Finding Our Way (Finding our Way 1)

Chapter 2

Three hours. Only three hours until I get on the plane and head across the country to Aspen, Colorado, for the next ten days.

Quinn is next to me refreshing the site every few minutes looking for our grades to post. I asked her to stop an hour ago, but she won’t. She’s addicted. If she gets less than a B she’ll have a total melt down. That’s one reason we’re at the airport so freaking early. Our flights are an hour apart, but she needed moral support.

So I sit here drinking a beer, and she has her head buried in the computer. My adrenaline is flowing, ready to be on the slopes and Quinn is killing my excitement.

“Will you stop and have a beer?”

“Yeah,” she sighs pushing the computer in her bag.

“So, what are you thinking about Miami on New Years?”

“My parents got us a room. After the game, I guess we’ll figure out where the party is.”

“Knew we wouldn’t be apart!”

When UVA was invited to play in the Orange Bowl, our plans changed completely. My parents got us a room away from the chaos. My break was looking awesome, snow and sand sounded heavenly.

It’s been ten days since Bryce texted me and I’m still on edge. He said he’d give me two days and then nothing. My heart was not letting me forget, but my mind was winning. I had to let go.

Quinn and I decided to do a few shots before our flights and somehow ended up with an audience. We had guys doing body shots up until the last minute. We said our goodbyes and ran to our gates.

I settle in with my iPad, getting comfortable against the window seat when the scent of familiar cologne wafts through my senses. Holy shit! It’s been a while but I’d know that smell on my deathbed…Bryce. I look around, inspecting every seat but there are no familiar faces. It’s ridiculous; tons of men probably wear the same brand of cologne, why does my mind automatically assume it’s only him?

A young businessman sits next to me and immediately brings out his computer. I sink down and close my eyes. Knowing someone on this flight is going to torture me with the one scent that can bring me to my knees.

Once we take off, I order a vodka and soda, showing my fake ID with a huge smile. The guy beside me chuckles and gives me a wink. I almost think he’s flirting but he snaps his attention back to the computer.

The flight attendant returns with the drink and I suck it down quickly. The stranger beside me laughs softly again, shaking his head. Really? Is he flirting or judging? Not giving it a second thought, I position my hoodie against the window and fall asleep.

Dreams invade my mind. Images of the rally in D.C. last week and the woman that spoke to me candidly about her fears. The two small children that clung to her but watched me in fascination. Then the scene fades to just me in a field, laughing and smiling. Spinning in circles as rain drenches me. I feel carefree, happy. Lightning strikes and someone is calling me, telling me to get out of the rain. A hand reaches for me but there is no face. The damn cologne permeates the air around me again, so close…

I jerk awake and feel warmth on the skin of my wrist. There’s a hand wrapped around it securely, resting on my thigh. I lurch back ready to scream when my gaze connects with the deep blue eyes I’d recognize anywhere. Bryce Randolph is facing me, caging me in between him and the wall of the plane. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. My eyes rake over his body. The last nineteen months have been good to him. His chest is fuller, his shoulders broader. The muscles in his arms snug tightly to the long sleeve thermal shirt. For a brief second, I grin at him then remember where we are.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss and pull back on my wrist.

“We need to talk,” he growls.

The man occupying the aisle seat has disappeared.

“You keep saying that, but what do we need to talk about?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Where should I start?”

Seriously?

“Well, you can start with answering the question. What are you doing here?”

“I gave you two days to call me, or else. This is the ‘else.’”

“You got on a plane that’s going to Colorado because I didn’t call you?”

“Not just that. If I got another one of your fucking fake ass texts telling me ‘you were busy’ and we’d ‘catch up soon,’ I was going to punch something. This shit has gone on long enough.”

“I am busy!”