Page 38 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

“Run.”

Chapter Seven

Clara

“Do you think they followed us?” I panted. There was a kink in my neck from constantly checking over my shoulder as we’d raced home.

Karson had led the way. He’d taken us in circles around the blocks surrounding the car wash. Then we’d jogged down alleyways and cut through unfenced yards. Finally, after an hour, we’d decided to head to Aria’s work and wait until the end of her shift.

After she’d clocked out, we’d given her a fast explanation that Karson’s mother had brought in the police.

“I don’t think so.” Aria’s cheeks were flushed, and her forehead was covered in sweat as she cast one last look down the road toward town. Then she stepped through the gate with us and into the safety of the junkyard.

“Why would she talk to the cops?” I asked Karson.

He kicked at the dirt. “Fuck.”

“Karson, why?”

He didn’t answer me.

Adrenaline had been coursing through my system for hours and suddenly, it felt like my legs were too weak to hold me up. My head started swimming. My chest felt too tight.

“Clara.” My sister put her hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. “Can’t breathe.”

“Hey.” Karson put his hand on my other shoulder. “In and out. Do it. Breathe in.”

I obeyed.

“And out.”

I followed his order again but still felt like crashing.

“Do it again. In and out, Clara. In and out.”

I closed my eyes and listened to his voice, letting it soothe the panic. It had been a long time since I’d freaked out like this. The last time had been after our parents’ accident.

When the ground beneath my feet no longer felt like it was giving way, I cracked my eyelids.

“You okay?” Aria asked.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She took my hand in hers, then shot a scowl at Karson. “What is going on with your mother?”

He sighed, let me go and jerked his chin to the tent.

Aria and I followed as he walked away, the three of us congregating in his place.

Karson dragged a hand through his hair. “She wants me to come home.”

“But why?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Because she’s fucking crazy? I don’t know. The last time she came to work, she begged me to come home.”

“You’re nineteen.” I tossed out a hand. “Isn’t she, like, three years too late?”