I'm almost running when I get to my office, forgetting until I'm standing in front of her desk that Skye isn't my secretary anymore.

I knew I couldn't bear to see her every day if we weren't going to make it. There was no way I was going to put her through that torture. But I did make her some promises, and it was also just as impossible to fire her from Hunter Housing. So the very first thing I did was to put through a transfer to reassign her to the PR department. I had them create a new position just for her so that she can finally put her degree to use. I know it gnaws at her, though she'd never complain about being my secretary.

The timing is good, too, because we need some positive press. The more mentions we have in the media, the less argument my father will have about releasing the trust. That's what I want it for. I've made it clear enough. I want to get my brothers off the streets. With Skye pregnant, I've very nearly fulfilled all the terms, but waiting another six months....

Well, he'll change his mind, or he won't.

I stare at the woman who's sitting behind the desk now, a platinum blonde with chunky glasses. “What's your name?”

She blinks up at me, blushing. “I—hello, Mr. Hunter.”

“Your name,” I bark. I don't have time for this. I have to get to her. 

“Cindy.” Her hands flutter uselessly over the things on her desk and then, awkwardly, she stands up like it's necessary to greet me. 

“Cindy, call down to the PR department and tell them I'm on my way to see Skye—to see Ms. Dawson.”

This, at least, Cindy can do. She snatches up the handset and punches in some numbers, not taking her eyes off me. “Yes, this is Cindy calling from Mr. Hunter's office,” she says. “He says he's on his way down to meet with Ms. Dawson.”

I give her a nod, and then turn on my heel. That's enough warning. She should be waiting for me in the hallway, and then we can put this all to rest. Unless she won't forgive me, in which case I'll have activated the grenade and then thrown myself on it, destroying everything for no fucking reason at all.

“Wait—Mr. Hunter!” Cindy calls after me. I haven't gone far, but she jogs around her desk like someone might be listening in and hurries up to me. “She's not there.”

“What do you mean she’s not there?”

“They said she's not there. When they got back from lunch, she had stepped out, left a note. They don't know when she'll be back.”

“What did the note say?”

“I don't—I don't know, I just—”

“Call them back.”

She does, her face on fire, and I give her what I hope is an encouraging smile to try to make up for being such an asshole. After a moment of murmured conversation, she looks back up at me. “The note said 'Stepped out to run a personal errand for Hunter Housing. Return shortly.'“

It doesn’t make any sense. A personal errand for Hunter Housing? What the fuck could that possibly mean?

Then it dawns on me.

“Oh, shit,” I say out loud, and then I race for the door.

* * *

There is traffic.

Traffic, suddenly, like there's a fucking parade going on in the city, though I know there's not. Not today. Today is just a normal day, like every other day, except I might have thrown away my only chance at love, and I need to get across town.

It takes what seems like forever. I turn up the radio loud and take the time in song increments. Three songs go by without my car moving more than five feet, and then things clear. I stomp on the gas too hard and nearly hit the person in front of me.

Calm down, Matt. Calm the hell down.

I force myself to think of this as the battlefield. There's no room for error, not now, and so I devote all my attention to steering the car methodically through the traffic. I don't let anything get to me, not even the driver who cuts me off two blocks later and almost causes another accident. I just avoid and move on. Avoid and move on. For once, the strategy is working.

I pull up to the curb, not bothering with the parking ramp, and shove two quarters into the meter. I can't imagine this will take very long. Still, my heart pounds in my chest, so strongly that I can feel it in my ears. I'm alive, and so is she. As long as that's true, we have a chance. As long as she can forgive me. As long as I can straighten this out.

I don't even need the trust, if I can just have Skye. Skye is all I need in the world. Jesus Christ. Why'd it take me so long to realize it? Why did I never know how much that IED had really fucked me up until now?

Those are questions for another time, because right now all I need to do is to get to her, and I think I know exactly where she is. 

I make sure the car is locked.

And then I turn and sprint for the building.

My throat tightens as I get to the front steps, my shoulders tensing, ready for a fight. I'm already in overdrive and I'm not even through the front door yet, but as soon as I am, I take a big, calming breath.

It always puts me on edge to be in my father's building.

But this time, it's not about me. It's about Skye. It's about the baby. And it's about this one, final chance at making her see that we can do this, we can be something, even if I'm a fucking idiot sometimes. 

I move quickly through the lobby and push the call button for the elevator.

Both cars are up on the eighth floor.

It's agony, but I stand tall and wait for the future. It’s now or never.