I'd make any deal, pay any price, sell whatever's left of my soul to keep Jade safe. If that means owing my father something I can never repay, so be it. She's worth it. She's worth everything.
"Mr. Crawford?" Maria appears in the doorway. "Is there anything else you need before I go?"
I glance around the room one more time. The flowers are arranged perfectly. The pillows on the sofa are fluffed. Soft music plays through the speakers, something acoustic and mellow that Jade had playing on her phone one morning while she made coffee.
"That's all, Maria. Thank you."
She nods and gathers her things, and I'm alone in the house that's felt like a mausoleum for a while now. But it doesn't feel empty anymore. It feels like it's waiting. Holding its breath for her return.
The hours crawl by. I shower and change into dark jeans and a gray sweater that she once said made my eyes look softer. I check my phone every few minutes, tracking her flight as it crosses the country. I stand at the window and watch the ocean, trying to calm the restless energy coursing through my veins.
I'm Phoenix Crawford. I don't get nervous. I don't second-guess myself. I see what I want and I take it, consequences be damned.
But Jade has changed the rules of the game. She's the one thing I can't simply take, the one prize I have to earn. And forthe first time in my life, I'm not certain I deserve what I'm asking for.
Her flight lands at four. I could send a car for her. That's what I would normally do, what makes sense logistically, what a man in my position is expected to do.
Instead, I grab my keys and head for the garage.
The drive to LAX takes forever. Traffic on the 405 is brutal, a crawling nightmare of brake lights and impatient honking that would normally have me gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. Today I barely notice. My mind is too full of her. The sound of her voice on the phone last night, breathy and desperate. The way she said my name when she fell apart. The promise she made to come back to me.
What if she changed her mind?
The thought surfaces unbidden, cold and sharp. What if she got on the plane this morning, looked out the window at Boston disappearing below her, and realized she was making a mistake? What if she's sitting in her seat right now, composing a text that will shatter everything?
I push the thought away, but it keeps creeping back.
The airport is chaos. I park in the short-term lot and make my way to the arrivals terminal, checking the flight board every few steps even though I already know exactly when she lands. The smell of coffee and jet fuel fills my nostrils. Announcements echo overhead. Families reunite around me, lovers embrace, children run into waiting arms.
I find a spot near the security exit and wait.
Four seventeen. The board says her flight has landed.
Four twenty-three. She should be deplaning now, walking through the jetway, gathering her carry-on.
Four thirty-one. Passengers start emerging from the security doors, a steady stream of tired travelers clutching phones and rolling suitcases.
I scan every face, my heart pounding harder with each passing second.
And then I see her.
She's wearing jeans and an oversized sweater, her dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. There are shadows under her eyes and her face is pale, and she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Our eyes meet across the crowded terminal.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The world narrows to just the two of us, everything else fading to background noise.
Then she drops her bag and runs.
I don't move. I can't. I just stand there and watch her close the distance between us and something cracks open in my chest that I don't have a word for. When she launches herself into my arms I catch her and pull her against me and hold on with everything I have, her feet off the ground, her hands fisted in my sweater.
Her mouth finds mine before I can say a single thing.
People are staring. I don't care. I've been waiting for days for this and I would burn the terminal down before I'd let go of her now.
When she finally pulls back enough to breathe, I press my forehead to hers and close my eyes.
"Don't ever leave again," I manage, the words coming out rougher than I intend.
