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Louanne
Across the office,I answer emails while Henrik preps lattes in our small kitchenette. We have decided to organize the gala for next year. We want to make sure that we can invite the right people—including the Boston Blizzards. Even though Henrik is already retired, his teammates love him and so does the general manager.
“Do you know any celebrities?”
He taps his chin. “Probably a few. I would have to make a few calls first.”
I’m about to ask why he doesn’t trust me with those numbers when my phone rings, flashing an unfamiliar number. Ordinarily, I’d dismiss it without a second thought, but today intuition whispers insistently, urging me to answer.
“Hello?” I say, as my fingers hover over the keyboard.
“Lou, it’s Hunter. Anthony is in jail,” he blurts out, bypassing any niceties. The words strike like lightning, sending a jolt of shock through me.
I lift my gaze to Henrik. He’s in the small kitchenette, but now his attention is entirely on me. His ocean-blue eyes narrow in concern, mirroring the sudden havoc in my gut. “What happened?” I force the words out, my heart now a wild drumbeat in my chest.
“He’s been arrested for fraud,” Hunter scoffs through the phone, his disdain palpable. “That’s just one of the multiple charges he’s facing. But forget that. There’s an emergency custody hearing for the kids. They need you in New York, ASAP. Can you make it?”
A flicker of excitement sparks within me, swiftly chased by a wave of nervous energy. New York. The kids. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, my chance to bring them home. But the state won’t allow it. At least not yet.
“I . . . I don’t know how I’ll manage on such short notice,” I admit, my voice quivering with a cocktail of hope and anxiety.
Henrik is at my side in a heartbeat. “I’ll arrange a charter flight for us,” he says decisively.
“Really? You could do that?” I stammer, my voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and hope.
“For you, anything,” he replies; he gets closer and kisses the tip of my nose.
“Thank you, Henrik. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Good, I’ll see you in a few hours,” Hunter says before ending the call.
I sigh. “This is real, isn’t it?”
Henrik nods. “It is, and we better go to your place to pack a few things. The charter should be ready soon and we’ll be there around one.”
* * *
Despite the lavishcomfort of the private jet and the soothing, gentle hum of its engines, a relentless knot of anxiety gnaws at the pit of my stomach. I find myself perched uneasily on the edge of my seat, my fingers tapping a restless, erratic rhythm on my knee, as my gaze wanders aimlessly over the clouds below us.
“I don’t even know if they have clothes . . . their things,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, lost in the enormity of my concerns. “Hunter didn’t mention where they’re at.” The words hang in the air, along with all my fears.
Henrik turns to face me, his demeanor calm yet attentive. In his eyes, a softness flickers, meant just for me. “Lou, they’re safe. Hunter and Ameline will make sure of that,” he reassures me.
But my mind races, haunted by stories and scenarios gleaned from countless forums where parents like me share their agonizing experiences. “But what if we can’t take them back to Kentbury?” I ask, my voice tinged with a palpable concern. “I can’t afford the city—and we would be so much better off in our small town.”
“Then I’ll have a suite ready for the three of you while I look for an apartment where you can live,” he says, his voice so sure that I’m almost convinced that things can be that easy. “Everything will be fine.”
I want to believe him, to let his confidence wash over my fears. But, deep down, a nagging doubt persists. What if things don’t go as smoothly as he believes?
As these thoughts swirl in my mind, the jet begins its descent. Henrik reaches out, his hand finding mine. I lean into his touch, hoping he’s right.
We land smoothly, and the transition to the helicopter waiting for us is swift. The rotor blades cut through the midday air. The helicopter touches down on the rooftop of the offices of Everhart and Everhart with an impressive precision.
“It’s going to be okay,” I mutter as we head toward the elevator.
“It will be, baby,” Henrik assures me.
* * *
