Page 66 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

As I followed Brooks through the house, my eyes zoomed around, soaking in a final farewell. There were two bedrooms on the main floor. One was Wyatt’s and the other Brooks had turned into an office, while the master and another bedroom were upstairs.

It wasn’t the pieces or the layout of this house I’d remember. It was the sense of peace and comfort. Nothing matched and there was no theme. The artwork was random, some photographs and some prints scattered throughout. The furniture was leather in varying shades.

Nothing here had been styled or decorated. When I thought of the interior designer Thomas had hired to incorporate my tastes into his home, I let loose a wicked smile. She’d hate that Brooks’s toss pillows were actually used to support heads while watching football games on Sundays. She’d hate that the coffee table didn’t have a single coaster.

Brooks opened the back door that led to the outside deck. The instant he passed the table covered with a white umbrella, I knew exactly where we were headed.

“The rock?”

He grinned down at me as we crossed the grass, both of us in bare feet. “Thought it would be appropriate for our last dinner. Have it where we had our first.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

I’d been waiting all week for Brooks to ask me to stay again. But he hadn’t, not once, since I’d turned him down, probably because we both knew the answer wouldn’t change. My tires would show up at the garage tomorrow. He’d work on them as soon as they arrived, then I’d be on the road. My goal was to make it to Kentucky and stay in Lexington or Louisville tomorrow night.

For the foreseeable future, I’d stick to the interstate. No off-road detour would ever compare to this stop in Summers. California was waiting and I was anxious to see what—and who—I’d find.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” I said as we reached the rock and situated ourselves in our normal spots. We’d gotten lucky for the night and the heat had given us a break. The humidity was thick but it was bearable for dinner.

“What’s that?” Brooks set the basket aside, giving me his full attention.

“I’m going to Temecula. I figure that’s the best place to start my search for Karson.”

“Agreed.”

“Maybe . . .” I mustered up the courage to voice a thought that had been plaguing me since leaving his parents’ house yesterday. “Maybe I should find out what happened to my parents.”

He blinked. Twice. “Why?”

“I’ve thought more about them these past couple of weeks than I have in years. And being around your parents made me wonder about my own. Maybe it’s a crazy idea and bound to be a disaster.”

“I’d say it’s normal for a child to want to know about their parents.”

“They never tried to find me.” My gaze drifted across the water. “If they did, they didn’t try hard, but I’m still curious. I left them as an angry, neglected teenager. Maybe seeing them as an adult will give me some closure.”

What if they’d turned their lives around? What if they hadn’t? I wasn’t sure how I’d feel if I found them in the same dirty trailer—or the cemetery. Had I become an orphan while traveling the country? Did I want to know badly enough? Did I have the courage to show up at my former home and knock on the door alone?

&

nbsp; “What would you do?” I asked.

“The truth?” He raised an eyebrow and I nodded. “Fuck ’em. They don’t deserve you.”

That’s what Gemma always said. None of our parents had deserved us as kids.

“You’re probably right. I’ll think on it longer.” Maybe by the time I hit Arizona, I’d have my feelings about them in order. “Let’s eat.”

“This isn’t fancy.” Brooks opened up the basket and took out a green container for me, then another for himself.

“I don’t need fancy.” My favorite sandwich was still peanut butter and grape jelly. I’d eaten countless numbers of them. In Boston, I’d sneak into the kitchen on late nights when I couldn’t sleep and make one for myself. The chef kept the supplies in the pantry for me, despite Thomas’s insistence that we could afford decent sandwich ingredients.

My heart craved simplicity, like a picnic on a rock.

I popped the top off the plastic container and the smell of bacon and tomato and bread wafted into the air. I inhaled the scent of my second-favorite sandwich. “So that’s why you hid some bacon from Wyatt this morning.”

Brooks chuckled. “I knew it would be safe in the vegetable drawer, tucked under the lettuce.”

He finished taking out the containers from the basket. When it was all laid out, he’d packed us a feast, including some of the potato salad Ava had made yesterday. Brooks must have noticed I’d gone back for seconds. We ate without fanfare, enjoying the food and a Sunday evening with the lake glittering under the descending sun.