The Valentine: The Wedding Pact #4 Read online

  “Marco,” Blair said. “Do you still love her?”

  “I object!” Dane shouted.

  Blair groaned. “We’re not in court, Dane.”

  “Your client filed for divorce. Your client has wasted our time all day. My client owes her nothing.”

  “I’ll do it,” Marco said. “I’ll talk to her.”

  Dane glared in Blair’s direction and then as Marco started to walk past him, he grabbed his client’s arm. “I strongly advise against this, Marco.”

  “I know.” Marco looked into Blair’s face. “But I want to hear her out.”

  He walked out of the room, his body tense with his anxiety.

  Dane started to follow him, but Blair grabbed his arm as he moved past her. “He agreed to a private meeting, Dane,” she said.

  Dane narrowed his eyes, shaking off her hand. “What are you up to, Hansen?”

  “She still loves him.”

  Dane snorted. “What happened to you?”

  “I got married.”

  Before Garrett, she would have forged on, convincing Allison to come to some kind of agreement. She’d been right—Garrett had softened her. He’d made her a better person.

  Dane rolled his eyes in disgust and stormed out into the hall, Blair on his heels. He stopped in his tracks, seeing Allison in Marco’s arms.

  “Dammit, Hansen,” Dane growled. “This case is finished, isn’t it?”

  “I hope so. They still love each other.”

  Dane laughed. “Don’t be so naïve, Blair. Love doesn’t solve everything.”

  Blair sure as hell hoped he was wrong.

  Chapter 5

  I t was another half hour before Allison and Marco left together, the hands laced together as they walked out. Dane left soon after his client told him the divorce was off. Blair saw them all out, then returned to find Melissa smiling ear to ear.

  “What?” Blair asked.

  “You. You fixed them, Cupid.”

  “Cupid?” Blair’s back stiffened. “I hate Valentine’s Day. I would never play Cupid.”

  “But you fixed them.”

  “No. They fixed themselves. They just needed a little push.”

  She had left her phone on her desk, so she grabbed it and checked for any calls from Garrett, hoping he’d caught a flight in Denver. She’d missed his call telling her his flight had finally taken off, but now she saw his text. He’d caught his flight. Which meant he’d be landing anytime now.

  If she wanted to follow through with her Anti-Valentine’s Day plans, she need to get busy. “Melissa, why don’t you head home?”

  She sat up, looking startled. “But it’s not even five yet.”

  “Don’t you have any Valentine’s plans?”

  Melissa released a bitter laugh. “Hardly.”

  Blair studied her. “You never date. Don’t you want to find someone?”

  “When the time’s right, I’ll know it, and now is not that time. Nor is there a right guy,” she said, shutting off her computer monitor. “But you don’t have to coerce me into leaving. Did you hear from Garrett?”

  “He’s on a flight home now, and should be landing anytime.”

  “Well, then you better get going too.” Melissa grabbed her purse out of her desk drawer and stood. “You want to be home when he gets there.” She grinned over her shoulder as she headed down the hall. “Even if you don’t celebrate V-Day.”

  “Melissa?” Blair called after her.

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for bearing with me and my surliness.”

  She grinned. “Hey, you royally ticked off Dane Albright. That makes up for a lot of cranky attitude.”

  Blair laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind for future reference.”

  She watched Melissa leave, then decided to take her advice. She’d planned on surprising Garrett with an Anti-Valentine’s Day, so she called in a Chinese takeout order. They could snuggle up on the sofa and eat Chinese food while they watched a horror movie on Netflix.

  She let herself in the condo and called out Garrett’s name. It only took a few moments to realize he wasn’t home yet. She set her keys and the bag of food on the kitchen counter, feeling unsettled by the silence. She’d missed him more than she’d expected, and she planned to tell him as soon as he came home.

  She checked her phone for messages. Nothing.

  Then again, she’d trained him to not check in regularly. She didn’t need to know what he was doing every minute of the day, and she didn’t want to answer to him either, even if they shared an office and knew what each other was doing most of the time anyway.

  Still, something felt off…not quite right. Their earlier argument had left her unsettled, and she attributed her uncertainty to that.

  To help herself relax, she opened a bottle of wine and poured a glass, then sat down on the sofa and turned on the television. After her day, what she really needed was to watch something mindless. She spent the next hour flipping channels, growing more and more anxious that he hadn’t come home yet. His flight should have landed nearly two hours ago.

  Maybe he’d decided not to come home. Maybe she’d pushed him too far.

  Her stomach clenched, but she told herself to relax. Garrett was coming home. His flight from Denver probably got delayed too, and that was easy enough to find out.

  She grabbed her phone and found the itinerary he’d emailed her before he left, then pulled up the airline’s website and plugged in the flight number—delayed.

  Well, that explained it. He was probably stuck in Denver. So why hadn’t he called her? And why had he sent that text saying that he was boarding his plane and that he’d see her in K.C.?

  Maybe he’d changed his mind.

  She knew the idea was ridiculous even as it popped into her head, yet once it was there it continued to mushroom out of control. Garrett was the committed one in the relationship. She was the one with the issues.

  But what if he’d gotten tired of her brick wall and decided he’d had enough? The quip for him to take the San Diego job was too much for anyone to take. Even Garrett.

  She poured another glass of wine and started zipping through channels again. She flipped past a national news channel but turned back when she realized the images on the screen were of an aircraft in flames.

  “…again we have confirmed that there are casualties,” the newscaster said in a grave voice. “But we have no confirmed numbers. To recap, Western Airlines Flight 756, originating in Denver and headed to Kansas City, made an emergency landing at Topeka Regional Airport at approximately 5:38 Central Time. The flight crew had informed air traffic control of a reported engine failure and requested an emergency landing. Air traffic control diverted the plane to Topeka, where it touched down, then skidded off the runway and burst into flames. We know that at least fifty passengers have made it off the plane, many with injuries, but we have no idea how many are still on the plane. Once again, Western Airlines Flight 756 has crash-landed at the Topeka Regional Airport.” The newscaster paused, pressing his earpiece into his ear as he listened. “Authorities are now confirming that there are ten casualties and that twenty passengers are unaccounted for.”

  Blair stared at the TV in shock, dropping her wine glass onto the hardwood floor. The glass shattered, splashing Blair’s feet with wine.

  Western Airlines Flight 756 was Garrett’s flight.

  She picked up her phone, her fingers fumbling to pull his number up on speed dial. After five attempts, she finally got the call to go through, only to have it immediately go to voice mail.

  Some rational part of her brain told her to remain calm. Freaking out wouldn’t do any good, but she had to look at the facts. If Garrett were in a plane crash, his first plan of action would be to call her and reassure her that he was okay. If the plane crashed shortly before six, he’d had over an hour to call her.

  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.”

  She lifted her mouth to his, and he responded, dropping her foot and wrapping his arm around her back. He pulled her body flush with his, leaving no question about how much he wanted her, but he still needed to take care of her injury.

  “Your foot first,” he said against her lips.

  “No E.R.,” she murmured.

  “Okay.” He forced himself to step back. Vulnerable Blair was still there, and he had to make sure she didn’t misunderstand his intentions. “But I get to play doctor before I ravage you.”

  She sucked in a breath, her chest rising and falling. “Yes.”

  He took another step back, trying to clear his head. The sight of her breasts stretching her blouse nearly made him forget she needed medical attention. “I need to get the first aid kit.”

  Before she could stop him, he ran for the bathroom, grabbed the white plastic first aid box and hurried back to the kitchen.
He stopped at the entrance as he saw the television screen. Blair was watching it too, tears filling her eyes again.

  He grabbed the remote off the table and turned it off, then tossed it onto the sofa. He stared into her tear-streaked face. “I wasn’t on that plane. I’m here with you now.”

  “You were supposed to be,” she whispered, sounding scared.

  “But fate intervened, just like it intervened when Nana Ruby insisted I be a groomsman at my cousin’s wedding.” He stepped between her legs and cupped her cheek, tilting her head back to look up at him. “We’re meant to be together. Don’t you get it, Blair? We’re meant to be.”

  Her chin quivered as she nodded.

  He worked quickly on her foot, flinching with her when he pulled out the glass. The cut was deep, but she insisted she wouldn’t go to the hospital, so he closed it up with butterfly bandages, hoping to convince her later. After he’d wrapped it with gauze, he washed his hands and then got her a couple of ibuprofen and a glass of water.

  “I think you’re going to need these,” he said.

  She took them without complaint, then set the glass on the counter. “I need you more.” Her voice broke again as she tugged him closer, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

  “I’m yours, Blair,” he said with a ragged breath. “I’m always yours.”

  He leaned down and kissed her gently, cradling the back of her head in his hand. He wanted her to know how precious she was to him.

  But Blair had other ideas. She deepened the kiss, her tongue searching out his as she continued to unbutton his shirt. Then she pulled the shirt free from his pants. Her hands skimmed his chest, sending a bolt of electricity through his blood and straight to his groin.

  Her mouth broke free from his and skimmed down his jaw, along the taut tendons of his neck, and down his chest. His hands rested on her waist, then slid up and under her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples over the lace of her bra.

  She released a low moan as her teeth raked over his nipple.

  “Bed. Now,” he grunted as he slid his hands underneath her ass, lifting her so she straddled his waist. He stopped and searched her face. “How’s your foot? You okay?”