She sniffed. “I doubt it. You needed me.”
I shocked her when I wrapped my arm around her, dragging her close and kissing her hard. “You’re right. I need you on lots of levels.”
For a moment, our eyes locked. Then she pushed me away. “We need a plan. I guess I had better try to find us a place to sit. I scrolled through some close hotels—they are all booked up. I’m surprised they didn’t say something on the plane. An announcement.”
“Well, you were snoring away, so you wouldn’t have heard it,” I drawled. “I had my headphones on to shut you out, and I might have missed it.”
She slapped my arm. “I do not snore.”
I leaned close. “You do, Mrs. Richards, when you’re exhausted. It’s rather cute, like tiny little snorts.”
She glared at me. “Take that back.”
“The snoring comment? But it’s true.”
Gracie stepped in and poked me with her index finger. Her surprisingly strong index finger. “I am not Mrs. Richards,” she hissed.
I grabbed her hand and kissed the tip of her finger. “That part is true as well.”
“Not for long.”
Her phone rang, and she glanced down. “Damn, that’s Addi. No doubt Heather called her.”
Movement outside caught my eye. A truck driving slowly toward the terminal, its snow tires sticking to the tarmac easily. An idea formed, and I did some fast calculations in my head. “You tell her you’ll be there. I’ll get you there, Grace. I swear it. Wait here.”
I hurried away, searching for the sign I needed, hoping my idea would work.
I returned in about thirty minutes. Gracie was sitting, staring out the window. She looked resigned, sad. Tired. I went to her side and handed her a tray of coffee, then reached for the bags. “Let’s go.”
“You found a hotel?”
“No. We’re leaving.”
“What?”
I held up a set of keys. “We need to get ahead of this storm. We’re driving.”
She gaped at me. “Jaxson, it’s thirty hours or more driving time!”
“Thirty-six without breaks. But if we leave now, we can get ahead of it. I’ll drive until I need to sleep for a bit, and we’ll pull over.” I gripped her hand. “I’ll get you there, Gracie.”
“I am not sitting in a car with you for that length of time.”
“Then you’ll sit in an airport. You’re stuck with me.”
“Until I get the legal papers saying otherwise.”
“Not happening,” I retorted. “So, here are your options. Sit here and miss the wedding. Or let me drive you and give you the best chance to get there.”
She was quiet, and I felt her silent fuming. She knew there was one option to take if she wanted to get to the wedding.
Me.
“Fine.”
“I’m sorry, you said something? It was something ‘you,’ but I am certain it was polite and not fuck you this time.”
“Thank you, Jaxson,” she snapped through tight lips.
I waved my hand airily. “No thanks are needed, but I want something. Two things, actually.”
“What?” She ground out between clenched teeth.
“I don’t want to hear the words divorce or annulment again. Not once during this trip. Am I clear? No talk about our marriage.”
“It’s not—”
She stopped talking when I glared at her, then she grimaced. “Fine. I’ll be thinking them, though.”
I rolled my eyes.
“And the second?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you in the car. We need to go. We need to get out before it hits.” I tugged on her hand. “Now.”
I felt a sense of satisfaction when she followed me.
The next few hours were tense. The SUV was equipped with the latest safety features, but even with winter tires, four-wheel drive, and driving in low gear, the roads were hazardous. It was going to take longer to get there than I had thought unless we cleared the storm. I had to admit to myself, even then, it was iffy. Grace was quiet, sitting in the passenger seat. The cab was warm, the snow and wind outside ferocious. Luckily, the highways were mostly deserted. I kept the speed slow, deciding safety was the main priority. Grace had our phones charging, and the radio was playing, weather updates coming in frequently.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” Grace murmured.
“It’s the only option, Grace. No flights are going to go out tomorrow—or now today, I suppose,” I said, glancing at the clock. “Chances are not on Thursday either.”
“But if they are flying on Friday, I could get there if a flight left first thing in the morning,” she said hopefully.
“If the storm hits east by then, we’ll be stuck elsewhere if it’s not a direct flight. With the time of year and the backlogs? Driving is the best option.”
She sighed, and I reached over and patted her knee. “We’ll get there.”
“I told Addi it might not be until the day of the wedding. She was disappointed, but she said all that mattered was me getting there safely.”