The Ending I Want(107)

“Let me just check.”

I hear tapping on keys.

“Okay, the next flight with us out to Boston is…at five p.m. Check-in opens in half an hour.”

I know Taylor’s return flight is tomorrow, but she could have changed that.

“Okay, Amber, I need you to tell me if a Taylor Shaw has tried to change her ticket from tomorrow’s flight to today. Or if she’s even bought a new ticket. Basically, I just need to know if she’s trying to get on that five o’clock flight.”

There’s a slight pause. “Sir, I can’t give out flight information on passengers. Our policy states—”

“I know what the policy states. I f*cking wrote the thing. Now, tell me if Taylor is trying to fly out of Heathrow today.”

“Sir…it’s just…I know you say you’re you, but how can I be sure it is actually you? You could be anyone.”

I let out a growl of frustration. “What’s your surname?”

Another pause. “Crawford.”

“Okay, Amber Crawford, when you’re getting your final pay slip and being escorted from the premises in about, oh, say, ten minutes, then you’ll f*cking know it was me. Now, either tell me if she’s tried to change her flight, or I can fire you, and then you can put me on the phone with somebody who will do the job I’m f*cking paying them to do!”

Another brief pause, and then I hear the clicking of keys.

“Taylor Shaw hasn’t changed her flight from tomorrow to today, and she hasn’t purchased a ticket for today’s flight either, sir.”

I feel a beat of relief. But just because she hasn’t tried to change her flight doesn’t mean she won’t. She could be walking in there right now, heading to the desk where Amber is sitting.

“Do you have a pen and paper?”

“Yes.”

“Write this number down.” I rattle off my phone number to her. “If she turns up at the desk, I want you to call me immediately.”

“Yes, sir. Should I put a flag against her name in the system in case she doesn’t come to the desk and tries to change the flight by telephone?”

I don’t think Taylor would do that. I think she’s in the cab on the way to the airport to change her ticket and leave. But I still say, “Yes, and put a note to call me right away.”

“Sir, do we let her change the ticket?”

“No.”

“And if she wants to purchase another?”

“Tell her the flight is full.”

“Won’t that only send her to another airline though, sir?”

Fuck, she’s right.

I start doing the math in my head. I was going to go straight to my apartment and get my passport. I figured, if I couldn’t change her mind, if she chose to get on that flight and go back to Boston, then I was going to go with her, whether she wanted me there or not.

I’m not leaving her side again until I make her see sense. Make her see that the only place she needs to be is here with me.

But, if I do that, I’ll have to drive right past the airport and then another thirty minutes to my apartment and back to the airport.

Fuck! Why the hell did I go to Oxford?

I’ll have to take my chances and go straight to the airport. Stop Taylor from getting on that flight. Beg her to stay. Beg her to let me take her back to the hospital.

If she gets on that flight, then I’m screwed. I might own an airline, but I’m not God. There’s no way I’ll be flying into Boston without my passport.

“I’m thirty minutes away,” I tell Amber. “When she shows up, keep her there, and don’t let her leave, no matter what.”

“Yes, sir.”

I press the button to disconnect the call, and I put my foot down, speeding down the M40, heading for Heathrow as fast as my car will get me there.





I slam my brakes when I reach the drop-off bay at terminal five, and I jump out of my car, locking it with the fob as I hurry away, heading toward the doors to get inside. I’ll get a parking ticket for sure, leaving it here, but like I give a f*ck.

I just need to get in there as fast as possible.

Amber hasn’t called back to say that Taylor has shown up, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t there.

I pick up speed, breaking into a fast jog, pushing past people, as I head inside the terminal and straight for the ticket desk.

As I approach, I see a young redhead sitting behind the desk—Amber, I’m guessing—but there’s no sign of Taylor. I don’t know whether to be happy or worried.

I skid to a stop at the desk, slamming my hands down on the counter.

Amber’s eyes come up from the computer she was looking at. Her eyes widen when she sees it’s me.

“Mr. Hunter—sir”—she stands up from her chair—“Miss Shaw hasn’t shown up or called. I was just checking to make sure she hadn’t called to change her ticket.” She turns the computer screen to show me.

My brow furrows in confusion.

Taylor should be here by now. She got the cab over an hour ago.

Even if she didn’t come to the ticket desk right away, surely, she would be here now, as checkin is now open, as it’s past two o’clock.

“Is there anything else I can do to help, sir?”