Page 51 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

Moira was Wyatt’s mother. Was that why she’d acted out against my car? Because she saw me as a threat to not only her ex-husband, but her son’s father too? “When did you get married?”

“As soon as we turned eighteen.” Brooks dropped his head to the bed, lying close so we could look at one another. Between us, he kept his grip on my hand. “Moira and I tried, for Wyatt. But it got too hard, and I didn’t want my son growing up thinking that was what a marriage should be. We didn’t laugh. We didn’t talk to one another. We just . . . existed.”

That sounded familiar. “How long ago did you get divorced?”

“Ten years. You?”

I hesitated. It felt like longer, but in reality, it had been only six months since I’d caught Thomas with Secretary. “Officially, three weeks.”

“Oh.” Brooks’s gaze dropped to the pillow, his grip on my hand loosening. “Three weeks. That’s, uh . . . three weeks.”

No time at all, unless you knew my heart. Then you’d know that those three weeks were more than enough to say goodbye to my marriage. The moment I’d found Thomas with his dick inside a moaning Secretary, I’d fallen out of love with him. I’d had months during the divorce proceedings and settlement to make peace with the end.

I’d changed my last name. I’d arranged to leave the home we’d shared. Running away hadn’t been hard at all.

Brooks ran his free hand over his jaw. “This is probably a week too late, but is this a rebound thing? Or some step you have to take to get over your ex?”

“Never.” I shifted up to meet his eyes. “You’re not a rebound.”

“You sure about that?”

I cupped his cheek. “I’m not spending time with you, having sex with you, because I’m here to prove to my ex-husband that I’ve moved on. I’m not having sex with you because I need to prove to myself that I’ve moved on. I’m having sex with you because you’re an amazing kisser, your hands feel like a dream on my body and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m enamored with you too.”

Brooks grinned, relief washing over us both. “Tell me something else about you.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything.”

I dropped to his side, stretching a leg across his as I curled into his chest. His arm wrapped around my shoulders to trap me close.

If tonight was anything like last night and the night before that, we’d lie here talking for a while before one of us would make a move. It didn’t take much to ignite the simmering heat—a touch on my breast, a graze along his thigh, a whisper in my ear. But first, we’d talk.

The question game we’d started on the rock had been intended as a two-way street. Except each night, I found myself talking more about me than Brooks did about himself. Was that because he’d been trying to keep Wyatt from entering the mix? Or had I taken over our conversations, unintentionally keeping the focus on myself?

I was leaving so many stories behind but only taking a few of his with me on my journey.

“Why do we always talk about me?” I asked.

“Because I want to learn it all, and I’m running out of time.”

We were running out of time. “Is my car still on track to be done Friday?”

“Far as I know.”

Even if I stayed through the weekend, by this time next week, I’d be gone.

Maybe it was easier to keep talking about me. The more I learned about Brooks, the harder it was to imagine leaving him behind. I’d known everything there was to know about Thomas, and I hadn’t thought twice about running from Boston.

My stomach tightened, the anxiety of that day growing. Driving away from Summers would be a hundred times more difficult than leaving Boston. Necessary, but agonizing.

“You said the car was going to a friend in California. Who?” he asked.

“His name is Karson.”

“He?”

I liked the hint of jealousy in his voice, not that there was any reason to be jealous. Karson was only a fond memory. “Karson was a runaway too. He lived in the junkyard—actually, he was the one who discovered it in the first place.”