Page 50 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Wyatt.”

“The Thai delivery boy?”

Brooks chuckled. “Yeah. He actually does deliveries for a few restaurants in town, not just the Thai place.”

“Oh. Is that where he is tonight?”

“No, he’s home. We have a standing dinner date with my parents on Monday nights. Last week, I begged out of it to meet you at the diner for pie. But Wyatt and I both went tonight. Then we came home. He’s at the house, texting some girl.”

“And you came to me.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “I came to you.”

I saw it now, the resemblance between father and son. When Wyatt had been in the motel lobby, I hadn’t put

it together because, well . . . why would I? But now that I could pair them together, I saw how Wyatt had Brooks’s nose and the promise of the same strong build.

“Does he know about me?”

Brooks nodded. “He does.”

I didn’t need to ask how Wyatt felt about Brooks seeing a woman living at the motel. If his son had a problem with me, Brooks would have already said goodbye.

“When did you tell him?” I asked.

“This weekend. I told him I was enamored with one of my customers.”

“Enamored?”

“Completely.” He rolled across the distance between us, his bare chest pressing mine into the bed. “I’m sorry for not telling you about him sooner.”

Time seemed to have slowed in Summers. It seemed like Brooks and I had been together for a long time, when in reality, it had been less than two weeks. Standing in his shoes, I wouldn’t have brought Wyatt into the conversation early either. Brooks the protector had waited until it was the right time to share.

A jolt of pride hit my heart. Brooks had deemed me worth sharing. He could have kept us quiet. I’d be gone soon. But he’d shared me with his son.

“I understand.”

“You do?”

I nodded, studying the smooth skin on his cheek. He must have shaved before dinner with his parents. I ran my knuckles up his jaw toward his temple. There were no grays threaded through his dark blond hair. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-three.”

My eyes widened. “And you have a sixteen-year-old son?”

“Yeah. Wyatt was born when I was seventeen.”

“Wow.”

I’d become a parent to myself when I was sixteen. He’d become an actual parent at seventeen. There was no question that his youth had been harder. It also made sense why we connected so well when other men close to my age often seemed so immature.

Circumstances had forced us both to grow up fast.

“You had a short childhood too.”

He studied my face, his eyes softening. “Yeah. But I don’t regret it for a minute. Things were hard for a few years, but I had help. I had more support than you did, that’s for sure. My parents. Moira’s too.”