Page 162 of GAF Factor

“Olivia, what’s going on?”

“I’m…I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

“Why are you scared? What’s going on?”

“He said everything would be fine, but…I don’t know what to do.”

Her voice cracked and then I heard a soft whimper over the line. My heart started racing as a million scenarios ran through my head.

“Olivia, who is he?”

“Your father,” she sobbed. “I thought I could handle it.”

“Olivia, where are you?”

“At…at the apartment.”

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

She broke down in more tears and my heart tore in two. I couldn’t stand to hear a woman cry. It was shredding me apart.

“Hurry, Bradford.”

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

I hung up and quickly found a flight, but it wouldn’t get me there until morning. Still, it was all I had. I booked it and sent her the flight information, then told her to stay in the apartment with the doors locked. I packed a carry-on and was out the door minutes later, headed for the airport. And I would have gotten away with no issues if it weren’t for fucking FNG landing on the fucking windshield of my truck, cracking the whole fucking thing just as I was leaving the property.

I screeched to a stop and FNG went rolling off the front of the truck, landing with a thud on the ground. Getting out, I stormed around to the front and stared at the man wrapped in a fucking parachute.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Groaning, he rolled over. “Training exercise. Isn’t that the usual line?”

Sighing, I held out my hand for him, hauling him off the ground. “Anything broken?”

“I don’t think so.” Then he started chuckling. “Parachute didn’t open.”

“How high were you?” I questioned, narrowing my eyes at him.

“High enough that I should be dead. Well, maybe not too high. Otherwise, your truck would be a pancake, but still…”

I rolled my eyes. “Great, well, I’m off to the airport. Have fun with…whatever you were doing.”

“The airport? Where are you going?”

“New York.”

“Why?”

“Look, I really don’t have time for this. I have to catch a flight in four hours.”

He chuckled, brushing the dirt from his flight suit. “Four hours—I’d say you have plenty of time.”

Gritting my teeth, I tried not to snap at him. “Olivia called. She’s in trouble.”

“Ooh, the ex-not-so-fiancée. I’ll come with.”

“What—” But he was already getting in the passenger side. “No, I didn’t get a ticket for you,” I said, sliding into the driver’s side.

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