Forest! I need you!
She didn’t need her little brother. She needed the man the scrawny boy had become.
His text came back.
Can you make it to LAX?
Yes!
On my way!
Somehow, someway, Forest would be there.
Chapter Nineteen
Six hours later,Skye’s plane landed at LAX. The first-class ticket to Washington National lay abandoned, and she’d bought a coach ticket headed west. Standing in the back aisle, waiting for the passengers ahead of her to deplane, she stretched out the kinks in her body.
To make matters worse, after her tears had dried, she’d turned her phone off Airplane Mode, only to find several emails and texts from Spencer. Her fingers trembled, and her stomach fluttered as she read his words.
Usually a man who got to the point, he’d flooded her inbox with chaotic ramblings. As she read through the emails, her stomach sank, and the first flicker of fear emerged. There were too many creepy photos of her with Ash—them leaving the coffee shop, climbing into the helicopter, even photos with Ben and Edna at the falls.Had he sent someone to follow her?
The last email had a picture of them leaving the courthouse with a demand to know why she’d married Ash.How had he known when it had taken over a day for Forest to confirm that piece of news?
The plane emptied slowly, but soon, she was moving toward the exit and one step closer to Forest. Like a child eager to see a long-lost relative, she wanted nothing more than to push past those ahead and run up the jetway. It had been ages since she and Forest had seen each other, almost two years, and if Forest had worked his magic, he would be waiting at the end of that ramp.
Her steps lightened as she approached the terminal. Forest was close. She could feel him, and he would take her pain away.
Walking up the exit ramp to the passenger terminal, she texted Forest.
Just landed. Meet U where?
A busy passenger terminal swirled with chaos all around her as she exited the gate. Children cried. Parents squawked commands that were more often ignored than obeyed. Bored businessmen clad in rumpled suits clutched briefcases and travel bags. Overhead announcements flowed in a ceaseless stream of noise and chatter.
Her phone buzzed, and she shrugged her backpack over her shoulder. She pulled her hair out from under the shoulder strap and nearly ran into the man walking on her left.
Look up, my summer Skye.
Her head snapped up. A formidable wall of muscle loomed in front of her and brought her to a halt. At six-foot-eight, Forest towered above even those who claimed to be tall. Her scrawny beanpole might have been small and spindly as a child, but he had sprouted into Viking glory with the onset of adult life. He stared at her with his Nordic eyes that were capable of terrorizing children while simultaneously making their mothers tremble with desire.
He’d grown a beard, making him look even more intimidating. The sun had bronzed him, and his normally pale blond hair had been bleached nearly white by the sun. He’d grown it out since she last saw him, and he had it tied back.
She gave her standard greeting, “Beanpole.”
And he rewarded her with a flash of his immaculate smile.
She didn’t embrace him. Touching brought uncomfortable memories if they were lucky and posttraumatic flashbacks and psychotic breaks if luck failed them.
His fingers clenched with the hug he would never give. “My summer Skye.” His voice rumbled with his deep baritone, a sound as powerful as he was strong. He stepped close until mere inches separated them. He smelled of salt and sea.
He kissed the top of her head, gracing her with his fleeting touch. His lips rested for an eternity of microseconds as they reconnected through a fragile but indelible bond.
“I feel you, my summer Skye.”
Her chest cracked from the pain. Her shoulders curved inward, and she desperately needed a hug, but she didn’t dare move and breach his protective bubble.
Around them, the crowd flowed in a never-ending stream of busy travelers, but for Forest and Skye, the world had stopped.
Her bag slipped from her shoulder, and Forest caught it in his massive hand. Then, he did the unthinkable once again and curled his fingers in the strands of her hair—not quite a touch, but closer than he’d come in years.
