Runaway Road

by Devney Perry

  RUNAWAY ROAD

  Copyright © 2019 by Devney Perry LLC

  All rights reserved.

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  ISBN: 978-1-950692-02-6

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  Editing & Proofreading:

  Elizabeth Nover, Razor Sharp Editing

  www.razorsharpediting.com

  Lauren Clarke, Creating Ink

  www.creatingink.com

  Julie Deaton, Deaton Author Services

  www.facebook.com/jdproofs

  Karen Lawson, The Proof is in the Reading

  Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  www.judysproofreading.com

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  Cover:

  Sarah Hansen © Okay Creations

  www.okaycreations.com

  Also by Devney Perry

  Jamison Valley Series

  The Coppersmith Farmhouse

  The Clover Chapel

  The Lucky Heart

  The Outpost

  The Bitterroot Inn

  The Candle Palace

  Maysen Jar Series

  The Birthday List

  Letters to Molly

  Lark Cove Series

  Tattered

  Timid

  Tragic

  Tinsel

  Tin Gypsy Series

  Gypsy King

  Riven Knight

  Stone Princess

  Runaway Series

  Runaway Road

  Wild Highway

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Wild Highway

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Londyn

  “Londyn, please. Please, don’t do this.”

  Please, don’t do this.

  If I had a quarter for every time I’d heard that sentence from this man in the last eight years, I’d be a richer woman.

  “Goodbye, Thomas.” I ended the call. Since he usually called back five seconds after I hung up on him, I turned the damn thing off and tossed it across the bed to my best friend, who stood on the other side. “Here.”

  “Ack.” Gemma fumbled it, she’d always been a butterfingers, and it fell unharmed onto the fluffy white down comforter. She snatched it up. “What do you mean, here?”

  “Keep it. Smash it. I don’t care. But I’m not taking it with me.” I folded another T-shirt and laid it in my suitcase.

  The entire thing was packed with brand-new clothes, most with the tags still attached. There wasn’t a stitch of silk or satin to be found. Nothing I was taking required a press or steam and there sure as hell wasn’t a pair of heels stuffed inside.

  I had jeans. Normal jeans. I hadn’t owned a pair in years. Now I had ten. Some had distressed patches by the knees. Some had frayed hems. Some were slouchy—or boyfriend, as the labels read.

  Along with my denim, I had tees. White. Gray. Black. Navy. All the same colors as the suits I’d worn for years, but this time everything was machine-washable cotton. I might even wear them without a bra.

  My wardrobe would no longer be a prison. Neither would this house. Neither would my phone.

  “You have to take a phone, Londyn.” Gemma planted her hands on her hips. Her cream suit was perfect—I used to have the same one. Her dark hair was styled in a tight chignon, exactly how I used to style my blond mane.

  “No.” I folded the last T-shirt. “No phone.”

  “What? That’s—it’s . . . insane. And stupid.”

  I shrugged. “We’ve both done it before.”

  “And we were both stupid before. We’re lucky we didn’t end up as skin suits.” She threw her long arms out at her sides, huffing as she shook her head. “Take your phone.”

  “No.”

  “Londyn,” she snapped. Gemma acted angry but her anxious gaze spoke otherwise. She was simply worried. If I were in her Louboutins, I would be too. “How will I find you?”

  “You won’t find me. That’s the point.” I rounded the bed and took her pink-manicured hands in my own. I’d missed our standing date at the salon for the past three weeks and my nails were wrecked. I’d ripped off my shellac and chewed them to the nub. “I’m going to be okay.”

  She looked at me, standing three inches taller. “Please, don’t do this.”

  “No,” I whispered. “Not you too.”

  “Londyn,” she whispered. “At least take the phone.”

  I squeezed her hands tight and shook my head. “I’m going. I need to go. You of all people should understand.”

  “Wait just a little longer. Let things settle down here,” she pleaded. “People get divorced every day.”

  “They do.” I nodded. “But this isn’t about the divorce. It’s me. I’m sick of this life.”

  “So you’re running away?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You make it seem so extreme for someone who’s done the same, but yes. I am running away.” Again. “Sometimes it’s for the best.”

  She couldn’t argue. She’d run away before and look at her now. Successful. Wealthy. Stunning. No one would suspect that she’d spent her teenage years living in a junkyard outside Temecula, California.

  “Ugh,” she groaned. “Fine.”

  She didn’t like this idea of mine, but she understood. My divorce had been brutal and heartbreaking. It had been the nuclear bomb to my life I’d needed. It was forcing a fresh start. Besides, I was good at starting over. I’d done it countless times in my twenty-nine years.

  What was one more?

  As of Thursday last week, I was single. I’d already changed my last name back to McCormack, and with my new driver’s license in hand, I was not sticking around Boston any longer.

  “I hate that you’re doing this alone.” Gemma sighed. “I’ll worry.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I returned to my suitcase, folding a hoodie for the stack.

  It was one of the few pieces I’d had in my closet that I’d set out to pack. It was thick and gray, the hems battered by a designer, not from use. The thing had no stretch. I’d worn it only once when Thomas had taken me sailing years ago, when we’d seemed happy.

  This sweatshirt was a lot like my marriage. It looked cute but didn’t quite fit.

  I took the hoodie out of the suitcase and tossed it on the bed.

  “What if you get hurt?” Gemma asked.

  “Give me some credit.” I rolled my eyes. “I have money. I have a car. I’m running away in style. It’ll be a breeze.”

  “When are you coming back?”

  Never. “I don’t know.”

  “Will you call me? Check in periodically?”

  “Yes, but you have to promise not to tell Thomas where I’m at.”

  She scoffed. “That son of a bitch comes anywhere near me, I’ll rip his balls off.”

  I laughed. “There’s my best friend. Glad to see some of the polish
come off.”

  “Just with you.” She smiled. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too.” I abandoned the suitcase and met her at the foot of the bed for a hug.

  We’d been through a lot together over the last thirteen years. Gemma and I had met one night in an alley. She’d saved me from eating half a sandwich I’d dug out of a Dumpster.

  There’d been times when she’d gone her way and I’d gone mine, but we’d ended up together in Boston. We’d become closer than ever, serving as each other’s refuge as we’d climbed up the ranks of Boston’s elite and wealthy.

  I’d married into my money. Gemma had earned hers.

  I finished packing, loading up my purse with the cash I’d taken out yesterday and my wallet. Then I zipped up my suitcase and hefted it down the hallway to the front door.

  My keys were on the table in a dish. I took the bundle in my hand and removed only one to take along.

  A car key.

  “What if you don’t find Karson?” Gemma asked, standing by my suitcase.

  I stared at the silver key. “I’ll find him.”

  I had to find him. I needed closure after too many years of wondering what kind of man he’d grown into from the boy I’d once known.

  Past Gemma, the tile in the foyer gleamed under the crystal chandelier. The art on the wall was not my favorite, but Thomas had bought it at a charity auction, so at least it had been bought for a purpose beyond just decorating my lavish home—my former home.

  I gave Gemma a sad smile. “This was the nicest place I’ve ever lived.”

  Thomas and I had a staff to take care of the mansion. A daily housekeeper cleaned and did laundry. A cook made whatever suited my fancy. A gardener kept the grass green and the flowers blooming. Here, I’d wanted for nothing.

  Yet it had never felt like home.

  Had Thomas and I ever been happy? I’d let myself believe we’d been content because I’d been stupid and blinded by material things. But none of this was mine.

  The only thing I owned was my car. Karson’s car.

  “Will you miss it here?” Gemma asked.

  I shook my head. “Not for a minute.”

  I’d gladly scrub my own toilets and mow my own grass for a chance to feel like a home was my own.

  As a kid, I’d run away to be safe. I’d run away so I wouldn’t have to watch my parents implode. Slowly, I’d ventured east. I’d been searching for work and adventure. I’d found Thomas and he’d given me both, for a time.

  Now, I was running away to find peace. To find the life I needed deep in my soul. To find myself again.

  I’d lost me these past years. When I met Thomas, I was twenty-one. He was thirty-five.

  We’d married when I was twenty-two, and he’d given me a job as his assistant. Thomas ran his own company in Boston and had made a fortune through corporate investments, capital endeavors and real estate transactions.

  Working for him had been the first job I’d ever had that didn’t pay minimum wage. I’d learned how to use a computer. I’d learned how to analyze spreadsheets and build presentations. At first, Thomas had taught me how to speak properly on the phone. Basically, I’d learned manners.

  He’d taken all my rough edges and smoothed them away.

  For the most part, I’d enjoyed the transformation to a cultured society wife. Once a kid who’d grown up in a single-wide trailer, eating processed cheese slices and SpaghettiOs from the can, I’d looked in the mirror and loved the shiny version of myself. I loved showering every day. I loved my expensive makeup and my monthly hair appointments.

  The truth was, I would have kept on living this life, turning a blind eye to the hole in my heart. But there were some things I refused to ignore.

  Two years ago, Thomas had hired another assistant. He hadn’t wanted to burn me out, even though I’d never complained about the work. I’d cut down to three days a week while she worked five.

  We had different tasks, but we sat across from one another and would talk cordially as we worked. I’d take my lunch with Thomas in his office. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, he’d fuck me on his desk.

  Apparently, Tuesday and Thursday were her days.

  I’d walked in on them six months ago when I’d come into the office to surprise him for lunch.

  This beautiful home and all the money in our checking account weren’t worth the pain of a broken heart.

  I grabbed my suitcase and wheeled it to the door. Gemma followed me outside, her heels clicking on the cement sidewalk as we walked to the detached garage beside the larger house. This garage wasn’t where I parked normally. My BMW was in the garage, where Thomas parked his own Beemer. Maybe after I left, he’d give it to Secretary.

  Fine by me. My car was parked here, where the gardener kept his tools.

  I punched in the code to open the large door, the sun limning the space as it lifted. I walked in and ran my hand over the gray tarp that had covered the Cadillac for two years.

  A rush of excitement hit as I peeled off the tarp. The chrome underneath gleamed as it caught the sun. The cherry-red paint was polished to a mirror shine.

  “I still can’t believe this is the same car.” Gemma smiled from her position at the door.

  “Remember that time when we sat in the back and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes?”

  “Don’t remind me.” She grimaced. “I still can’t stand the smell of smoke. I think I puked that entire night.”

  “We thought we were so tough at sixteen.”

  “We were.”

  We were. Along the years, we’d gotten soft. Maybe we’d used up all our tough to survive. Or maybe we’d forgotten how harsh the world could truly be.

  “I wish I were tougher in here.” I tapped my heart.

  Her lip curled. “I hate him for this.”

  “Me too.” I swallowed hard, not letting the emotions overwhelm me. Thomas had gotten all the tears he was going to get. “More than anything, I’m mad at myself. I should have known better. I should have seen him for who he truly was.”

  Loyalty wasn’t a common theme in my life. I hadn’t had it from my parents or the many strangers who’d drifted in and out over the years as temporary friends. I’d expected it from my husband.

  “Fuck him.”

  “Fuck him.” Gemma walked to the other side, helping me peel the tarp off the back and fold it into a square. Maybe the gardener could use it for something.

  I opened the trunk of the car, the smell of metal and new upholstery wafting into the air. I smiled, taking in the wide space. I’d stowed a lot of things in the trunk once. I’d had it organized and sectioned to perfection. Food on the left side. Clothes and shoes on the right.

  I retrieved my suitcase, wheeling it over and loading it in the trunk. “I guess I’ve come full circle. This was my closet once. Now it is again.”

  Gemma didn’t laugh. “Please, be careful.”

  “It’s only a road trip, Gemma.” I slammed the trunk closed. “I’ll be fine.”

  I walked to the driver’s side, opened the door and slid into my seat. The leather scent chased away the stale air. The dash was fairly dust-free given how long this had been sitting unused. I ran my fingers over the smooth white steering wheel.

  A 1964 Cadillac DeVille convertible. My pride and joy.

  The passenger door opened with a pop and Gemma took her seat.

  “Smells good, right?”

  She smiled as she shut the door. “A lot better than when you and Karson lived here.”

  “Seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “It was.” She ran her hand across the white leather seat—smooth as butter and smelling like money.

  A lot of money. This car had been no more than rusted scrap when I’d paid to have it hauled from California to Boston. But I’d paid. Every dime put into this car was a dime I’d earned.

  Thomas had made me sign a prenup when we’d gotten married. I’d been young and foolish. I hadn’t countered a single term. What
the hell had I known about contracts and legal documents?

  I’d learned though. Working for his company had taught me a lot. As much as I hated how our marriage had ended, Thomas had given me something invaluable.

  An education.

  He’d helped me get my GED. Then he’d put me to work. And damn it, I’d worked my ass off. As his assistant, I didn’t run to get his coffee or pick up dry cleaning. I proofread contracts. I built financial projections. I put together presentations for stakeholders and schmoozed potential investors with the best of them.

  Thomas gave me rough ideas and projects. I added the polish.

  Just like I’d done to this car.

  I put the key in the ignition and turned, closing my eyes as the Cadillac rumbled to life. The smile on my face pinched my cheeks.

  That glorious sound was my freedom.

  I looked over at Gemma just in time to see her dab at the corner of her eye. “No tears,” I said. “This isn’t goodbye.”

  “It feels like it,” she whispered. “More than any of the other times, this feels like you won’t be coming back.”

  I wasn’t.

  “Want to come with me?” I knew the answer but asked anyway.

  “I wish I could but . . .” Gemma didn’t need a new life.

  “I’ll drive you to your car.” It was parked in the loop in front of the house, but I wanted these last few moments together. I put the Cadillac in drive and inched out of the garage.

  The sunshine hit the metal hood. The tires rolled smooth on the driveway. Damn, it felt good to drive. Why had I let this thing sit for so long? The Cadillac had been finished for two years.

  The Cadillac’s restoration had taken nearly a year. When it was done, I’d driven it home and parked it in the garage. Besides the rare weekend when I took it out, the weekends Thomas was gone, it had mostly sat idle for two years. Two damn years because Thomas had insisted it would get ruined if I tried to drive this boat in city traffic every day.