Page 5 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

I put the key in the ignition and turned, closing my eyes as the Cadillac rumbled to life. The smile on my face pinched my cheeks.

That glorious sound was my freedom.

I looked over at Gemma just in time to see her dab at the corner of her eye. “No tears,” I said. “This isn’t goodbye.”

“It feels like it,” she whispered. “More than any of the other times, this feels like you won’t be coming back.”

I wasn’t.

“Want to come with me?” I knew the answer but asked anyway.

“I wish I could but . . .” Gemma didn’t need a new life.

“I’ll drive you to your car.” It was parked in the loop in front of the house, but I wanted these last few moments together. I put the Cadillac in drive and inched out of the garage.

The sunshine hit the metal hood. The tires rolled smooth on the driveway. Damn, it felt good to drive. Why had I let this thing sit for so long? The Cadillac had been finished for two years.

The Cadillac’s restoration had taken nearly a year. When it was done, I’d driven it home and parked it in the garage. Besides the rare weekend when I took it out, the weekends Thomas was gone, it had mostly sat idle for two years. Two damn years because Thomas had insisted it would get ruined if I tried to drive this boat in city traffic every day.

I hadn’t wanted to risk an accident, so I’d continued to drive the BMW, wearing my suits and heels. I’d played my part as the refined wife he’d gotten bored with.

All while the Cadillac sat, covered and alone.

Shame on me.

I’d hidden away something important in my life. I couldn’t pin the blame on Thomas either, because I’d forgotten who I was.

Too soon, I inched up to Gemma’s car and put the Cadillac in park. She didn’t get out. Neither did I.

“I’ll call,” I promised.

“You better.” She twisted to me and leaned over for one last hug.

We met in the middle. She gave me a tight squeeze and then she was gone, walking with grace and elegance to her car.

Gemma had grown up in a hovel worse than mine, but she’d always had this regal nature. She’d lived on her own since the tenth grade. She had no Ivy League education or family pedigree. Yet Gemma Lane was pure class.

I hit the button to lower the convertible’s top, smiling wider as the summer air filled my nostrils along with the smell of fresh-cut grass and wind. “I love you, Gem.”

“Love you, Lonny.” She smiled, standing next to her Porsche. Then she raised a pointed finger at my nose. “Call me.”

“I will.” I laughed as she got in her car, slid on sunglasses and waved one last time before racing away.

The sound of her exit faded in the distance and I took a final quiet moment to look at the house I’d called home. The brown brick façade stood tall and stately. The arched double doors were traditional and fancy. The pillars bracketing the porch were pompous.

This house wasn’t me.

But my car was.

I gripped the steering wheel with both hands. It hadn’t always been white, just like the seats hadn’t always been leather.

Had I gone too far with the restoration? Maybe Karson would feel like I’d butchered the thing. But deep in my heart, I believed this was what the car should have looked like in its glory days. This was how it should have been before someone had forgotten its beauty and left it in a junkyard for two teenagers to squat in for a couple of years.

The modern touches, like power windows and an air-ride suspension, were purely a comfort thing. I was glad for them, given I was about to drive across the country.

I hit the gas, speeding out of the loop. When I passed through the exterior gate, I took one final glance in the rearview mirror.

No more gates.