Page 143 of Stolen Hearts
Thank God, the Grammy awards are held early on a Sundayevening and that the ten freeway was quiet. Otherwise I’d never have made it before the last flight to London departs.
“There’s one seat left in economy…”
“I’ll take it. Thank you.” I cut him off and hand over my credit card and passport.
My shoulders relax as he processes the ticket and I count my blessings that I picked up my passport for the Grammy ID check, rather than relying on my driver’s license.
The gods must be looking out for me tonight.
“Any bags to check?”
His gaze drifts from his computer to my eyes and the implication isn’t missed when I catch my reflection behind him and see the dark circles under my eyes. They’re a reminder that Alexander really needs to get his septum business sorted.
“Nope, just this suit and me.” I stretch my hands outwards.
I am completely overdressed for the flight, but right now I don’t care.
“Here you go, and congratulations on becoming a father, Mr. Foster.” His right eyebrow and lips arch upward as he hands my credit card, passport, and ticket back.
Sure. You got me, I think. But I haven’t got time to entertain this, I’ve got a flight to catch.
Instead of thanking him, I run to TSA. The long, winding queue is thankfully avoidable with my TSA precheck. I skip the line, passing the hordes of families and crying babies and go straight through. I’m slightly disappointed when the hot security guard doesn’t offer me a pat down when I set the metal detector off, but you win some, you lose some.
Clearly the gods don’t want me getting too cocky, despite their other favors.
Once I finally make it to the departure gate, I spot a seat near the window that looks out onto the plane, and take a moment to compose myself.
Thank God, I made it. Thank God, I managed to get a ticket back to London.
I collapse into the chair with all the grace of a reversing dumping truck. The adrenaline finally slows down and my breath becomes more stable.
I grab my phone out of my pocket and I’m instantly reminded of Stephen’s phone call earlier. There’s a barrage of new WhatsApp messages from him that I dare not open. I don’t have the headspace to deal with that now, let alone the message beneath from Ryan.
I scroll down to the family group chat, fire off a message to let them know I’ve made the flight and that I should be at the hospital by 6 p.m. tomorrow at the latest. Which leaves one last person to check in with: Alexander.
“Did you make it?” Alexander asks when he finally answers.
“Yeah, I’m just at the departure gate now,” I say, removing my tie.
The gate agent calls group one through three up for boarding and I take a quick look at my boarding pass: group eight.
“Thank God for that.” Alexander’s sigh matches mine.
Indeed, thank God this wasn’t a wasted journey.
“How did you get on? Did you win any other awards?”
I’d become too frustrated with trying to get the live stream on my phone during the cab ride. I’d decided it was better to save my battery.
“No. I lost out on all three. But I knew that would be the case. I don’t make enough CrediPop to be taken seriously in the other categories.”
“CrediPop?” I ask, confused by the phrase.
I’m assuming it’s another slang term that the kids use these days, like rizz, dank and sus, which all fly over my head. I guess I better get to learning before little Christopher grows up.
“Credible Pop, the kind of pop songs that transcend the genre.”
“Oh right.” I shake my head.
