On the Loose (A Katie Parker Production)
Page 32
“It’s hard to argue with history.” I hold up a hand to stop him from interrupting. “I’m not trying to be pitiful. I just want to get to the bottom of it. I’m tired of making mistakes, wasting my time.” Being tossed out, left behind.
The plane takes a leap north then dips back down. My breaths catches in my throat. “I want off this thing,” I say. “I want off this thing right now.”
“Please put your seats in the upright position,” announces the flight attendant. “Return your tray to its proper place.”
The pilot takes his turn next, giving instructions and saying God knows what (probably Last Rites). But I can’t hear a thing for the rising noise around me. An overhead bin to our left flies open and a bag torpedoes into a grandma and her knitting needles. Somewhere up front a baby wails. Nervous chatter gathers like tornado winds.
“What’s the pilot saying?” My heart beats a crazed staccato, and I want to both cry and laugh at the insanity of it all.
“He said to stay calm that we’d be out of this storm soon.” Charlie takes quick stock of the situation around us, then turns his attention back to me. “You were telling me why you broke my heart our senior year.”
“I did not.”
I expect him to smile, to follow up with a joke.
But Charlie says nothing.
He captures my other hand, prying my fingers off the arm rest, then pulls me closer, resting his forehead on mine. “I don’t think you remember the events of those last few months accurately.”
I swallow then lick my trembling lips. “You left.” Just like they all do.
“I cared about you.”
“You had a funny way of showing it.”
“Katie, I—”
His words die as light and fury explode around us.
The flash of lightning.
Screaming.
Fire.
Falling.
Plummeting.
Spinning.
Screaming.
My world goes dark as Charlie throws his body over mine. “We’ve been hit,” he yells in my ear. “Hang on. Just hang on to me.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t drag in enough breath.
Please God, save us.
I utter the plea silently.
Aloud.
“Charlie?”
“I’m right here. I’m not letting you go.”
His arms encircle me and hold my tight. He mumbles words of assurance, broken prayers, and other utterances the terror swallows whole.
“Charlie?” I shove off his hands, his body. “Charlie!” With all my strength I push him away, only to grab his face, his stubbly cheeks in the palms of my hands.
He finally lifts his head, his eyes wide, unfocused.
“I love you, Charlie.” I pull his face to mine, blocking out the shrieks around us and the spin and tilt of death. “Do you hear me? I never stopped loving you.”
“Katie, I—”
Then I press my mouth to his, holding Charlie Benson to me, knowing these lips will soon draw their last breath.
And I don’t want to waste these minutes, seconds.
Then Charlie Benson’s kissing me back. His lips cover mine. His hands cradle my head.
The world spins.
The plane falls.
And I just hold on.
“I’ve got you,” I hear him say again. “I’m not letting you go.”
And after all these years, I believe him.
Just when it’s too late.
About the Author
Four-time Carol award-winning author Jenny B. Jones writes romance with equal parts wit, sass, and Southern charm. Since she has very little free time, she believes in spending her spare hours in meaningful, intellectual pursuits, such as watching bad TV, Tweeting deep thoughts to the world, and writing her name in the dust on her furniture. She is the author of romantic comedies for women such as RITA finalist Save the Date, as well as books for teens, like her A Charmed Life series. You can find her at www.JennyBJones.com or standing in the Ben and Jerry’s cooler.