Page 93 of Fit for Love

“Did you get them?”I ask him when he finally looks up.

He nods.“If we make it there in a half hour, we’ll have twenty minutes to board.”

In other words, our chances are pretty slim.

“I have TSA PreCheck,” I say, trying to stay positive.“Do you?”

“Yes,” he says, then winces as the cab zooms across traffic from the middle to the right lane, cutting off a giant truck in the process.

I want to remind the cabbie that if we’re dead, he won’t get paid, but I don’t, as that might piss off Ashton even more.

Then again, maybe I should say something.The cabbie cuts off a bus and nearly collides with a Tesla Y, all in the matter of a millisecond.

Meanwhile, Ashton looks so worried I can’t help but put a hand on his shoulder.

Frowning, he shrugs off my hand.The rejection stings, but I dare not ask if he’s acting this way because of the Ash debacle, or if he’s too stressed for touching right now in general.

“She’s going to be okay,” I say as soothingly as I can.

Ashton gives me a sideways look.His voice is tense.“We don’t know that.”

“Don’t EMTs have EpiPens?That’s what she needs.”

He clenches his teeth.“She asked me to go with her.Maybe if I had, her life wouldn’t be in danger right now.”

“That makes no sense.”

In reply, he checks his phone and frowns.I sneak a peek at his screen and see him texting his dad.

You there yet?

No reply comes for a few silent minutes, so Ashton makes a call, but no one picks up.

“Call the hospital,” I suggest.“They should be able to say if she was admitted.”

“Thanks.”He looks up the number and calls it.After a terse conversation, he hangs up with a curse.

“They said it could take up to an hour to triage her, then half an hour to register and admit.And who knows how soon after that she’ll actually see a doctor.”

“We might get there before that,” I say.

He frantically taps at his phone, then nods.“The flight is an hour and ten minutes.The cab ride from BOS to BMC is fifteen minutes without traffic.”

“Call your dad again.”

Ashton does, then tries his mom—to no avail.

By the time he finally gets through, we have reached our destination, so Ashton tosses a bunch of money at the cab driver and stays on the phone as we rush through security.

“Did you hear that?”I ask him when an announcer mumbles something along the lines of, “Last call for Boston flight.”

Nodding, Ashton grabs my hand and launches into a sprint.

Panting, I do my best to keep up, and we just barely make it before the gate closes.

“So?What did you learn?”I ask once we’re in our seats and I’ve caught my breath.I’m still sweaty from the mad dash, though, and more than a little annoyed that Ashton looks as cool as if he’s been lounging on the couch instead of sprinting at full speed through half the airport.

I guess being in crazy good shape pays off in all kinds of situations.

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