too much dust in the air. It filled his dry throat like cotton, making him cough until he was raw. He stumbled over the rubble covering the office floor and fell against one of the few walls that was still standing. It shuddered beneath his weight, and fear lanced through him. It was all he could do to keep himself upright; his limbs were jellied, and his head swam. Panic ate at his stomach lining. Any minute now, he was going to be sick.

Kit! His raspy voice grated the air. It echoed eerily down the empty hall. An emergency floodlight flickered up ahead. He headed for it. Kit, where are you?

Silence greeted him with a cold handshake.

He took a few more ungainly steps. He was trembling, despite the cloying heat. Shock? Maybe. Or perhaps the earthquake had wormed its way into his bones. As the quiet dragged on, bile rose up in the back of his throat. If something had happened to Kit . . . If he was dead, or hurt . . .

The bile wet his throat enough for him to yell again. Kit! Can you hear me?

He looked around but saw no trace of him. Broken glass littered the floor, glinting in the dim light. Bits of wood stuck out from gaping holes in the walls and snagged at his clothes like fingers. A long, jagged crack ran through the tile beneath his feet, revealing peeks at the cement foundation, which chilled his blood.

Suddenly, there was a sound at the end of the hall. Shuffling, and then something like splintering wood.

Oh God, is the roof caving in?

Chance looked up and let out a sob. Ceiling tiles were hanging off dented frames. Parts of it were so caved in they gave glimpses of cracked concrete and the fucking sky, clear through the roof. Chance was no architect, but that couldn’t be a good sign.

Before panic could consume him, he heard more shuffling. He blinked sweat and dirt from his eyes and looked toward it.

Chance! A man appeared at the end of the hall. He caught sight of Chance and picked his way over fallen beams. I’m here!

Oh, thank God. Kit. Chance hurried toward him. His shoe caught on a stray scrap of metal, but he kicked it aside. When you stopped answering me, I panicked. I tried to find you. I—

Don’t move! I’ll come to you. Kit reached him and grabbed both of his shoulders. It’s all right now. I’m here.

Chance held on to Kit in turn, eyes darting over his face as he searched for signs of injury. His hair was dark with sweat and sticking up. There was no trace left of the careful grooming it’d sported mere hours ago. Grime streaked Kit’s jaw. A trail of blood trickled past one of his brown eyes.

But he was alive. He was okay. And right now, he was the most beautiful thing Chance had ever seen.

Did you find the exit? Hope flickered in his chest. Was there a way out?

Kit stared at him for a long moment before his eyes dropped like weights. It’s no good. Everything’s blocked off. We could try to clear a path, but I can’t tell what’s debris and what’s a support beam. If we move the wrong thing . . .

Chance bit back a sob. The roof might collapse.

Yeah. Kit touched Chance’s cheek. In fact, it probably will.

Chance’s heart sank to the ground along with Kit’s gaze. The quiet hanging around them seemed thick and final. Chance could hear his own pulse in his ears as it slowed. After a long, heavy silence, he finally said the thing they both knew, the thing that needed saying even though it was unbearable.

That was our last chance. There’s no other way out.

His words rang like bells in the air, heralding ill fortune.

I know. Kit let out a breath that turned into a sniffle and held Chance’s face in his hands. Chance, I’m so sorry. We’re trapped in here.

9:08 a.m., Monday, August 13th

Chance glared up at the flickering fluorescent light above his desk and willed it to make a choice: on or off. If it stayed on, he could work in peace. If it died, he could have it replaced. But so long as there was a spark—no pun intended—of life left in that old bulb, the office manager wouldn’t replace it. It would be free to strobe Chance into a zombie-esque stupor.

That was what he got for taking a job in an office building that was older than his parents. Nothing worked the way it was supposed to. It wouldn’t surprise him if the roof came down on their heads one of these days.

But hey, at least he had dental.

With a sigh, he turned his attention to the computer in front of him. While he waited for the sluggish internet to log him into his email, he let his eyes drift. His desk was covered in personal items: a Doctor Who mug full of paperclips, a stuffed frog he’d won at an office party, and several photos of his family. His nephews were front and center, smiling at him from a wooden frame as they stood over a sandcastle they’d built.

There was one item on his desk he did his best to ignore every morning. The dreaded headset. The thing he had to put on by 9:30 a.m. so he could start taking calls. And start losing his faith in humanity.

Not that Chance didn’t enjoy his job. He did. He’d just expected to do more coding and less customer service. Being an IT guy in an office full of older professionals was kind of like being a celebrity: everyone claimed to love him, but if he failed to perform, they’d turn on him like a pack of Bolton hounds.

Good thing they seldom asked him to do anything more complicated than troubleshoot their wi-fi.

His email finally loaded, revealing a bursting inbox, as per usual. Thirty-eight new requests since he’d left on Friday, and as he watched, another one popped up. It was going to be a busy day.

Once more unto the breach, he muttered.

Talking to yourself already? said a voice behind him. That’s not a good sign.

Chance spun around in his desk chair and smiled at the pretty black woman who’d entered their joint cubicle. Morning, Marci.

Morning. Got the kids with me today. Marci hiked one of the aforementioned children up on her hip and blew a strand of curly hair away from her eyes. Nadia’s doing field work, and her mother couldn’t sit, so we’re having an impromptu bring-your-kids-to-work day.

Awesome! Who says Mondays can’t be fun? Chance leaned to the side in his chair and peeked around Marci’s legs. He caught sight of big brown eyes before Marci’s oldest daughter, Shana, repositioned herself, giggling.

It’s such a shame you didn’t bring Shana with you. Chance switched to the other side and got another glimpse before Shana hid again. I had a Tootsie Roll for her, I guess I’ll have to give it to her sister instead. He dug one of the candies out of a bag in his desk drawer and mimed liked he was going to hand it to Ranelle. The baby was too young to even hold the candy, let alone