The Redemption (Charlotte Bloom Book 2) by Amanda Richardson Read Free Book Online Page A

kept my eyes on him while the line scooted closer to the ticket scanner.
    I didn’t let him out of my sight the entire time we were boarding, but as we entered the plane I realized, to my dismay, that he was seated towards the back of the plane, while I had a seat in the second row. I excused myself from my seat companions, saying I needed to use the restroom. Instead of using the one five feet away, I made my way towards the back of the plane, to where the man had his back to me as he put his suitcase up in the overhead bin. I tapped his shoulder. He turned around.
    It wasn’t Alec.
     
     
     
    ***
     
     
     
    After I got back to my seat, I quickly called the Parc. Of course, no one answered. The flight attendant standing to my left cleared her throat loudly, obviously displeased with me. Panic started to settle in. I had no way of contacting Alec. Surely he was going back to the Parc… right?
    I spent the majority of the long flight fidgeting. I denied the meal they brought to me. I was just too nervous to eat. As I drifted off to sleep towards the end of the flight, I figured the most plausible explanation was that he was still in L.A., in some hotel room, waiting to leave on some other flight. I mean, he’d traveled all the way from Wales. He wasn’t going to go straight home. He needed to sleep. With the overly expensive wi-fi that the flight offered, I quickly emailed Amara to see if she could leave a note for Alec on my front door. I wanted to keep it simple, and I wanted to make sure no one else would know what it meant.
    I’m coming back for you. I love you. -Charlotte.
    I asked her to tape it up in the rare case that Alec came back to my apartment. He would know what it meant. That was all I could do. If all went well, I would be at the Parc when he returned.
    When we landed in Dublin, I had about forty-five minutes to catch my connection. The de-boarding process was slow, and once I reached the Customs area I squirmed with anxiety the entire time I waited in line. I wished the Customs officers would hurry up. After about thirty minutes of waiting in a solid, dense line, I skipped ahead to the horror of all the other passengers. I issued apologies, explaining that my connection was leaving in fifteen minutes. Some of them sneered. Others smiled and gladly allowed me to cut in front of them. As I made my way to the front of the line, I realized with sickening horror that my connecting flight was out of another terminal. I wasn’t going to make it.
    My passport got stamped, and I had all of eleven minutes to make my way to the next gate, which looked to be about five hundred miles away. I sighed, and debated even trying. I was probably going to miss it. I checked the departure time on the board and realized boarding was still happening. I had to attempt to make it. I ran as fast as I could with my suitcase rolling behind me. I bumped into people as I ran, apologizing over my shoulder. I felt the air burning in my lungs as I sprinted to the next terminal. I didn’t have time to wait for the inter-terminal tram. I was doing this on my own.
    I constantly checked my phone as I wove through the mass of people. Eight minutes. I could still make it. I turned into a very long hallway and jumped onto the moving walkway, trying not to actually push people out of the way, but instead tapping them on the shoulder impatiently. Six minutes. I ran as fast as I could—not just to catch my flight—but for Alec, too. I had to get there as soon as possible. I had to be at Parc-Le-Bouveret when he arrived. I had to redeem myself. Five minutes. I saw the very faint outline of my gate in the distance. I stumbled on to another moving sidewalk and sprinted. Three minutes. I was so close. I was so close. Two minutes. I hopped off the moving sidewalk and started to shout at the woman standing at my gate.
    “I’m here! I’m coming!”
    She laughed and gestured to the closing door.
    “You made it.”
     

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