Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Piper
I shift anxiously in my seat as the small plane banks left. Through my window, Stone River Mountain appears below.
Jagged peaks rise everywhere, dusted with fresh snow and endless evergreen pines stretching toward the plane like it's ready to grab me and pull me back where I belong. My chest loosens for the first time all week.
The weekend is here.
The flight attendant moves down the aisle, checking seatbelts and tray tables with a bright, cheerful smile. I clutch my bag tighter, feeling the weight of Chase's flannel inside, and watch the town come into focus below.
One more week like this last one might actually kill me.
Mom's texts started right after the dress fitting.
Polite at first, then progressively sharper as I ignored each one.
By Wednesday, she'd moved to thinly veiled threats about 'family obligations' and 'disappointing your father.
' Thursday brought a voice message I deleted without even listening to it.
It's hard to explain, but after a life of bowing down to my parents every wish and command, finally, finally, I felt like I stood my ground on the boots.
Maybe it was disrespectful. Maybe I'd been nasty, pushing her buttons like that in front of Monique and the stylists.
But I can't bring myself to regret it.
The plane dips lower, and my stomach swoops, not from turbulence, but from the thought of next weekend.
Next weekend.
The Whitman Foundation Gala is on Saturday night. Black tie, society photographers, Mom's carefully selected guest list that definitely includes Maxwell Pemberton and his 'desirable' pedigree.
Which means no visit to Stone River. No Chase.
I should tell him as soon as I see him. Get it over with. Rip the plaster off before we settle into the weekend and I lose my nerve.
Shit.
I can already picture his face, the way his hazel eyes will dim, how he'll try to hide his disappointment behind that easy smile and say something like, "No worries, Chicago. I get it."
But he won't get it. Not really.
Because I can't tell him why I'm missing a weekend. Can't explain the gala or the foundation or the fact that my mother expects me to stand in a Valentino gown and make polite conversation while pretending my life is exactly what they all think it should be.
The thought of Chase knowing more about that world, my real world, the one I've spent weeks trying to escape, makes my skin crawl.
He talks about rescue missions and trail maintenance and community potlucks at the fire station. His life is genuine, meaningful, real in ways mine has never been.
The wheels touch down with a gentle bump, and passengers around me start gathering their things. I stay frozen in my seat, watching the tarmac roll past.
This weekend needs to be perfect. I need to soak up every second. Every laugh, every touch, every moment of feeling like myself.
Because all of those little things, they have to last me through next weekend's absence.
The flight attendant announces we've arrived and I pull my bag onto my lap. Staring out the window, I take a breath.
Chase will be waiting inside the terminal, probably bouncing on his heels with that infectious energy, ready to sweep me into his arms and make me forget Chicago exists.
Maybe I'll wait to tell him about next weekend. I can tell him later, can't I?
The airplane door opens and we pile out, walking across the tarmac as the beautifully chilly wind blows through me.
Stepping inside the terminal, I spot Chase immediately. My heart damn near explodes at the sight of him.
He’s beaming, his smile huge and contagious. But it’s not just his smile that catches my attention. Oh no, it’s the giant, handwritten sign he’s holding up.
"CHICAGO ESCAPEE! PIPER WHITMAN: REWARD IF FOUND!"
I burst out laughing, drawing a few curious glances from other passengers. Chase grins even wider, clearly pleased with himself.
"You like it?" he calls out as I walk toward him, still giggling.
"I love it," I reply, shaking my head in disbelief. "You are absolutely ridiculous."
"And you look stunning," he says, lowering the sign and pulling me into a hug.
He's wearing his rescue team jacket, and it smells exactly like him. He's paired it with his nicest jeans. The ones without any holes or fraying at the knees.
His sandy brown hair is slightly less unruly than usual, like he actually attempted to comb it, and his hazel eyes light up right in front of me.
That smile. God, that smile.
My chest tightens, but this time it's not anxiety or dread. It's something else entirely. Something warm and terrifying and absolutely perfect.
Forever Friday, I think, Let's have our Forever Friday.
I'll tell him about next weekend later. Sunday morning, maybe. Right before I leave.
Right now, I just want to be here. With him.
Chase throws the sign aside, nearly whacking an elderly woman in the head.
"I've got plans for this weekend, baby," Chase murmurs against my ear, his breath warm and delicious. "Big plans."
I laugh, heat flooding my cheeks. "Is that right?"
"Absolutely." His hazel eyes dance with mischief. "But first—"
He sweeps me backwards in a dramatic dip that makes my stomach flip, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss steals every coherent thought from my brain. His tongue slides against mine, confident and claiming, and I melt into the solid strength of his arms. One hand cradles the back of my head while the other presses firmly against my lower back, holding me like I'm something precious.
Someone wolf-whistles nearby, but I don't care.
All thoughts of Mother vanish. The gala, Maxwell, the Valentino gown—gone. Erased.
I'm back where I belong, standing in my mountain boots, and for the next two and a half days, this is what I get. This man, this town, this version of myself that feels real and alive and utterly unpolished.
Chase pulls back slowly, grinning like he's won something.
"Welcome home, Piper."
Home.
At the luggage carousel, Chase grabs my suitcase before I can even reach for it, hoisting it like it weighs nothing. His rescue work has given him these deceptively strong arms that make me want to bite him.
"I've got it," he says, striding toward the exit.
I follow, admiring the view. Those jeans fit him perfectly.
"You didn't have to pick me up," I say, though I'm ridiculously glad he did get off work early just to meet me. "I could've asked Brooke again."
"And miss holding that sign?" He glances back, grinning. "Not a chance."
Outside, the mountain air hits me like a gift. Clean, crisp, with that pine-scented bite that makes my lungs feel brand new. Chase tosses my suitcase into the bed of his truck with an easy swing, then opens my door and stands at attention, like my own personal butler.
"Such a gentleman," I tease, climbing in.
"Only for you, baby."
He slides into the driver's seat, starts the engine, and we pull out of the car park. The increasingly familiar roads of Stone River stretch ahead, and I feel my shoulders drop about three inches.
"So," Chase says, reaching over to squeeze my knee. "Tell me about your week. How was work?"
I love that he asks. Really asks, not just makes polite conversation.
"Busy. We had a multi-vehicle pile-up on the expressway Tuesday night. Four critical patients at once." I shake my head, remembering the chaos. "But we stabilized everyone. Dr. Richardson even complimented my triage decisions."
"Of course he did." Chase's voice brims with pride. "You're brilliant at your job."
"It was intense, though. I didn't get home until three in the morning."
"Did you eat?" His brow furrows with genuine concern. "Please tell me you ate something."
"Hospital vending machine crackers count, right?"
"Piper." He shoots me a look that's half scolding, half fond exasperation. "That's terrible."
"I know, I know." I squeeze his hand. "But I'm here now, and I'm assuming you're going to feed me properly."
"Damn right I am." He grins. "Martha made her famous pot roast and brought it by the station this morning. She gave me explicit instructions that I 'feed that lovely girl properly.'"
I laugh. "I love Martha."
"She loves you too." His hand lands on my knee. "So does Betty. And Charlie. And basically everyone in town."
"They barely know me."
"They know enough to not shut up about you once this week." His voice softens.
"They talk about me when I'm not here?"
"Of course! They see how happy you make me."
My throat tightens. God, this man.
"What about your week?" I ask, needing to shift focus before I get emotional. "Any dramatic rescues?"
"Actually, yes." His face lights up with that boyish enthusiasm I adore. "Wednesday, we got called out for a hiker in distress up on Eagle Point."
"Oh no. What happened?"
"Turned out to be Mabel."
I blink. "Mabel? As in, Etta and Mabel?"
"The very same." Chase laughs, shaking his head as he begins regaling the story. "Apparently, bless the old girl, she decided she wanted to experience nature and got about fifty feet up the trail before declaring it too steep. Called 911 instead of just walking back down."
"You're joking."
"I wish I was. Jamie nearly had an aneurysm." He shakes his head, still grinning. "We hiked up there in full gear, ready for a medical emergency, and she's sitting on a rock eating a baloney sandwich Betty made her."
I smother my laugh with a hand. "What did you do?"
"Escorted her back down while she lectured me about my intentions toward you." His ears go slightly pink. "She wanted to know if I was going to 'make an honest woman' out of you."
I burst out laughing again. This place. These people. "Oh my God."
"Yeah. Beau thought it was hilarious. Me? I'm never living it down."
I lean across the console, unable to resist being closer to him.
"I missed you," I murmur, pressing my lips to the curve of his jaw.
His breath catches. "Missed you too."