Page 3 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

A car key.

“What if you don’t find Karson?” Gemma asked, standing by my suitcase.

I stared at the silver key. “I’ll find him.”

I had to find him. I needed closure after too many years of wondering what kind of man he’d grown into from the boy I’d once known.

Past Gemma, the tile in the foyer gleamed under the crystal chandelier. The art on the wall was not my favorite, but Thomas had bought it at a charity auction, so at least it had been bought for a purpose beyond just decorating my lavish home—my former home.

I gave Gemma a sad smile. “This was the nicest place I’ve ever lived.”

Thomas and I had a staff to take care of the mansion. A daily housekeeper cleaned and did laundry. A cook made whatever suited my fancy. A gardener kept the grass green and the flowers blooming. Here, I’d wanted for nothing.

Yet it had never felt like home.

Had Thomas and I ever been happy? I’d let myself believe we’d been content because I’d been stupid and blinded by material things. But none of this was mine.

The only thing I owned was my car. Karson’s car.

“Will you miss it here?” Gemma asked.

I shook my head. “Not for a minute.”

I’d gladly scrub my own toilets and mow my own grass for a chance to feel like a home was my own.

As a kid, I’d run away to be safe. I’d run away so I wouldn’t have to watch my parents implode. Slowly, I’d ventured east. I’d been searching for work and adventure. I’d found Thomas and he’d given me both, for a time.

Now, I was running away to find peace. To find the life I needed deep in my soul. To find myself again.

I’d lost me these past years. When I met Thomas, I was twenty-one. He was thirty-five.

We’d married when I was twenty-two, and he’d given me a job as his assistant. Thomas ran his own company in Boston and had made a fortune through corporate investments, capital endeavors and real estate transactions.

Working for him had been the first job I’d ever had that didn’t pay minimum wage. I’d learned how to use a computer. I’d learned how to analyze spreadsheets and build presentations. At first, Thomas had taught me how to speak properly on the phone. Basically, I’d learned manners.

He’d taken all my rough edges and smoothed them away.

For the most part, I’d enjoyed the transformation to a cultured society wife. Once a kid who’d grown up in a single-wide trailer, eating processed cheese slices and SpaghettiOs from the can, I’d looked in the mirror and loved the shiny version of myself. I loved showering every day. I loved my expensive makeup and my monthly hair appointments.

The truth was, I would have kept on living this life, turning a blind eye to the hole in my heart. But there were some things I refused to ignore.

Two years ago, Thomas had hired another assistant. He hadn’t wanted to burn me out, even though I’d never complained about the work. I’d cut down to three days a week while she worked five.

We had different tasks, but we sat across from one another and would talk cordially as we worked. I’d take my lunch with Thomas in his office. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, he’d fuck me on his desk.

Apparently, Tuesday and Thursday were her days.

I’d walked in on them six months ago when I’d come into the office to surprise him for lunch.

This beautiful home and all the money in our checking account weren’t worth the pain of a broken heart.

I grabbed my suitcase and wheeled it to the door. Gemma followed me outside, her heels clicking on the cement sidewalk as we walked to the detached garage beside the larger house. This garage wasn’t where I parked normally. My BMW was in the garage, where Thomas parked his own Beemer. Maybe after I left, he’d give it to Secretary.

Fine by me. My car was parked here, where the gardener kept his tools.

I punched in the code to open the large door, the sun limning the space as it lifted. I walked in and ran my hand over the gray tarp that had covered the Cadillac for two years.

A rush of excitement hit as I peeled off the tarp. The chrome underneath gleamed as it caught the sun. The cherry-red paint was polished to a mirror shine.