Runaway Road

by Devney Perry

  “Shit.” I leaned my elbows on my knees. “That’s awful.”

  “I feel horrible. I don’t like either of them, but I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” She came into the office and sank into the guest chair. “I guess we know that Thomas didn’t have anything to do with my tires. I doubt he would have lied to me, not today.”

  “I get why you called to ask, but Londyn, it’s Moira. I called her when I got in here and she didn’t even deny it.”

  “Maybe dinner with Wyatt isn’t a good idea.” She gave me a sad smile. “You eat with him tonight. Spend time with your son. Come over to the motel if you want later. And by Monday, Moira will have nothing to be worried about.”

  Yeah, she was leaving, but she wasn’t gone yet.

  “She doesn’t get to win.” I stood and waved her out of the office. I hadn’t ordered her tires, but I’d call them in later. We were going to eat pizza with my son and hang out at my house. Her motel room was just another reminder that she was leaving, and I’d be damned if I spent another night there when I had a perfectly good bed at my own place. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked as I turned off the light behind her. “Brooks, we don’t need to make this a thing with your ex. She’s crazy. You’re pissed. I’m pissed. But they’re only tires.”

  “Tires are expensive. What she did isn’t okay.” I took Londyn’s hand, trapping it in my grip as we walked through the shop to the back door.

  She tugged on my arm, slowing my pace. “Normally, I’d say go after her. But not today. I’m leaving Monday and I don’t want this to be a thing. She gets away with it this time.”

  I frowned. “I’m calling the cops.”

  “And what will they do? Arrest her? Fine her? While we stand here for hours getting questioned for a report? I don’t want to spend my last days in Summers with the cops.”

  I didn’t either. But I was done with shit from Moira. She didn’t get to act like a brat and cost me time and money. If she wouldn’t listen to me, maybe the sheriff would have more influence.

  “Let’s call it a day.” Londyn squeezed my hand.

  No fucking way. “What kind of pizza do you like?”

  “Uh . . . I’m not picky but—”

  “Wyatt likes pepperoni, sausage, bacon and ham.”

  “That’s a lot of meat.”

  “He’s a growing boy.” I looked down at her. “You good with that or do you need some veggies on there too?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to onion, green pepper and olives. But I don’t need them if he’s picky.”

  I was glad to see she was done objecting, not that I was taking no for an answer. “Wyatt will eat anything with cheese and meat on it.”

  I pushed through the door, holding it open for Londyn. Then I locked it up, not that it mattered now. Moira had done her damage.

  The tires sucked. But I’d deal, like always. I’d make it right. And for tonight, I wasn’t going to let it take away from my time with Londyn. She seemed to be letting it go too. Either she was the most easy-going woman in the world, or she was cherishing this time together too.

  We climbed in my truck and I called Wyatt with instructions for pizza. He agreed to pick it up on his way home.

  “Should we get something for dessert?” Londyn asked as we pulled away from the shop.

  “I’ll make brownies.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You can make brownies? I feel like I’ve been cheated this past week.”

  I chuckled. “I’ll make it up to you in my bedroom.”

  “Your bedroom? I’m spending the night?”

  “Let’s give the motel a rest. What do you say?”

  “Is that appropriate if Wyatt is at home?”

  I liked that she cared about my son. “He’s sixteen. He knows what I’ve been doing every night this week.”

  “Me. You’ve been doing me.”

  “That’s right.” I grinned. “Every chance I get.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Londyn

  “Morning,” I said as I came into the kitchen.

  Brooks stood by the stove, stirring scrambled eggs in a frying pan. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon drifted around the room, making my mouth water. As did the chef. He was dressed in olive cargo shorts and a black T-shirt, the logo on the front for the garage. His hair was still damp from his shower.

  I had fully intended to go to the motel after pizza last night, but Brooks was stubborn and tricky. He hadn’t asked me to stay, he’d just made it happen. He’d worn me out in his bed until I’d passed out, blissfully sated. I’d woken up alone in his massive bed this morning as the sun streamed through his bedroom windows.

  Waking up by sunshine was now a must for all future days.

  Brooks looked fresh and clean and delicious. I was in yesterday’s tank top and shorts, using my swimsuit as underwear.

  I walked up behind him, rising on my toes for a kiss. “I’m going to get out of here before Wy—”

  “Morning, Dad. Miss Londyn.” Wyatt came into the kitchen wearing nearly the same thing as his father, except his Cohen’s Garage T-shirt was gray and his shorts tan.

  “Hey, kid. You hungry?” Brooks asked over his shoulder.

  “Starving.” Wyatt took a seat at the kitchen island, his eyes foggy with sleep. He blushed when he met my gaze, then dropped his eyes to the plate Brooks had set out already.

  Oh, shit. Had he heard us last night? I looked up at Brooks, mortified that his son might have heard me moaning into a pillow, but he was no help. He shrugged.

  “I’m gonna go,” I mouthed.

  “Coffee or orange juice?”

  “Orange juice. But—”

  “Wyatt, will you get Londyn a glass of orange juice? And pour one for me and you too, please.”

  “Sure, Dad.” He yawned, sliding off his stool.

  “Brooks, I’m a wreck. I’m wearing a swimsuit and yesterday’s clothes,” I whispered.

  He leaned in close as Wyatt shuffled around the kitchen, getting our drinks. “You can change after breakfast.”

  “I can’t stay and eat with you guys. It’s bad enough I’m doing the walk of shame in front of your son.”

  “He’s sixteen, not six. Besides, it’s your turn. I’ve been doing the walk of shame past Meggie for a week.”

  “This is totally different.”

  A grin tugged at his lips. “Wyatt, do you care if Londyn is wearing the same clothes she was yesterday?”

  “Brooks,” I hissed, swatting him in the chest at the same time Wyatt said, “No.”

  “See?” Brooks smiled. “Go sit down. This is ready.”

  “Fine,” I muttered, going to the island. I took the stool on the right, leaving the one between me and Wyatt for Brooks. He came over with the pan, plated our eggs and returned with a heaping plate of bacon. “That’s a lot of pork.”

  Brooks nodded at Wyatt. “Remember what I told you yesterday? Growing boy.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing one person consume an entire extra-large pizza.”

  Wyatt stayed quiet—was he sleepwalking?—then piled a fistful of bacon strips on top of his eggs.

  “Wyatt takes a while to wake up,” Brooks said.

  But he had no problem eating. The teenager dove into his plate with the same gusto as he had the pizza last night. By the time he’d shoveled half his eggs and two strips into his mouth, he seemed coherent. “What time are we leaving today, Dad?”

  “I don’t know,” Brooks said, taking bacon for his own plate and putting one piece on mine. “How long will it take you to get ready?”

  When Wyatt didn’t answer, I looked up to find Brooks had asked me the question. “Me? Get ready for what?”

  “We’re spending the day at my parents’ place.”

  “No.” The son was one thing, but his parents? Never happening.

  “Why not? They’re the best and it’ll be fun. We’re taking their boat out.”

  “Granddad’s boat is
twice as big as Dad’s,” Wyatt said with his head bent over his plate between inhaled bites.

  “That’s nice.” I leaned forward to smile at Wyatt, then leaned back to frown at his father. “No.”

  “You should come.” Wyatt crunched a bite of bacon.

  “She’s coming.” Brooks pointed his fork at my plate. “Eat.”

  I rolled my eyes and focused on my meal. I’d eat and disappear before the Cohen men cornered me into attending a family event.

  When my plate was clear, I took it to the sink, rinsing it before putting it in the dishwasher. Then I was gone, practically running through the kitchen for the hallway that led to the front door. “Bye, Wyatt!”

  “Bye, Londyn,” he called back.

  I was three feet away from the door when a beefy arm wrapped around my waist and hauled me into an equally beefy chest. For a man this large, he sure could sneak up on a person. “Damn it.”

  “An hour,” Brooks said into my ear.

  “Brooks, I don’t—”

  “One hour.”

  I squirmed out of his hold to face him. “I don’t belong at a Saturday family event. You guys go. Have fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

  “It’s a low-key thing. Come with us.”

  “Why? I’m a stranger. In two days, I’ll be gone and a memory. Your parents will forget me before summer’s over.”

  That earned me a scowl. “You won’t be forgotten.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Not by me. And someday, I might want to talk about you. The only people who know you are Meggie and Wyatt. Love Meggie, but I don’t see her much even though I live next door. And Wyatt will be gone to college before I blink. My parents, they rank right up there as my favorite people. So one day when I want to talk about the woman who came into my life and turned it upside down for a couple weeks, it sure would make that conversation easier if they knew what you looked like.”

  “Oh.” How could I argue with that? I liked that he wanted to talk about me. I liked that he would remember me, even though I was sure his parents wouldn’t.

  I’d remember him too.

  For the rest of my life.

  “Okay.” I nodded. “I’ll go shower and be ready in an hour.”

  “Thank you.” He took my face in his palms, bending as he pulled me up to his mouth. The kiss was soft but short. They were all too short, even the kisses that lasted all night. Brooks let me go and opened the door for me, sending me on my way.

  The heat soaked into my skin as I crossed the lawn from his house to the motel. As I walked, I tallied up the days I’d been here in Summers.

  Sixteen. In a way, they’d been the longest sixteen days of my life. Each had been so full and enjoyable. Two weeks with another person had never felt so important as the sixteen days I’d been in Summers with Brooks.

  This weekend was the end. Monday, I’d wake up knowing I wouldn’t see him again. Would I really be able to drive away? I’d left countless people behind in my life. My parents. My teachers. My friends.

  I’d known, walking away from them, it was unlikely we’d meet again. But I’d gone with a sense of adventure fueling my footsteps. I’d gone with excitement and anticipation of what was out there in this great big world.

  And I hadn’t looked back.

  When I left Monday, I’d look back. I’d wonder.

  How was Brooks doing at the garage? How was Wyatt? After he went to college, would Brooks get lonely? When would he find someone new?

  Those questions would haunt me, especially the last.

  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.

  I gave myself a mental eye roll. Once, as a teenager, I would have thought Brooks’s house was a palace. Being married to Thomas had skewed my perspective too far. He had more money than I’d be able to spend in two lifetimes.

  Brooks came out the front door, carrying a small blue cooler in one hand and my sunglasses in the other. “Here, honey.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled. I alw
ays did when he called me honey.

  His endearment came so naturally. He said it with such ease, I’d wondered at first if maybe he called all women honey. But as time went on, I realized it was mine. It was another gift.

  I hadn’t owned an endearment before. My parents hadn’t bothered because they weren’t endearing people. Thomas had called me Londyn and only Londyn. Even Karson had stuck to my name or Lonny, like Gemma still used.

  Honey. I tucked the word into my pocket for later.

  I glanced at Wyatt as I put my sunglasses on. He was trying to hide a smile.

  “You can sit up front.” He opened my door for me, then helped me inside. Then he climbed in the truck, sitting behind me as Brooks got behind the wheel.

  Brooks asked Wyatt questions about football as we drove across town, taking inventory of the plays Wyatt needed to memorize before the weekend was over. As we neared the edge of town, the homes became larger and more spread apart. I wasn’t sure how far we were going until Brooks eased off the gas to turn toward the lake. An iron gate greeted us at the end of a private drive.

  He rolled down his window and punched a code into the keypad, then steered us on the tree-lined drive until a sprawling cream house came into view.

  Ahh. Now I understood Wyatt’s comment about money. Brooks Cohen, or rather his parents, must have it in spades. This was the nicest home I’d seen in Summers, and though it was tasteful for this town and not arrogant in size or style, it stood apart. It was probably six thousand square feet with a looped driveway, much like the one I’d left behind in Boston. A barn with a gable roof sat in the distance. Two dogs lazed beside a koi pond. And like Brooks’s home, this home’s windows were the focal point. They gleamed, reflecting the shine bouncing off the lake.

  “Your dad is a doctor, right?” I asked.

  “He is. Still works at the hospital because he says he’s too young to retire. Mom stayed home and looked after me and my sister. You’ll meet her today.” He dropped his voice. “And a few others.”

  Behind me, Wyatt let out a snort.

  I looked between him and Brooks. Both were avoiding eye contact and holding back grins. “Okay, what am I missing?”