Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Owen
“Shit,” I gasp awake, panicking when I notice the sun is way too high in the sky.
I squint against the harsh, golden rays pouring through the cracks in the curtains, far too bright for seven in the morning.
My heart feels like it’s in my throat as I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, the room spinning from not getting nearly enough sleep.
I wrap my fingers around the phone, my eyes going wide as I see the time.
7:30 a.m.
“Fuck!” I curse, pushing a hand through my sleep-roused hair.
We’re late—really fucking late.
We should be on our way to the airport right now. Our flight boards in less than forty-five minutes.
Dammit!
You’ve got to be kidding me. I forgot to set my fucking alarm.
I don’t even remember falling asleep. It feels like I was out for maybe an hour, if that. The last thing I recall is the sun barely starting to rise when my heavy eyelids won the fight, shutting on their own.
I spent most of the night pacing back and forth in this room, losing my goddamn mind, trying not to go to her. Fighting the urge not to walk across the suite, open Meadow’s door, pull her into my arms, and pretend that last night never happened.
But the cold reality is that it did. And the only thing she wanted from me was space. Hell, she practically begged me for space. And instead of going to her, I was too fucking scared to ruin whatever chance I had left.
Meadow.
My sweet, guarded girl. She acts so fragile, not realizing how strong she really is.
God, I wish she knew how much I love her. Even though she can be so infuriatingly stubborn, I love her deep in my bones.
I don’t know how I’m going to make her see it, but I have to find a way.
Shit, is she still asleep?
There’s no way... Meadow is always on time for everything . Why hasn't she tried to wake me?
A rush of adrenaline rips through my veins as I throw the covers off my half-naked body and scramble out of bed. My suitcase sits half-packed near the wall, not even close to ready to go.
I swipe my phone off the mattress to check for any notifications from Meadow.
My breath hitches when I see an unread text. I blink, my eyes still groggy from sleep, to find that she messaged me at 6:00 a.m. An hour and a half ago.
I’m on my way to the airport. I took a taxi. I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay. I’ll see you back in Chicago.
My fingers tighten around the phone as I read the message again. My eyes scan across the screen, reading it a third time, hoping like hell that the words might magically change.
But they don’t. She just… left.
Not only did she leave me here alone, but she didn't even say goodbye.
I stand there, staring down at my phone, my pulse almost jumping out of my skin.
Realization hits me right in the gut. Nausea takes over, threatening to rid my body of whatever’s left in my stomach from yesterday.
Suddenly, I feel like I can’t breathe because this isn’t just space.
This is distance.
And if I don’t fight for her, it’s going to become more than that.
This ‘space’ she’s asking for will become final, and I’ll lose her.
No.
I can’t let that happen.
I refuse to let her walk away when I know she wants this just as much as I do. She’s choosing fear over her own happiness. She’s trying to control an emotion that can’t be controlled.
“Fuck space,” I mutter, already moving to gather up a pile of clothes from the floor.
I need to get to her.
I need to get to the airport, right the fuck now.
I start throwing clothes into my suitcase and rub a palm against my jaw, my naked chest heaving up and down as I glance around the room, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to pull this off.
When I spot our gate, I run for the counter with two gate agents behind it, my lungs on fire from sprinting for my life through the airport with my bags.
I have no fucking clue how I made it here. I barely remember shoving all my shit in my suitcase, rushing to the taxi, and sliding into the backseat.
The driver kept trying to be friendly and make small talk, asking simple questions that my brain was too keyed up to answer because the only thing on my mind was getting here. Making it to her.
My stomach is in knots, building with nerves as I think about Meadow being just on the other side of the jet bridge, already on the plane.
I just have to make it on damn this flight. With my luck, the agent will tell me they already closed the door, and I’m too late, even though I can see the plane right through the glass windows.
All the seats in the waiting area are completely empty; all the passengers are already on the aircraft.
I shove the sweaty hair off my forehead and skid to a stop at the counter, trying to catch my breath as I hold out my boarding pass. My heartbeat echoes in my ears as the gate agent scans it, the seconds passing by agonizingly slow.
“You’re lucky,” she clicks her tongue. “We’re one minute away from closing the gate. You made it just in time.”
Thank you, God.
I release a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding in, relief pouring through me.
“Thank you,” I rush out before stepping onto the jet bridge.
Seconds later, I’m walking onto the plane, my chest rattling with uneven breaths as I scan the rows for Meadow.
Panic crawls up my throat when I don’t find her at first, but then I see her.
She’s seated between the middle and back rows, right by the window.
Her head is turned toward the sun as she gazes out at the tarmac. She’s dipped so low in the seat, like she’s trying to disappear. I can’t even see what she’s wearing, just the top of her head as she tries her best to burrow down and hide.
God, I fucking hate this. I hate that she’s shutting me out like this.
It would be easy—justifiable, even—to be angry with her. But I know that her pushing me away isn’t truly about me. She’s scared and trying to protect herself.
I want to prove to her that if she places her heart in my hands, I’ll never let it go. I’ll protect it with my life.
My limbs ache as I automatically go to her.
“Meadow—”
I make my way further down the aisle, my body moving before my brain can catch up, all my instincts burning to get to her.
I need her to just look at me. Fuck, I need to grab her hand and feel her skin. I need to fucking fix this.
“Sir,” a voice says firmly, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn to see a flight attendant standing in the aisle, her expression composed but polite.
“You need to take your assigned seat, sir. We’re preparing for takeoff.”
“I just—she’s right there,” I gesture helplessly toward the back of the plane. “I just need to speak to her. Please, give me one second.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” she shakes her head, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to be seated now .”
My nostrils flare as frustration surges through me like a live wire.
She’s right fucking there.
Probably twelve rows away.
And I can’t even get to her.
I frantically glance back at Meadow, hoping—praying—that she’ll turn and see me. That she’ll just look at me. That she’ll give me something… anything.
But of course, she doesn’t.
She doesn’t even move. It's as if she knows that if she makes eye contact with me, she won't be able to turn me away again.
Slowly, reluctantly, I clench my jaw and force myself to turn away. By the time I drop into the leather seat, I lean back and press a hand to my face as the reality of the situation settles in.
Meadow left before I woke up. She clearly had no intention of seeing me today.
And even though we’re on the same plane, separated by a handful of rows, it feels like we’re miles apart.
I stare straight ahead as the plane begins to move, the quiet drone of the engines filling the silence as the safety presentation starts.
My throat closes up as I shut my eyes, remembering the image of Meadow walking away from me on the beach after I told her I loved her.
She didn’t look back then, and she’s definitely not looking for me now.
A dull, terrifying feeling cuts me like a knife.
This could be the end. Not just the end of what we could be, but the end of our friendship.
I can’t imagine my world without Meadow Riley, which is why I’m going to fight like hell to keep her in it.
Hours later, I’m standing just outside the gate at Chicago O’Hare, my eyes locked on the narrow jet bridge as passengers file out one by one.
I haven’t moved a muscle since I deboarded the flight, and I’m not going to until she walks off that plane. I’ll stand here as long as it takes.
The flight dragged on, each minute feeling longer than the last. Ever since I woke up this morning, my body has been coiled tight with anticipation, aching to get to her.
I spent most of the flight looking over my shoulder, needing to lay eyes on her just to make sure she hadn't disappeared—even though it would be impossible for her to go anywhere at thirty thousand feet.
I was literally hanging on the edge of my seat, waiting for any chance to unbuckle my seatbelt and walk back to her. But the turbulence never let up, and the seatbelt sign stayed on the entire flight, trapping me in place while Meadow sat just rows away.
Close enough to see but too far to touch.
Pure fucking torture.
I must have driven the guy next to me insane, bouncing my knee nonstop, and drumming my fingers against my thigh like it might somehow make time move faster.
Every time the plane hit a pocket of turbulence, I dug my fingers into my thighs—not from the drop, but from the frustration of being stuck there.
I’ve never been so fucking relieved to get off a plane. Any second now, Meadow will be walking off that jet bridge, and I’m not missing my chance.
Passengers trickle out slowly, taking their sweet ass time, most people already scrolling through their phones instead of getting a move on. My gaze fixes on every woman with long, brunette hair, anyone who remotely resembles her.
Each time I think I see her, my chest lifts… then drops just as fast.
Not her.
Not her.
Where the fuck is she?
Fuck.
She should’ve been off by now.
I shift my weight, craning my neck to get a better view down the bridge.
“Sorry! Excuse me, sorry!”
An elderly woman barrels down through the crowd, her voice loud and hurried as she squeezes past people, not caring who she bumps into.
Damn , I hope I can move like that when I’m her age.
“I’ve got a connecting flight! I’m so sorry, but I’m about to miss it. I’ve gotta hurry!”
The woman is moving so fast that she's damn near knocking people over. It’s hard not to sympathize with her, though; there aren’t many things worse than missing a connecting flight and being stuck at the airport for hours.
Right as she passes me, her foot catches awkwardly on the floor, and she stumbles forward with a sharp gasp.
Oh, shit.
Thankfully, she doesn't fall, but her water bottle goes flying. Her carry-on collides with the floor, and everything inside spills out.
Before I can even think, I drop to a knee, reaching for her things as they lie scattered across the ground.
“I’ve got it,” I say quickly, gathering her bottle, shoving her items in the bag, and zipping it back up before handing it to her.
“Oh my… thank you,” she breathes, clearly frazzled as she takes everything from my hands. “Thank you so much, hon. You’re an angel, sent straight from heaven above.”
“No problem,” I reply, giving her a quick nod.
Before I can stand, she’s already moving again, disappearing into the crowd as she tries to make her flight.
The second I stand and straighten my shoulders, my heart fucking stops.
The line of passengers has thinned significantly.
No.
No, no… there’s no way.
My eyes snap back to the jet bridge, scanning frantically as the last few people make their way out.
A young couple holding hands. A man in a dark hoodie. And a woman scrolling on her phone.
But not her. Not Meadow.
Oh my God.
Did I miss her?
Did I fucking miss her?
My pulse roars in my ears as I take a step forward, then another, as if I can will her to appear if I just get closer.
She still has to be on that plane. She has to be.
I rush toward the counter, my voice tight as I address the flight attendant standing nearby.
“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my composure even though I feel like I’m on the brink of a heart attack. “Is there anyone still on the plane?”
She glances at me before shaking her head. “No, sir. Everyone has deplaned.”
My stomach drops.
“Are you sure?” I press, my voice strained. “There’s—there’s a girl. She has brunette hair, brown eyes, about five-four… She was sitting near the back—”
“I’m sorry,” she repeats gently, her brows furrowed with confusion. “Everyone is off the aircraft, sir.”
All the hope I’ve been holding onto drains out of me.
I nod slowly, my eyes still locked on the empty walkway like she might appear out of thin air if I wait long enough.
I keep waiting.
Seconds turn into minutes, my hope slipping away.
But she never comes.
And in that moment, I know that she’s gone. I’ve lost her again.