Posthaste
Adverb.
: with all possible speed
If there was one thing Gail despised was running. It was one of the hazards of the job, naturally, but one she strived to avoid at all costs. If a suspect ran for it, she'd do her best to catch them with minimal physical effort, which usually meant letting her partner do the chasing and circling back to cut the bastard off at the pass. Humans were not built for speed, which is why God made cars. That was her motto and she stuck to it faithfully – Gail Peck was nothing if not determined.
Even so, here she was, running across a crowded parking lot as if her life depended on it. In a way, it did. She felt like she was at the crossroads of a defining moment, or some such cliché. There was really no time to wax poetic on her motives at time like this. She'd told herself she could let it go, that it was no big deal. Just one more hurdle to get through. She'd been taught at the Elaine Peck School of Not Giving a Fuck, so her initial reaction was to fall back on the years of indoctrination. She'd get over it, and Holly…
She couldn't let it go, though. Not like this, as if it didn't matter. Because it did matter, fuck the platitudes. It was all bullshit anyway, whatever she said to make herself feel better. Gail couldn't push aside the image of teary, but resigned brown eyes that said goodbye to her this morning. It shouldn't be like this, clean cut and easily brushed off.
She refused to let it be that way.
So in typical Gail fashion, she made the impulsive decision not to let it go, damn everything else. She didn't even remember what lame excuse she made, her tunnel vision barely allowing her to acknowledge Steve's dumbfounded expression as she commandeered his car keys and sped off 15's lot like the devil was on her tail. All Gail knew was that she could not be too late.
Lights and sirens – being a cop had to be good for something, right? – allowed her to reach her destination unimpeded and she was so close. It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. It was the absolute right thing to do, Gail felt it in the very fiber of her being. She felt it on the pounding of her feet on time with her heart. She felt it in the even bend of her knees, the flex of her muscles, the sweat running down her forehead. She just had to get there on time.
Panting, Gail elbowed her way through the milling crowd, muttering apologies as her eyes frantically sought out a familiar dark head.
"Holly!" Gail shouted, uncaring of the nasty glares sent her way. Holly was all she could see, beautiful brown eyes wide in surprise behind her glasses.
"Gail? What are you doing here?" Holly asked, jumping to her feet to steady the blonde, who gripped her forearms in a near-desperate grasp.
"I had to come," Gail gasped, chest heaving in exertion. "I couldn't-"
Holly frowned. "Gail-"
"I'm not too late, am I? Please tell me I'm not too late, Hols."
Holly's eyes softened. "Oh, sweetie."
Blue eyes filled with tears. She couldn't be too late.
"Oh no, honey, you're not too late, I promise," Holly pulled Gail into a hug. "Come on, sit down now."
"I couldn't miss it, Hols," Gail lowered herself to the empty seat beside her wife's. "I couldn't miss our baby's first recital. Not because of stupid work and stupid Peckspectations."
With a tender smile, Holly brushed the sweaty bangs off Gail's forehead. "You didn't, honey. This is just the intermission. Emma's class is next."
A rush fell over the packed auditorium and the curtain opened. Gail's joy lit up her entire face. There she was, the third in a line of tots in tutus, looking like a star with her little brow furrowed in concentration. Gail gripped Holly's hand. Their baby girl.
And she was there, right in the front row, exactly where she should be.