“You’re lucky,” she clicks her tongue. “We’re one minute away from closing the gate. You made it just in time.”
Thank you, God.
I release a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding in, relief pouring through me.
“Thank you,” I rush out before stepping onto the jet bridge.
Seconds later, I’m walking onto the plane, my chest rattling with uneven breaths as I scan the rows for Meadow.
Panic crawls up my throat when I don’t find her at first, but then I see her.
She’s seated between the middle and back rows, right by the window.
Her head is turned toward the sun as she gazes out at the tarmac. She’s dipped so low in the seat, like she’s trying to disappear. I can’t even see what she’s wearing, just the top of her head as she tries her best to burrow down and hide.
God, I fucking hate this. I hate that she’s shutting me out like this.
It would be easy—justifiable, even—to be angry with her. But I know that her pushing me away isn’t truly about me. She’s scared and trying to protect herself.
I want to prove to her that if she places her heart in my hands, I’ll never let it go. I’ll protect it with my life.
My limbs ache as I automatically go to her.
“Meadow—”
I make my way further down the aisle, my body moving before my brain can catch up, all my instincts burning to get to her.
I need her to just look at me. Fuck, I need to grab her hand and feel her skin. I need to fucking fix this.
“Sir,” a voice says firmly, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn to see a flight attendant standing in the aisle, her expression composed but polite.
“You need to take your assigned seat, sir. We’re preparing for takeoff.”
“I just—she’s right there,” I gesture helplessly toward the back of the plane. “I just need to speak to her.Please, give me one second.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” she shakes her head, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You need to be seatednow.”
My nostrils flare as frustration surges through me like a live wire.
She’s right fucking there.
Probably twelve rows away.
And I can’t even get to her.
I frantically glance back at Meadow, hoping—praying—that she’ll turn and see me. That she’ll just look at me. That she’ll give me something… anything.
But of course, she doesn’t.
She doesn’t even move. It's as if she knows that if she makes eye contact with me, she won't be able to turn me away again.
Slowly, reluctantly, I clench my jaw and force myself to turn away. By the time I drop into the leather seat, I lean back and press a hand to my face as the reality of the situation settles in.
Meadow left before I woke up. She clearly had no intention of seeing me today.
And even though we’re on the same plane, separated by a handful of rows, it feels like we’re miles apart.
