Page 59 of One Love

Ah, fuck it. This is not good. He’s there, he’s fucking there with Hallie, less than a month after some big to-do party hosted by her grandparents where skeezy old men were talking to her and she was being forced to play the meet-and-greet game.

Hallie is thirteen years old. What the fuck is wrong with people?

Fuck this. I’m not wasting time because of a fucking meeting of the heads.

This is stupid.

No, it’s not.

Well, it is though, isn’t it?

Probably. Definitely. But do I give a fuck? Not even a little bit.

The whole way to La Guardia Airport, I second guess myself about a half dozen times.

When I tried to book a flight like a normal human being, I scoffed at the flight times and the one, sometimes two stops along the way. By the time I’d land in Melbourne, Florida, Ronan would be long fucking gone. Orlando was an option but it’s twice the driving distance to Cocoa Beach and the airport is fucking huge, which, again, would suck up all my time.

Hell, despite all of my efforts, Ronan may be long gone no matter what itinerary I choose, but I can’t stand by and do nothing. Sitting on my ass is not an option.

When it became clear I wasn’t going to go commercial, I called Zavier and told him I needed a chartered flight. It only took him fifteen minutes to find a friend of a friend who had a plane on standby for a flight to Houston and didn’t mind doing a little detour to the Sunshine State.

Generous motherfucker. I’ll have to buy him a case of very expensive and very illegal Cuban cigars.

Me: J, I swear to fuck, pick up your phone.

I call again, but no answer, so I try Glitch, but he can’t get a hold of her either. He assured me that one of the Reapers would drive up to the Upper East Side but traffic in Manhattan is a constant. His advice is to wait for J to get his message. She’ll know what to do.

But time isn’t on our side and even leaving right now we’re taking the risk of losing Ronan.

All the way to the airport, through security, down the tarmac and up the small steps to the eight-seater plane, I have the phone to my ear or my fingers flying across the screen telling her I’m about to board and fly down to get Hallie.

I add on that I brought my knife so she doesn’t worry. Too much.

Yes, this is fucking stupid. No, I don’t give a shit.

Z’s acquaintance is at the top of the stairs, greeting me with his year-round tan and million-dollar smile that looks less than two years old. I suppose when you’ve got enough money for a private jet, you have enough to reconstruct your teeth and get big shiny white ones.

More power to you, man.

We shake hands and I don’t miss his slight recoil when his eyes land on my scar before he quickly looks away.

It’s all good, I’m used to it and I don’t care. It keeps irrelevant people away and I’m okay with that.

“Thank you for this, it’s an emergency and commercial wasn’t looking good for me.” I bend at the knees to avoid slamming my head against the entrance and whistle low at the interior of the plane. It’s all beige and white, glossy built-in furniture with eight large, comfortable looking leather seats, four on either side of the cylinder-shaped cabin with a work table separating them.

By the time the plane takes off, I’ve sent no less than fifty messages to Jordyn and called half that many times. My service dies mere minutes after take off and I spend the entire flight wondering if I’ve lost my fucking mind.

That being said, if I can get a private flight down there, J can figure it out as well. If not, I’ll go in like a Navy Seal and grab Hallie before high tailing it out of there. What could possibly go wrong?

I don’t even entertain that thought because the sheer number of things that could go wrong is a list as long as my cell mate’s rap sheet.

Dude was in for life.

An hour and forty minutes later, we’re touching down on the hot tar of the runway and I’m practically blinded by the sunlightstreaming through the portholes, turning me intothatguy…the one who slides down the shade because the sun is too bright.

Stepping out of the plane and thanking Jeff, Zavier’s friend of a friend, profusely, I pull up my app and order a driver to take me to Hallie’s. I’ve downloaded everything I need to know on my phone and just when I turn it back on, the incessant dinging plays like a concert for a solid five minutes.

Fuck me. Just a glimpse at Jordyn’s messages tells me I’m about to get my fucking ass kicked.

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