111. Chapter 111
Just be here. For Christ’s sake, be here.
Inside the terminal, swarms of suitcases and blurry faces swept him up, and Jase suddenly felt small and stupid for thinking he’d ever find her. It was the last time he’d chase her, and the first time it wasn’t—at least a little bit—to save his own ass.
He thought of the hug that morning, the kiss on the head that should’ve been more. If he had bucked up and asked to take her back to Ohio himself, she might have waited for Jase to explain, not ran at her first chance to leave.
Sprinting from checkpoint to checkpoint, he stopped in front of a board of scheduled takeoffs, squinting at the glowing letters running together in a neon soup of possible flights.
“You just missed her.”
He spun around. Jase had never been happier to see Helen until it registered what she’d said. Her normally stony expression was soft, almost sad.
“She’s already gone.”
“What?” Jase asked. “Which flight?”
“Jase—”
“Which one?” He took her by the shoulders. “Helen, which one?”
“The 128 to Dayton. It’s boarding now, Jase.”
“No,” he breathed. “No, we were right behind you.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. She’s gone.”
“Fuck,” he screeched, letting her go. His fucking chest was about to cave in. He rubbed his sternum just like his fucking brother. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“What did you expect?” Helen asked, looking deeply interested in the answer. “What were you going to do if you found her?”
He was still scanning the travelers for her face. Maybe she changed her mind. He kept expecting to catch a glimpse of her green sundress weaving through the crowd, back to him.
Helen’s hand was too fucking hot on his arm.
“Jase?”
“I didn’t have a plan,” he admitted. “All right? I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”
“You should really figure it out.”
She walked away while he choked on the injustice of missing his chance. Lindsey was in this airport, and he couldn’t get to her. If he hadn’t dicked around with Graham at the storage unit, he might’ve made it in time.
Jase sat on a bench and hung his head. If he put a few bucks on every nearly maxed card in his wallet, he might be able to scrape up enough money for a ticket to get through the gate. If he ran, he might even make it to the plane in time. It was possible.
He turned the idea over, imagining Lindsey sitting in her seat, ready to fly. What were the chances he’d reach her?
What are the chances she’d be glad I did?
Then he remembered the bike outside. His dad’s Harley, the one Saul restored as a thank you. If Jase got on a plane, it would get towed or stolen. Either way he’d lose it, and that didn’t feel right.
Letting Lindsey fly away didn’t feel right either.
What were you going to do if you found her?
“Fuck,” he said again. Without a good answer, there didn’t seem to be a point.
I should’ve offered to take her home. Maybe it would’ve made a difference.