I sit up so fast the room spins. “Fern?”
My voice sounds rough, thick with sleep and something darker.
Silence answers me.
The hotel room is quiet. Too quiet. Her suitcase is gone.
My chest tightens.
No.
I throw the covers back and swing my legs over the side of the bed, scanning the room like I’m clearing a hostile building.
Bathroom—empty.
Closet—empty.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. Then I see it.
A small, folded piece of paper is sitting on the nightstand.
My heart starts pounding as I grab it. Just a few words stare back at me.
Thank you for this week,Jackson. It was the best of my life. I’ll miss you.
Yours,
Fern
That’s it.No explanation. No promise to call. No number. Just… bye?
She’ll miss me?
For a second, I can’t breathe. The panic hits hard and fast, the same gut-deep dread I used to feel in combat when something went sideways.
She left. She’s gone.
Hell, no.
I shove a hand through my hair and look at the clock. 7:12 AM. Her flight. She said she was on the first one out this morning.
Adrenaline floods my system, and I move fast, grabbing my jeans from the floor and dragging them on. My boots follow. I yank a shirt over my head and shove my wallet and phone into my pockets. I race to my room to grab my things. My duffel bag sits by the door. I grab it and sling it over my shoulder.
Everything else—my apartment and stuff here, finishing this job with Cal—can all wait. Right now, only one thing matters.
Fern.
I bolt out of the room and down the hallway. The elevator takes too long, so I take the stairs two at a time, bursting out into the lobby like I’m on a damn mission. Because I am.
The drive to the airport is a blur. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles ache. Every red light feels like a personal insult. My brain runs through every possible outcome.
What if I miss her? What if she’s already in the air? What if she doesn’t want to see me?
No, that last one doesn’t sit right because I saw the way she looked at me last night. The way she melted into my arms when I carried her upstairs. The way she almost said something before she fell asleep.
She feels it too. I know she does. She’s just scared. Which means it’s my job to fix that.
I skid into the airport parking lot and barely remember locking the car before I sprint inside. The ticket counter comes into view, and I head straight for it. The woman behind the desk looks up in surprise.
