Page 61 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

But I had to leave. I wasn’t going to stick around a town for a man, not again. How many experiences had I sacrificed for Thomas? How many opportunities had I missed because I’d been stuck in Boston?

This time in Summers was temporary. It was a gift.

I wasn’t even that upset about the Cadillac. Normally, I’d have flown off the handle at two vandalisms. Police would have been called. Heads would have rolled. And though a part of me did feel violated, that vulnerability was easily overshadowed by the thrill of being with Brooks.

I didn’t like that my most prized possession had been tarnished, but it was just an object. I’d learned a long time ago that possessions weren’t important. You could walk away from belongings, homes and people and survive.

Sometimes, you thrived.

The extra time with Brooks was worth the Cadillac’s weight in gold.

The heaviest thing on my mind wasn’t my tires, but that phone call to Thomas. My heart went out to him and Secretary—Raylene. Knowing she was in pain had made her human again.

Did Gemma know about the miscarriage? Should I call? No, not yet. There wasn’t time today. When I talked to her, I wanted to tell her about Brooks. I’d call once I was back on the road. There was no doubt I’d need a friend my first night away from Summers.

I’d call to tell her about the man who had become one of my favorite people in only sixteen days.

My motel room was quiet—lonely—and I rushed through my shower. My suit got a thorough rinse even though it would be wet when I put it on. But since it was the only one I had, I’d deal with a damp suit.

When I was ready, dressed in the one and only dress I had in my possession, a sleeveless dusty-blue shift with a tie around the waist, I packed up my purse with my swimsuit wrapped in a white motel towel.

“Sunglasses.” I looked around the room, remembering they were somewhere in Brooks’s truck. I opened the door to find Wyatt, his knuckles raised to knock. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi.” He nodded, a gesture that seemed more like a bow. Such gentlemen, these Cohen boys. “Dad sent me over to get you.”

“He was afraid I’d change my mind, wasn’t he? And he thought I’d have a harder time saying no to you.”

Wyatt gave me a sheepish nod.

I laughed, stepping outside and pulling the door closed. “Is this weird? Sorry if it’s weird.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Londyn.”

“Yes, ma’am—Londyn.” Wyatt’s natural stride was double mine, but he slowed as we walked toward his home. Brooks did the same thing when we walked together.

Though father and son had similar features, it was the way they acted that made their resemblance so uncanny. They held their forks the same way. They ate their pizza the same way, chewing with the same circular motion. They talked the same way. When Wyatt’s voice got deeper, I suspected it would be nearly impossible to tell them apart on a phone call.

“So, you’re uh . . . leaving?” Wyatt kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the grass as he attempted to make conversation.

“Yes, on Monday.”

“Will you keep in touch with Dad?”

“Maybe.” Maybe not. Quitting Brooks cold turkey would probably be best for us both. I didn’t want to string this out until the phone calls spanned more time. Until one or both held some resentment that we’d drifted apart.

“You should,” Wyatt said. “Dad doesn’t have many close friends. Especially women. He’s kind of wary about them.”

Because his mom was crazy and the women in town were terrified Moira would hack out a kidney with a car key. Suffice it to say, I wasn’t a fan of his mother.

“Oh really?” I feigned surprise.

“A lot of women in town only want Dad because of his money.”

“Huh.” Brooks had money?

I studied the house as we approached, not seeing anything that screamed big money. It was nice—classic and warm—but it didn’t scream wealth. He had a boat. He had a nice truck. Maybe Brooks was rich for Summers’s standards.