Page 99 of Peer & Coco

He dumped a cup of yogurt in a plastic bowl and put it in front of Tyr, giving him a small spoon, knowing he was going to make more of a mess than get any in his mouth.

Once Tyr started eating, Peer walked to the window and watched for Rune. It was the longest ten minutes of his life.

He met him at the door, throwing instructions at him about watching Tyr and cleaning him up after he ate.

"I got it, man. I have nieces and nephews." Rune frowned. "What's the emergency?"

"Coco's leaving the states and going to Norway." He ran to his bike. "I'm going to stop her."

As soon as he fastened his helmet, he was off. The airport was forty minutes away if traffic was good.

By the time he got to The Freemont Bridge, traffic came to a standstill merging onto I-5. He revved his engine. Nobody budged. Checking his side mirror, he passed the long line of vehicles on the right side, off the roadway, and cut back in before he had to take the 205 Exit.

His frustration level accelerated as he took his hand off the throttle and put his feet down. Looking behind him and in the other lanes going in his direction, he was either going to miss Coco's plane or get caught breaking the law and get stopped.

"Fuck it," he muttered, gunning the Harley. He rode between the two lanes, weaving around fenders and side mirrors. It was slower going than he wanted, but at least he wasn't sitting in one spot.

Several miles later, his road rage was at the breaking point when he spotted cars moving ahead. He sped up the dividing paint strip and entered the flow of traffic again. Not wanting to waste precious seconds checking on the time, he focused on going forward.

Finally making it to the exit to the airport, he studied the area while going over the speed limit. He had no idea where to go. He wasn't dropping off. He wasn't parking overnight. Spotting general parking, he got in line.

"Come on," he muttered, inching forward and revving his engine.

Security came out to the car in front of him. When it was his turn, he simply said, "I'm parking."

"How long will you be?" asked the man.

"How the hell do I know?" He gritted his teeth. "An hour."

"Park in 7A." He handed over a ticket.

Putting the paper in his mouth, he rode forward, trying to make sense of the rows and numbers. Finally parking the bike, he hung the paper from his brake and took off running.

He arrived out of breath and searching for where he should go. It'd been a lot of years since he'd flown into PDX and everything had changed. He found check-in, looked at the clock, and panicked.

Pushing his way to the front of the line, he ignored the people behind him grumbling. He leaned on the counter. "Which gate is going to Norway." Damnit, he couldn't remember the complete route. "Uh, it's going to California, Florida, then flying to Norway. To Oslo."

"Sir, do you know the airlines?" The woman looked down at the screen.

He fisted his hands. "Icelandair."

"That's gate 45B. If you have your ticket, I can—"

"I don't have a ticket." He grimaced, knowing the ticket was at home.

"I can't let you go to the gate without a ticket."

He glanced at the clock. In two minutes, the plane would be leaving with Coco on the flight.

"It's an emergency. I need to talk to someone who is already boarded."

"I'm sorry."

He pushed away from the counter. Thrusting his hands in his hair, he walked through the entrance, looking around, trying to figure out what to do.

The excitement around him, the bitter aroma of coffee, the rush of people pressed in on him. He weaved around suitcases and families, sad goodbyes and happy reunions. Pulling out his cell phone, he called Coco at exactly eleven o'clock.

And, got her damn voice message.