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“The airline will do that. Just let them do their jobs,” Daniel said.
Fuck, why hadn’t he thought of that?
Logan’s brain had turned to mush. All he’d been doing was imagining her body crushed or lying lifeless in the body of a plane.
The need to go to her, to be with her, to see her alive, smiling, breathing, was almost overwhelming.
If she was alive, he wasn’t going home.
“I need to see her,” Logan suddenly said.
“You need to sit down and have a drink.” Daniel pushed a whisky under his nose.
Logan took it and put it on the table in front of him. Standing up, he pulled out his phone.
“The fuck, Logan. What are you going to do? Get your pilot to fly you there and follow the rescue people back to Chicago?”
It wasn’t a bad plan...
“Uhh—”
“Can we?” Harper asked, interrupting him.
They both glanced at Daniel.
“No,” he growled quietly, shaking his head. “Sit down.”
Weirdly, they both did.
Logan sipped his whisky as Harper watched him. He held it out to her, and she took it, taking a sip. Then they both sat staring at the TV, knowing Daniel was right but almost hating him for it in the moment.
Emma.
Goddamn her.
Be alive, sweetheart. Please, be alive.
