Oh, God.
She tried calling him again, chanting to herself, “Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up,” and then released a cry of anguish when the call went to voice mail again.
What should she do?
Think, Blair. Now is not the time to panic. Call the airline.
It took three times to pull up the airline’s website and find a number to call, only to be placed on hold by the automated system.
“You’re expected wait time is ten to fifteen minutes,” the recorded voice said in a soothing tone.
“I don’t have ten to fifteen minutes!” Blair shouted into the phone as her tears broke loose. She considered hanging up, but she had to know—one way or the other.
But sitting on hold wasn’t enough. She had to do something else.
Then it hit her—call the Kansas City airport from the home phone while she was on hold with her cell phone. Jumping off the sofa, she stepped on a piece of broken glass with her bare foot. She fell forward, pain shooting through her foot, and landed on her hands and knees. Then she looked back at the insole of her foot; a half-inch piece of glass was sticking out of the sole of her foot, blood oozing around it.
She lifted her gaze to the TV, taking in the raging fire on the screen. That was Garrett’s flight. What if he hadn’t made it out? What if he’d been injured a hundred times worse than her foot? What if he was on the burning plane and was never coming home? She thought of his body, mangled and bloody, and her sobs broke loose.
Their last conversation had been that stupid argument over his job offer. She’d been in such a damn hurry to get off the phone. But why? Because she wanted to prove she didn’t need him? That she could live without him? She’d lived without him for five years after they’d broken up and proved that she was capable of it. She knew without a doubt that she could live without him now. The difference was she didn’t want to. He’d given himself to her, mind, body, and soul, and still she’d held back. Scared to death she would lose him and she’d lost him anyway. And now he’d never know how much she loved him.
She laid her head on the floor, sobbing, still holding the phone in her hand, barely hearing the crap hold music.
The music stopped and she tried to pull herself together to ask questions, but the automated voice took over. “Your wait time is now estimated to be eight minutes.”
Eight minutes to find out her entire life was over.
“Blair?” she heard Garrett say, worry heavy in his voice.
And that was when she knew she’d lost it. She was hallucinating.
Garrett pulled into the parking lot, grabbed his two bags out of the backseat, and headed for their condo. While he was worried about how their talk would go, he was ready to take it head on.
But before he put the key into the lock, he heard Blair’s sobs through the heavy metal door.
Blair never cried.
Panic shot through Garrett as he dropped his bags and unlocked the door, and he was terrified anew when he found her sprawled on the floor, sobbing.
“Blair?” The combination of finding her hysterical, broken glass around her and a small puddle of blood at her feet scared the shit out of him, and his imagination went to ugly places when he let himself consider what might have put her into this state.
“Garrett?” she asked in a desperate whisper, looking up at him through the hair that had fallen into her face.
“Blair.” His heart squeezed. “Why are you crying?”
She clutched his arm and sobbed harder. “How are you here?”
“I live here, remember?” he tried to tease, but it came out flat. He scooped her up into his arms, intending to set her on the kitchen counter so he could look her over, but she wrapped her arms so tight around his neck he knew she needed to be held. Glass crunched under his shoes as he walked to the opposite end of the sofa and then settled her sideways on his lap. “Blair, what happened?”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry I’m such a bitch.”
“Shh…” He’d never seen her like this, and it scared him. “Stop. I love you, Blair.”
Her hold tightened. “I thought you were dead,” she cried into the nape of his neck. “Your plane crashed.”
“What? No, Blazer. We landed just fine. Why did you think that?” He glanced toward the television, his chest tightening when he realized what he was seeing. Images of a burning plane filled the screen along with Western Airlines Flight 756 Crash on a banner at the bottom.
“Why didn’t you call me?” she sobbed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were okay?”
She sounded so pathetic, his heart cracked into pieces.
He was supposed to have been on that flight. He swallowed his shock. But Blair needed him to be calm. He stroked the hair from her face. “Blazer, I missed my original flight, so I took another one. When I landed, I came straight home.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I barely made the new flight, and I tried to call you, but the flight attendant told me to turn off my phone. So I snuck a text to tell you I was coming home. I didn’t think to tell you it was a different flight.”
Her sobs quieted, but her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath. “Because you thought I didn’t care?”
Her question caught him off guard. “No, I didn’t think it mattered because it wasn’t getting in much later than my original flight from Denver. It had been delayed too. And I didn’t answer because my phone died. But I was almost home anyway, so I didn’t stop to get a charger cord.”
She started crying again. “I thought I lost you, Garrett.”
He cupped the back of her head, searching her eyes. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
She kissed him with a desperation that surprised him, tangling a hand in his hair while she reached for the button on his shirt.
His body ignited, and his hold on her tightened until he remembered how he’d found her. “Blair. Let me look at your foot.”
She shook her head no and captured his mouth again, her tongue searching out his.
He gently grabbed her wrists and pulled back. “Blair. I need to see your foot. You’re bleeding all over the sofa.”
She looked down at the bloodstained fabric. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care about the damned sofa. I care about you.” He stood and carried her into the kitchen, setting her on the counter as he’d originally intended. “Let me take a look.” He lifted her foot, cringing when he saw the jagged glass sticking out of her skin. “I think you should go to the E.R. You probably need stitches.”
“No. Just take out the glass, and we’ll put some gauze around it.”
She sounded more like herself, and he worried she’d close herself off even more now that she’d laid herself so bare. That was what she did. Offer herself however briefly, then retreat and run. Maybe she’d continue to expect him to give up on her, but every step forward was a victory, no matter how small, and he wasn’t giving up. He was there for the long haul.
“Blazer, this needs stitches. You need to go to the E.R.”
She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and pulled him close. “I need you.”