"Can you step on it?"

"Sir, there's traffic."

"Can we go around it?" When there was no response, Dom added. "I'll pay you double."

"You're not from around here, are you? It's Manhattan traffic. Unless you paid a helicopter to drop a rescue line for ya, we ain't going nowhere."

Dominic glanced down at his wristwatch that put Clara's departure time at fifty-five minutes from now. He could almost see the terminal.

Come on, just a little closer...

As soon as he was within running distance, he shoved a wad of bills at the driver—perhaps one too many by his comically wide-eyed expression—and bolted for the security checkpoint. The priority line was probably no more than two people shorter than those flying economy, and just as slow. How he loathed flying commercial...

He felt so jittery, it was a wonder he didn't get pulled aside for questioning. A quick glance at the departures board told him that Clara's flight was already boarding, and a look at the directions told him he was going to have to run to the other end of the terminal.

Bloody hell.

In his loafers and head-to-toe bespoke suit, he was anything but dressed for running. He tossed his favorite tailored jacket aside with a flinch of regret and took off. Every step that brought him closer was another second that Clara got further away from him. Once she was on that plane, he knew he would lose her forever. He ran faster, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head that pointed out the cliché of running through an airport towards his true love. But it was true love, wasn't it? And one did things for true love that one would normally roll their eyes and gag at.

He skidded to a stop at the gate, taken aback at the long line. That didn't look right. Was he in the right place? He looked up at the screen and could almost cry with joy. Delayed. Heavens above, Lady Luck had smiled upon him. There was still a chance.

Where are you...

He found Owen first. Clara's boyfriend was almost unrecognizable without his spectacles, but the mess of curls on a head that stuck out a good few inches above the rest was easy enough to locate. Dom took a deep breath, parking next to a column to wait for Clara to show up, hoping security wouldn't pick this moment of all to find him suspicious. No bags, running in last minute, and loitering stalkerishly next to the gate? How he wasn't getting pulled aside made him concerned for the safety of this country. Americans were supposed to be the paranoid ones.

Just as Dom was nervously glancing at his watch, wondering where Clara was, Owen spotted him and his entire face changed. He went from looking like a depressed librarian—or whatever unexciting thing it was he did for a living—to downright murderous as he strode over. It appeared Lady Luck was done with handouts for the day.

"Oh, hey! Owen! Good to see you, mate. Look, I need to speak with Clara. I—"

Dom never got a chance to finish that sentence. Who knew the guy had a hook like that in him?

Ow! Bugger! Did he dislocate my jaw? Arsehole!

"Bloody hell!" Dom rubbed his chin, cautiously moving it around to check for any broken bits. Ow, that smartened. "What was that for?" he exclaimed.

"You know exactly what it was for," Owen growled, looking as if he had another hook on the way. Dom took a precautionary step back. "We had a good thing before you showed up."

"Wha—where is she?"

Owen curled his fists as if he would've liked nothing more than to pummel Dominic into the ground. "She's gone."

"Gone where?"

"She just left," Owen snapped, then dropped his hands at his sides. His bottom lip quivered, which scared Dom even more. He could manage in a fight quite alright, but your ex-slash-future-woman's ex-boyfriend crying? Where do you even start? He seemed like a nice enough guy. In another life, Dom could see himself grab a beer with the chap. Unfortunately for the poor bastard, he'd gotten himself caught between the tempest that was Dom and Clara's past, present, and future all colliding, all at once. He reconsidered patting the man on the back and instead took off running again, this time towards the exit. He paused as the corridor opened up to a broad area with several escalators going down to the baggage claim.

There.

Her blonde hair was unmistakable, but even if she were to completely shave it off, he'd have known that purposeful walk anywhere. She descended the escalator on the far end and Dom had to rush after her. He almost lost her in suitcase-land but spotted her again as she disappeared through glass doors that led to the pickup lane. There, she paused to hand her small bag over to the cab driver and enter the car.

Dom was quite out of breath when he reached them and made a mental note to get back into regular running again, not half-ass-jogging once a week. He all but plowed onto the hood of the cab, and the driver's cussing was only covered by his panicked honking. Through the windshield, Dom saw Clara's eyes widen.