Prologue
Prologue
The tires on the old Chevy pickup squealed in protest as Jonah McCabe slid into a parking space. He ripped the seat belt from its lock, grabbed a slip of paper off the dash, and read over the words until he found what he wanted.
7:50 PM
Gripping the door handle, he swallowed against the lump in his throat. Each rapid beat of his heart sent twinges through his body as if he were getting shocked. This was his last chance. He could not screw up this time.
As he glanced toward the clock on the dashboard, he groaned.
7:46 PM.
Damn. It was time.
The hinges whined and creaked as he opened the door. He ignored the sound and slammed it shut before taking off in a sprint. The seconds ticked by, dwindling away his chance of making this right. His muscles burned and stretched while he raced toward the main doors of the train station.
As soon as Jonah entered the building, the scent of stale Old Spice lingered in the air. He scanned the lobby for a familiar face, one that made his heart catch when he looked upon it. A feminine voice echoed off the walls from the public announcement system. Her cheery tone knotted his gut, but not as much as when she announced the final boarding call for New York.
Pushing his legs to move faster, he ignored the tightness in his chest. Time wasn't a luxury. Never had been. Maybe one day, he would get his s**t together and take life more seriously.
He'd have no other choice if he didn't stop the train.
Weaving through the wooden benches, he searched for the boarding entrance. Recent passengers crowded the lobby, huddling with family and friends they'd hadn't seen for only God knows how long. Other people assembled at the ticket box, making purchases and checking schedules. Just ahead, another crowd pushed into the building. Bold letters hung above the door with words Jonah had been eager to see.
DEPARTURES.
This wasn't about boarding the train. It was about stopping Ally.
As the seconds ticked away in Jonah's head, he raced past the ticket counter, ready to curse anyone who tried to stop him. Yet, no one did. He said a silent prayer as the cool metal handle greeted his hands. A hard push opened the door.
The scent of diesel assaulted his nose as he stepped onto the cement pad. When he reached the edge of the platform, he stared at the empty tracks below, trying to tune out the squeaking in the distance.
Oh, no
The shrill whistle startled him as he turned to see a train pulling away.
"Hey!" he shouted. "Stop!" Zipping past a crowd of onlookers, he made it to the end of the pad. "I need on that train! Please! I…"
His pleas fell on deaf ears. The only patrons remaining were those who'd seen off their family or friends. While a few shot him glares adorned with folded brows, most just ignored him.
He'd do the same if the roles were reversed.
The one thing he couldn't ignore was the ache in his chest. It formed near his heart, spreading like a deadly virus through his arms, legs, even his head. Every part of him ached. His lungs burned when he tried to take a breath
As his hands fell to his sides, the slip of paper he'd been holding floated to the ground. He didn't bother catching it. There was no need for it anymore. Everything he ever wanted just disappeared, along with the taillights of the train.
It felt as though a weight were crushing his chest. It hurt to breathe, to think, to stand and watch his life go down the drain.
God help him.
He refused to repeat this mistake—giving his heart away to a woman who didn't know how much he loved her. She would never know he came to stop her or give her the reason she'd been searching for.
Time hadn't been on his side. Perhaps it would have if he hadn't—
Damn her mother.
