Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
O wen
I knock lightly on the door and when there’s no answer, I peer at Wyatt behind me, opening the door and motioning for him to follow me inside.
Wyatt places the steaming cup of coffee he’s holding onto the night stand as I pull back the curtains and let the fall sunshine flood the room.
“Morning!” I yell loudly.
Daxton groans from the pit of his bed, throwing his arms up over his face.
“Jeez, man, are you trying to kill me?”
“No, we’re attempting to rouse you from your bed,” Wyatt tells him.
“I’m sleeping.” He groans, rolling over and pulling the covers over his head.
“What is it with you?” I say. “In the mornings we can’t get you out of bed to go to work, and in the evenings we can’t drag you home.”
“I’m ill,” he mutters.
“You’re hungover,” I say, “and heartbroken.”
“There’s a coffee by your bed,” Wyatt tells him.
Daxton peeks out from under the covers, then shuffles up the bed and cradles the cup to his mouth. He takes a long sip, groaning again.
“Thanks Wyatt,” he mutters.
“Want to tell us what happened last night?” I ask him as he closes his eyes and winces.
“Nothing.”
“You didn’t arrive home until 3am, Dax,” Wyatt said. “We had to help you up the stairs to your bedroom.”
“Ahh, shit. I’m sorry.” He hangs his head in shame. “It was a bad day.”
“Did something happen at the hospital?” I ask, sitting on the side of his bed. No matter how many years you work medicine, how many shifts you do, there are still times when the job rattles you to your bones – a particular case, a particular person. Watching some people live and others dying is something you can never truly get used to.
“No,” he says. “It wasn’t that.”
“Not another bar fight,” Wyatt says, whipping off his glasses and looking suddenly tired.
“No … it was Harper.”
I sit up straighter. “Harper?” Daxton has hardly mentioned the girl’s name since she ended things. He’s been refusing to talk about it. “Did you see her?”
“No, I called her.”
“You called her?” Wyatt says in astonishment. “Why?”
“To tell her how I feel about her and to ask her to stay.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“She didn’t answer. I was leaving her this voicemail and then she called me and then I tried to answer but my cell battery died on me and–”
“She called you ?” I say, standing up.
Daxton peers up from the bed. Dark circles ring his eyes and thick stubble covers his cheeks. “Yeah.”
I glance over at Wyatt. “She called him.”
Wyatt slides his glasses back on his face and scratches his cheek. “That’s a good sign, right?” he asks me.
I start pacing around the room. “Yeah … yeah. I think it is.” I stop and look down at Daxton. “Shit, man. You look and smell like shit.”
“Thanks,” he mutters.
“Is your cell still dead? Does it have any battery?”
He shrugs and Wyatt retrieves the device from the floor.
“Still dead,” he says, glancing at the screen.
“We’ll call her from mine,” I say, dashing towards the door.
“There’s no use,” Daxton says, “she’s flying out today.”
I halt and spin around. “Today? I thought … I thought we had more time.” Both Daxton and Wyatt shake their heads. I pull up the sleeve of my shirt and peer at my wristwatch. “What time is her flight?”
“Not sure,” Daxton says.
“9:03am,” Wyatt tells us.
“Shit, that early! That gives us one hour.”
“She’ll already be at the airport,” Daxton says. “Our parents were dropping her off. My dad will have her there at least two hours in advance.”
“Really?”
“Yep, my dad doesn’t like to be late.”
“Then we’ll just have to go to the airport,” I say, walking towards the door again.
“Why?” Daxton says. “There’s no point. She’s made up her mind. She’s leaving.”
“She called you,” Owen says, “which means she must be having doubts. And if she’s having doubts …”
“Not necessarily. She was probably just returning my call.”
“In the middle of the night!” I point out.
“She hasn’t returned any of mine or Owen’s calls,” Wyatt points out.
“Come on,” I insist. “We’re going to the airport. What have we got to lose?”
“This isn’t a movie,” Daxton moans from the seat beside me. He’s wearing shades even though the sky is now overcast. “Just because we chase her through the airport, doesn’t mean she’s coming home with us.”
“Technically, I don’t think you can chase a girl through an airport anymore,” Wyatt observes. “You’d probably be arrested and you wouldn’t be allowed through security.”
“We’re just going to have to hope she’s still queuing to check in,” I say, refusing to be put off.
“She probably checked in online,” Wyatt adds.
“Are you saying we shouldn’t do this?” I snap at them both.
“No,” Wyatt says. “It’s definitely worth a try.”
“Dax?” I ask, peering his way.
He nods his agreement.
The freeway is stupidly busy, backed up with traffic all the way out to the airport. I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, glaring at the digital clock on the dashboard and willing time to slow the fuck down.
Wyatt is probably correct about security and check in. She’s probably waiting by the gate already. But I’m confident I can charm my way through, especially if I play the doctor card.
“That’s the way to the short-term parking lot,” Wyatt says, pointing at one of the signs.
“No time for that. We’ll park in the drop-off section. And no, I don’t give a shit about the fine,” I add quickly before either one of them can point it out.
I swing in behind all the other cabs and cars dropping off customers and loved ones, and bag the first available space. We’re all climbing out of the truck, locking it behind me as we run, when a beefy security dude dressed in an orange hi-vis vest blocks our way.
“You can’t park there,” he tells us.
“We can,” I say. I take a step to the left, meaning to dodge around him.
But he’s quick and steps that way too, blocking me again. “You can’t.”
“We’re doctors,” I say, flashing the hospital badge hanging around my neck at him. “This is an emergency.”
“Emergency vehicles and personnel are instructed to come in through Gate A.”
“No time,” I say. “This is the quickest way to reach the patient.”
The dude narrows his eyes and considers me. “Let’s see that badge.” He holds out his hands and I unhook the lanyard from around my neck and pass it over.
“We’re losing valuable seconds here,” I say, “do you know how long it takes for brain damage to set in when–”
“Okay, okay,” he says, tossing the badge back to me. “You can go through.”
I’m tempted to kiss the man but that may lead to more questions and more delays.
We start sprinting again, this time through the revolving doors, inside the airport and towards the departure boards. The details of a million flights blink back at us and I curse.
“Where is it? Where is it?”
“New York! There!” Wyatt cries. “Check-in desk 13.”
We race that way dodging the travelers and vacationers with their suitcases, trolleys and pushchairs and rounding a corner to check-in desk 13.
Empty. No line. No waiting customers. Just one lone lady sat behind the desk.
Daxton runs right up to her.
“Has Harper Hall checked in already?” Daxton demands.
“What?” she says, leaning away from him in her seat.
“We need to know if Harper Hall has checked in.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, frowning at us, “I can’t give out that–”
I push Daxton to one side and lean against the desk, flashing the middle-aged lady my most charming smile.
“We’re in love with her–”
“All of you?” she says, swinging her gaze from me to Daxton and then to Wyatt.
“Yes, all of us. We’re a pack and she is meant to be our omega. We need to tell her. We can’t let her leave without ensuring she knows just how much we love and need her.”
“Awww,” the lady says, resting one hand over her heart. “That’s very sweet.” I nod eagerly. “But I can’t give out that information. I’d lose my job.”
“Donna,” I say, reading the name on her tag. “This is a matter of life and death.”
“Why don’t you phone her?” she suggests.
Daxton swears and starts pacing.
“Thank you, Donna,” I say sweetly, then turn around to the others and hiss, “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Wyatt says.
I walk to the nearest departure board and gaze up at the screen again.
“Gate … 19,” I tell them.
“We’ll never get through security,” Wyatt insists.
“Yeah, we will,” I say, winking.
I swerve through the crowd, my packmates chasing after me, and head right to the front of the line at security.
“Hey,” some small dude squeaks, “you can’t just push in!”
I ignore him, directing my next comments at the man in uniform checking people’s boarding passes before he lets them put their belongings through the scanner.
Just like I did out in the drop-off zone, I flash my hospital ID card.
“Medical emergency. We need to get through,” I say.
“You got a boarding card?” he asks, chewing gum lazily like we have all the time in the world.
“No,” I say, “but there’s a medical–”
“Can’t let you through without a boarding card,” he says, motioning to the small man behind me. “Next!”
The small man steps forward and I push him backwards.
“You don’t understand, this is an emergency.”
“I can’t let you through.”
“Look, there’s this girl. One we’re crazily in love with. She’s about to board a flight and we need to stop her!”
“You need a boarding card,” he repeats, clearly not listening to me.
“Dude!” I say in frustration, stepping towards him.
He takes a decided pace backwards, reaching down towards the taser strapped to his belt.
“Owen,” Wyatt says softly.
“We need to talk to her,” I say, swinging my gaze around to anyone who will listen, who will help us.
“Owen,” Wyatt repeats, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Her flight’s about to take off. It’s too late.”
“No,” I say, scrabbling at my sleeve. “We still have time … It’s … It’s …”
It’s 9am. The flight is due to leave in three minutes.
I hang my head in defeat.
Too late.
We’re too fucking late.
We stand there in silence, shocked, defeated, heartbroken.
“I’m going to work,” Daxton says eventually, turning and slouching away.
Shit!
Did we just lose Harper forever?