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“Bro,” I protested, but he was shaking his head.
“Talk later. Unbuckle and get ready to roll,” he instructed as he blew by the five mile per hour sign.
“Maybe don’t tear into the terminal like we’re pulling a heist,” I suggested, but the comment just earned a wry smile and an arched brow.
“Where’s the fun in that?” And with that, he pulled into the departure line, finally slowing to accommodate the barrage of speed bumps. He’d barely eased to a roll when I hurled the passenger door open and was out and running a beat later.
“Good luck!” He barked after me. Boarding pass loaded on my phone and ID in hand, I slowed to an acceptable speed-walk when a security guard scowled at me. Waving apologetically, I hustled through pre-check and into the mostly empty concourse before sprinting toward the departure gate. I’d flown in and out of the Tampa airport enough times in the last two years that the layout was familiar.
Which is why my heart dropped through the floor when I finally spotted them closing a gate at the end of the eternal, shining hallway.
“Wait!” I barked. “Hold the door! Please!” Jesus, I’d already worked up a sweat, heart pounding as I prayed to any god that was listening. I called out the gate number, but nobody seemed to care about the psycho yelling for help in a dead sprint through the empty airport. “Hold the gate!” This time the attendant with long brown hair in a high ponytail snapped her head up at me, eyes wide before recognition sent her whirling. By the time I reached her, I was out of breath, humidity sticking my shirt to my skin.
“Hi…ma’am, hold the plane…Did you?” I bent over, bracing myself on my knees as I sucked down air, vaguely aware I sounded like a pathetically winded Yoda.
“Sir, are you okay?” she asked, bending over to check my breathing. I gave her a thumbs up.
“The plane?” I panted. “Get on—I need to get on the plane.”
“Sir, I’m so sorry, but the gate is closed.”
“Gate is closed. No. Christmas. Blizzard. Need to—” I sucked down a lungful of air, forcing myself to stand upright as I palmed at my eyes. “I need to get on the plane. I have a ticket. Ran from the parking lot. Big ass airport. Need on. No more flights. New York.”
For each disjointed word, the empathy in her eyes seemed to deepen, and she glanced over her shoulder toward the window, where the male attendant—who looked a disconcerting amount like a short-haired Max—was on the phone, eyeing me warily.
“I’m so sorry, Sir, but once the gate is closed, we cannot open it.”
“Sure, you can. Door has a handle.” I set my hands on my hips. Maybe I needed a little less weightlifting and a little more cardio. Does my heart always try to expel through my temples like that? This is what a stroke feels like. Airports have doctors, right?
She shook her head, blue eyes glossy above a freckled nose. “It’s not that simple. Federal security protocol prohibits us from?—”
“No,” I said, the little air I gathered crushed from my lungs as I collapsed onto her stand. She set an awkward hand on my shoulder. “Broke thirty laws to get here. Sprinted from the lot.”
“I see that.” She shook her head empathetically. “I really am sorry.”
Elora
“Sis, I’ve got this. Do what you gotta do.”
“Are you sure?” How Pax understood my blubbering through the waterfall of tears and hiccups I would never understand. But my not-so-little brother smiled as the airline attendants gave the last call for our flight, stooping from that nearly six-foot-four vantage point to meet my eyes.
“I’m sure. I know you. I know the plan, and what you need. You and Brod come first.” His dimple popping into existence was oddly comforting, as was the just-hard-enough-to-smart sock to my shoulder. He flicked my chin up with his index finger, booped me on the nose, and ordered, “Go get ‘em, Sparkplug.”
Despite the shuddering sobs I couldn’t seem to get under control, I laughed. It was watery, at best, but the twenty-nine years of brotherly nostalgia punched through the mess of emotions that took me captive the moment we hit the freeway. “Okay. God, thank you, Pax.” I threw my arms around him, and he scooped me up, tucking me against his chest before settling me back on my feet.
“Hurry, El. He’s probably getting eaten alive in that house right now.”
I took a shuddering breath. “I know. God, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were thinking about kicking ass and changing lives, not about what your heart actually needed. Now you need to run and save him.”
“I’m running. Right now.”
“Good. Go,” he said with a little salute as he backed onto the ramp to the plane. “Love you, El.”
“Love you, little brother.”
He smirked, and then turned on his heel as the male attendant glared at his watch, a little pinch in his brows. “We’ve got one more,” he said to the woman coming over to check his list. I gave them a little wave; aware my chin was trembling again as the last six weeks all caught up with me at once.
