There was no Claire.
His stomach bottomed out. His knees nearly buckled.
He turned to walk away, swallowing a scream.
And then—chime.
A single chime from his pocket.
He froze. Hope tried one more time to breathe.
Maybe she missed her flight. Maybe she’s rescheduling. Maybe—
He pulled out his phone, fingers trembling.
Claire:This started as a vacation. And like all vacations, they eventually come to an end. Let’s save ourselves from any more heartache. I’m sorry, Jaxon…
That was it.
No explanation. No goodbye.
Just a sentence. A single moment. A blade.
And it gutted him.
Right there in the middle of Terminal B—flowers still clutched in one hand, coffee forgotten in the other—Jaxon stood alone.
While the world moved around him…
His world stood still.
46
Crash Site
Themessagekeptstaringback at him like a slap that wouldn’t stop stinging.“This started as a vacation… Let’s save ourselves from any more heartache. I’m sorry, Jaxon.”
He dropped into the nearest chair like his legs gave out—because maybe they did. The flowers slipped from his hand without him realizing, petals scattering across the airport floor like pieces of the future they’d built in those late-night whispers and held breaths.
He didn’t cry. Not yet.
He just sat there, reading the same words over and over again like maybe—if he blinked hard enough—they’d rearrange themselves into something softer. Something forgivable. Something that didn’t mean she was gone.
They didn’t.
They stayed cruel. Final. Unsentimental.
Hours passed. Maybe one. Maybe five. He didn’t know. All he could hear was the sound of her laugh—echoing like a ghost inside him—mixed with the pounding silence of a gate that never gave her back.
Eventually, he stood. Moving like a man whose skin didn’t fit right. His steps were slow, almost mechanical, like he was walking underwater. He passed strangers, families, hellos and goodbyes—and all he could feel was the gaping hole where she should’ve been.
When he opened the truck door, his hand instinctively reached for the passenger seat.
It hit him like a fucking freight train.
That was her seat. That’s where she told him she loved him for the first time. That’s where she curled her legs up and stole fries from his to-go plate. That’s where she sat, flushed and grinning, when they drove home after the storm.
Now?
