“Deal.”
Now beginning to board, flight 383 from Los Angeles to Memphis.
“Text me before you take off,” Gabi says. “I love you.”
“Love you more,” I say as I stand up and grab my backpack. “I’ll be there before you know it.”
CHAPTER 34
MADDOX
8:43 p.m. CT /6:43 p.m. PT
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re so very sorry, but we’re going to be delayed for a few minutes. The pilots need check a few things before we’re able to take off. No need to panic, we’ll be in the air soon.”
I sit in my seat—a ridiculous expensive seat that isn’t even in first class because beggars couldn’t be choosers in the situation I was in—and try to think positive thoughts. At least I have the row to myself.
I’m on a plane. That’s what matters. I’m on my way home. I got a text from Shelby that she’s progressing slowly, but there is movement. I’m going to focus on the word slowly, because I need every minute.
Maddox
On the plane. Delayed a few minutes. They said not to worry.
Future Wife
What’s a few minutes at this point?
Exactly. Have I said how sorry I am that I’m not there?
You have, but I feel worse that I waited so long to tell you.
But would it be us if this baby came with a normal birth story?
Not even a little bit.
The little bit of humor we add makes me smile and relax for a second. That is, until I hear the pilot over the speakers.
“Folks, I’m very sorry, but it’s going to be another few minutes. No need to panic or deboard the plane. Just taking a little longer than expected. We’ll be in the air to Memphis in no time.”
9:26 p.m. CT /7:26 p.m. PT
“I’m sorry again folks. I didn’t think it was going to come to this, but we’re going to need you to exit the plane. We can’t fix what we thought we could, and we’re going to need to wait for a new one. Good news is that it’s about twenty minutes away.”
I’ll believe it when I see it…
I do my best to regulate my breathing, because what the fuck kind of bad luck is this? The worst part? Is that the Fury team plane I know has taken off, so my idea of meeting back with them is now not a possibility. No one can have this much bad luck when it comes to airplanes in a single day. But I can’t do anything about it now except grab my duffle from the overhead compartment and make my way off the plane.
“Are you Maddox Gallagher?”
I turn back and see a kid, maybe around eight years old, behind me with a man who I’m going to assume is his father. “I am. What’s your name?”
His smile is big and toothless. “Gunner.”
I laugh at the irony. “I wanted to name my son Gunner.”
“What’s his name?”
How in the world is the fact that we don’t have a name for our son not even in the top ten things to panic about today. “He doesn’t have one yet. He’s about to be born.”
