Thankfully Nic is sending the company plane to get me from Chicago, so I don’t have to fly back commercial looking like I have been in a bar fight. It’s 4am here, but my flight is leaving at 6am, and I’ll miss a day this time with the time change flying home. Arriving in London at 9pm, the jet lag is going to be a killer, but I’d rather that and be home in my own apartment and only five minutes away from Harper.

The detectives on Chester’s case came to the hotel yesterday and ran through everything they needed from me, and Ashton organized for a lawyer friend of his to be present. Not that I need one, but we want to make sure that nothing is done to jeopardize the case from our end. They informed me that Chester had faced the judge that morning and has been refused bail, as it is his second offence and the evidence they found on his computer was so damning for the case against him. Although I was still sore, I slept well last night knowing he was no longer on the streets. And that I was allowed to leave the country and fly home was an even bigger relief.

I check the dressing on my stitches, and they look good. No sign of infection which is what they were worried about, because who knows where that knife had been. The tip only just broke the skin, leaving a laceration about an inch long. Every time I look at it, I know it could’ve been a lot worse. And let’s just say, that’s the last time I plan on taking on a guy with a knife.

Slipping my shirt on over my bruised torso, I button it up and head out of the bathroom, turning off the light and collecting my phone and luggage. As I walk out of the hotel room and hear the click of the door behind me, it’s like I’m closing the Chicago chapter of this story, and it feels good.

* * *

As the plane touches down at Heathrow Airport, I sigh with relief to be back on UK soil, which is a weird feeling for me since I’ve flown all over the world, but right now, I just want to be home.

I slide into the back of the car that Flynn made sure was at the airport to pick me up and call my parents.

“Hi, Mum.” I try not to let the emotion I’m feeling creep into my voice.

“Forrest, what a surprise, lovely to hear from you.” I can hear her smile in her excited tone.

“Thanks, I know I haven’t called for a few weeks. Life got a little crazy.” And that’s the understatement of the day.

“That’s okay, my boy. How have you been?” Oh, Mum, what a loaded question that is.