Page 80 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

I cringed.

Back to awkward then. Because I couldn’t seem to help myself.

Why couldn’t I just see her as my friend? Completely platonic. Why? The answer was buried deep and at the moment, I was not going to acknowledge it. I couldn’t acknowledge it.

The trip to the junkyard had been another distraction to shove it all away, but now that the meeting was over, the nagging guilt came rushing back.

“Sorry.” I ran a palm over my chin.

Maybe it was time to shave. Holly would hate it. She loved the beard. Did Clara? It doesn’t matter, asshole. She’s not your girlfriend.

“I’d better get some gas,” I said, needing a task and a moment to pull my shit together. We were in the middle of town and I stopped at the next station. When I pulled in beside the pump, I got out and stayed out, hovering beside the tank, letting the guzzling sound from the nozzle block out Clara’s muted conversation with Gus.

One more night.

I’d swim with August this afternoon. We’d have a nice dinner. Then tomorrow I’d take Clara to the airport and put this behind me. For good.

Holly deserved better.

And fuck, so did Clara. She needed to find a man who was free.

The tank was nearly full when a door opened and Clara stepped out of the Cadillac, her wallet in hand. “August earned a treat for being so good this morning. Want anything?”

“Nah. Thanks.”

She gave me a small smile and turned, but instead of walking across the lot, she froze. Her entire body turned to stone.

“Clara.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stared forward at the convenience store where an older man had just come out the door with a plastic sack in his hand.

Abandoning the gas pump, I rounded the trunk and went to her side. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

She gulped and nodded at the man. “That’s him.”

The man had thinning brown hair and a splotchy pallor to his face. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips. His frame was thin beneath his shirt, the bones of his shoulders trying to cut through the cotton.

When he glanced our way and those beady eyes narrowed on Clara, her body flinched.

“Your uncle,” I guessed.

I hadn’t seen the guy before, not that I’d needed to. There wasn’t a person on earth who was likely to get this reaction from Clara. And Gemma had seen him once, ages ago, and the way she’d described him fit this man perfectly. A total fucking creep. That hadn’t changed.

And the rage I’d felt toward that man hadn’t dulled either.

My fists balled at my sides. When Clara had told me about her uncle, I’d wanted to kill the bastard. The anger was still there, an inferno churning in my veins. Hungry for a victim.

I took a step forward, ready to walk over and make that son of a bitch pay for all that he’d done to them, but before I could take my second step, Clara’s hand slipped into mine.

She clutched it, not holding me back, just holding on.

Her gaze was still glued to him as he stared back. She kept her shoulders straight, her chin held high. She didn’t cower. And the glare she sent him was nothing short of murderous.

A swell of pride mixed with my rage. Good for her. Damn, but she was strong.

It took a moment, but he recognized her. His bony frame tensed. He gave her a sideways look, and then he was gone, scurrying to his nineties-model Honda Civic, the tires squealing as he raced out of the station’s lot.

And Clara just held on, staring at the spot where he’d been.