“Why do you want to know?” she demanded. “It’s not like you’ll go after her. You said—”
“Because I love her!” I slammed my hands on the table. “There, happy? I love her so much I would rather give her up than hurt her. But if you think I’m letting her go to another country alone, with no protection, you’ve got another think coming. Now give me her fucking flight info.”
Bridget did, a spark of triumph gleaming in her eyes.
I was well aware she’d baited me, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was getting to the airport in the next hour—fuck, the next fifty-six minutes. I would figure everything else out later—Ava’s protection, my enemies. For now, I just needed to see her. Hold her.
I brushed past Bridget and Rhys and stormed toward the elevator, ignoring Carolina’s startled jump.
“Cancel my call with the VP—send my sincerest apologies and tell him I had a last-minute emergency—and book me a ticket to Europe that leaves in the next three hours,” I commanded as I passed her. “Dulles Airport.”
“You want me to cancel the—”
“Do it.”
“Certainly, sir.” Carolina sprang into action, her fingers flying over her keyboard. “Which city would—”
“Doesn’t matter. Just do it.”
“Right away, sir.”
I only needed the ticket to get past security.
On a regular day, it took half an hour to reach the airport, but of course, today was the day every construction crew in D.C. showed up in full force. Roadblocks and closures littered the streets alongside a shitload of drivers determined to win the World’s Slowest Driver award.
“Get out of my way,” I snapped at the Lexus in front of me. Jesus, does no one in this city know how to drive?
I broke what must have been a thousand traffic laws, but I made it to the airport in thirty-five minutes. Parking, security—fortunately, Carolina had the foresight to check me in online—and I was through, racing through the terminal searching for Ava’s gate number.
I felt like the world’s worst movie cliché. Running through the airport trying to get the woman I loved to give me another chance…how original. But if it got me to Ava in time, I’d do it in front of prime-time TV.
Ava and I hadn’t spoken in months, but there remained a thread tying us together despite what happened in Philly. Something told me that if she were to get on that plane, that would change. We—or whatever was left of us—would change. And I was terrified.
Beneath the fear, though, there lay a glimmer of pride. The girl who’d been afraid to go near water a year ago—who’d dreamed of traveling the world but never thought she’d be able to—was taking an international flight for the first time. Flying over an ocean. Facing her fears. I always knew she could do it, and she didn’t need me or anyone else holding her hand.
I wondered if other people felt conflicting emotions like this every day. If so, I almost felt sorry for them. It was a pain in the fucking ass.
I dodged a mother with a stroller and a slow-moving group of students in obnoxious neon green T-shirts. The gate numbers whizzed by in a blur until I found the one I was looking for.
My stomach sank when I saw the empty seating area and closed door leading to the jetway.
“Flight 298. Did it leave?” I demanded of the attendant behind the counter.
“Yes, I’m afraid the plane took off a few minutes ago, sir,” she said apologetically. “If you would like to book another flight—”
I tuned her out, my heart beating a desperate, lonely rhythm in my chest.
The plane had left.
Ava was gone.