2. Chapter 2 - Madison
“Fuck.” I can’t get any last-minute flights. Tonight is the busiest night of the year to travel.” I let out an aggravated sigh of frustration.
“I just got off the phone with customer service. They won’t let me transfer my ticket over to you this soon before boarding. I even explained the severity of it,” Lexi growls from her seat at the kitchen island. Her laptop is there with about twenty different airline tabs open on her browser.
“Fucking gobshites,” Conor sneers. A hesitant look crosses his face as he takes a moment to look at me. “I have an idea. I’ll ask Killian if he will lend me the jet. Then we can all head to New York together.”
I chew on my thumbnail, not wanting to ask him for anything. After a pregnant pause, I nod my head. What choice do I have left?
Time is ticking.
And it’s incredibly precious.
He dials Killian, pressing the phone to his ear. A few seconds go by before he shakes his head. He didn’t answer. Damn it . Conor looks back up at me, seemingly thinking the same thing .
“Call him ,” I confirm with a sigh.
This time he doesn’t hesitate. Con places it on speaker. It rings twice before Liam’s husky voice fills the line. “Hey, brother. Have you decided if you are using those tickets to come to New York tonight?” His excitement over seeing his newly engaged best friend has my heart beating faster beneath my ribs.
“About that…Maddy’s father is at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital. He had a major heart attack and is scheduled for a triple bypass later this evening.” Before he has the chance to continue explaining, Liam interrupts.
“What the fuck? Is she okay? Is she on her way to New York?” Anxiety laces his tone.
Muffled conversations are going on in the background. It’s hard to make out who else is whispering.
“We’ve been trying all morning to get a flight out there for her. We even tried to swap our tickets for her, but the airlines won’t allow it. Which is why I was going to ask if?—”
“Yes. It’s done. The jet is all yours. Take the flight with her so she isn’t alone,” he demands.
I let out a sigh of relief which does nothing to slow my frantic heart.
More hushed chatter fills the line, this time way louder.
Then my heart feels like it stops entirely.
“You know my jet is faster than yours. It will get there in practically half the time. Give me the phone, I’ll set it up,” a voice like whiskey offers.
“Let go of my phone, Diego. Christ, you’re fucking overbearing sometimes,” Liam chuckles in the background. Huh? What the hell is this semi-friendly relationship between them?
My phone buzzes in my hand, starting my heart back up. I glance down at the text— scratch that last part—it just stopped again and took a massive nosedive dive into my stomach.
Unknown
Mariposita, I’m sorry to hear about your father. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t send you one of the fastest jets in the world? Please don’t be your stubborn self and deny the help. The jet is still yours and it’s preparing to pick you up in Arizona. Tell Conor and Lexi to keep their flight. The hospital won’t allow anyone beyond family in the waiting room. They may as well enjoy the Gala and their engagement celebration.
Unknown
If your Dad is anything like you, he’s strong. He’s gonna pull through this, baby.
“It’s done, Liam. Tell Conor we’ll see them later and congratulations,” Diego’s baritone voice registers through the haze in my brain.
“You heard him, Con,” Liam says almost defeatedly. “I’ll send ya the details shortly.”
Lexi’s worried gaze lands on me before I meet her eyes. Clasping my hands together I turn on my heel.
“I’m going to go pack.”
My knee bounces up and down as I wait for my flight in the small waiting area of the private airfield. Against her better judgment, Lexi and Con took their original flights earlier this morning. She wanted to come with me to the hospital, but I told her they were strict on having family only in the waiting room. Plus, the two of them should be able to enjoy the evening that was planned for them. She finally agreed and demanded that if I needed her at any moment, to call her.
A staff member places a hand on my shoulder, alerting me that my flight is ready to board. They silently direct me, walking a short distance towards the airstairs of Diego’s jet.
“Welcome back, Mrs. De La Cruz.” Amy, the flight attendant with a warm smile greets me at the top. She reaches out and collects my overnight bag slung over my shoulder. I try my best to return the smile but my married name shocked the shit out of me, temporarily paralyzing my facial features.
On bated breath, I enter the cabin and let out a sigh of relief, noticing it’s empty.
The leather groans as I plop my ass into a seat and plug my headphones into my phone. I prop my elbows on the table in front of me and scroll my Kindle app for a good book to read. Amy makes her way towards me, realizing I am about to check out. At the same time, the engines fire up, slightly rumbling the space.
“Can I grab you anything to eat or drink before we take off, Mrs. De La Cruz?”
My cheeks heat as I shake my head to decline. “You don’t need to call me Mrs. De La Cruz. Maddy is fine.”
“Damn, Mariposita. I am shocked you didn’t want a coffee from your favorite machine.”
Amy smiles that warm smile again at me before shifting her gaze to The Bone Breaker behind me. Hints of coconut, salt, and mint caress my sense of smell as he approaches. Apparently, they are a deadly combination of aphrodisiacs because my heart beats wildly in my chest.
“Mr. De La Cruz, can I get you a coffee before we take off?” the flight attendant asks him. I can just barely register what she’s saying over my pulse whooshing in my ears.
“Not right now. Thank you, Amy. I’m sure mid-flight my wife will change her mind.” He stifles a laugh before taking a seat directly across from me.
My tongue is lead in my mouth. There is so much that sits between us. So many unspoken words. Yet, neither of us says a single thing as the jet takes off on the runway.
We just stare.
Unabashedly taking each other in.
He looks good. Okay, he looks fucking delicious. Just the same if not more muscular and toned than when I last saw him. Certainly too good to be sitting in front of me right now with that cocky smirk on his face.
The man is supposed to be dead. And here he sits, casually resting against his seat, exposing his identity— for me .
Finding the courage to speak first, I lean over the table and whisper, “You shouldn’t have taken the risk of being exposed like this for me.”
“I would die for you,” he rasps, laughing at his own joke. Very funny.
He leans in closer and rests his elbows on the table between us before extending a hand and taking mine captive. Diego strokes his thumb over the empty space where my wedding rings once sat.
I try everything in my power not to look into his eyes. If I do, I’ll surely break. I am too vulnerable tonight to fend him off. Traitorously, my eyes glide up from his hand on mine to his broad chest before climbing higher. They trace and reacquaint themselves with the shape of his smooth lips, then follow the curve of his cupid’s bow to the bridge of his sturdy nose. Slowly, they glide up until two piercing blue eyes stare right back at me.
And then I’m drowning.
“I missed you,” he whispers. Gone is the sarcastic bravado nature I am used to. Desire and longing replace it, brewing like a storm beneath those eyes.
Tears fill my own to the brim, threatening to cascade down my face in rivers. I take a steadying breath through my nose, attempting to keep them at bay.
Diego is out of his seat in a second, nudging me aside to sit and then pulling me into him. He cradles my head against his warm chest. It’s then that I allow the tears to fall.
And fall.
And fall some more.
I’m not sure how long we stayed like that. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the soothing sensation of his fingers massaging my scalp was like a lullaby. The safety of his arms and the pure comfort of him had my eyes fluttering closed.
His chin remained resting on the top of my head. Only when his lips brush against my temple do my eyes pop open.
“You know the surgeon doing your father’s surgery is the same cardiothoracic surgeon who helped me? Dr. Angosta. Trust that if that man can kill me and bring me back, he’ll take great care of your dad.”
I lift my head off his chest and swipe at the remaining tears with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. Uncertainty fills me hearing this information, unsure whether to be hopeful or worried by it.
“What? How do you know that?”
“Sweetheart, I may be dead,” he air quotes, “but I still have plenty of connections. In fact, I have such wonderful connections, that even if the Feds discover our little story, I have a man in my arsenal who could help wipe the entire case clean. Hell, I may even decide to rise from the dead with an official statement and claim my throne. I’ve been quite busy this last year.”
I shake my head, attempting to rid myself of the confusion while rubbing my eyes. Any chance this whole day has been a dream? When I still see Diego sitting there next to me, I sigh heavily and lean back into my chair.
“Hey, Amy?” I spot her sitting near the small kitchenette. “I’ll take that coffee now— please. ”
She walks over to the beautiful stainless steel machine that I’ve without a doubt missed and starts prepping it. “What would you like to drink? ”
“Quad espresso over ice with some of that sweet cream foam you have,” Diego interjects.
I glare at him, narrowing my eyes and pursing my lips.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” He shrugs, folding his hands on the table. The glint of his black wedding band catches my attention.
He still wears it.
Bastard.