Page 52 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

“Hit pause, bud,” Clara said, then gripped August’s hand as they followed me to the door. “This is a beautiful home.”

“Thanks. I got it for a steal.” A three-million-dollar steal. Homes in this neighborhood of Elyria didn’t come cheap. I walked to the living room, gesturing to the caramel leather couches. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get coffee. And for August?”

“Water’s fine,” Clara said, taking a seat on the love seat.

August plopped down beside her, his thumbs on the Nintendo’s controllers and his eyes glued to the game as the music started up again.

“Ever wish we’d had those things?”

Clara laughed. “Then I would have had another game to beat you at.”

“Please.” I scoffed. “I let you win, remember?”

“I remember too.” Her smile turned bittersweet.

“Be back.” I disappeared into the kitchen and took a moment to collect myself.

Holy fuck. That was not who I’d expected to see in the driveway today. And with that car. And alone with her son.

Clara Saint-James.

My Clara.

She hadn’t been mine for a long time. My mind acknowledged that truth. But in my heart . . . she’d always felt like mine.

I shook my head, focusing on the coffee pot. I’d brewed a large pot today because I’d slept like shit last night. Though I always slept like shit. Waking at three or four in the morning had become normal over the past decade. If I got five hours sleep, that was a good night.

There was just too much on my mind. Too much to shut down.

Too many thoughts.

Clara was one of them.

How had she found me? How had Londyn’s car found its way to Clara? And what about the others? Had she heard from them? The questions seemed endless. I swiped a bottle of water from the fridge and carried the coffee mugs to the living room.

Clara was bent over her son, watching along as he played with more animation than the game characters themselves.

“Here you go.” I handed her a mug, then took the couch opposite hers, setting my coffee on a coaster so it could cool.

“Thanks.” She did the same, then touched some buttons on August’s game, turning the volume down.

He shot her a scowl but didn’t argue.

“Your home is gorgeous,” she said, taking in the room’s white walls and plethora of windows.

“I wanted something bright. Airy. I like to be able to see outside.”

“Mine’s got more of a modern style, but lots of windows too.”

“Where do you live?”

“Welcome, Arizona. It’s a little town on old Route 66. I moved there five years ago, when August was a baby.” She toyed with his hair, brushing it off his forehead as he played.

“You like it there?”

She nodded. “I do. It’s quiet and safe. Good schools. The desert is truly beautiful in the spring, when the wildflowers bloom. Though at the moment, it’s hot. Aria just moved there.”

“Aria.” I smiled at the name. A name I hadn’t said aloud for years. I hadn’t spoken any of their names in longer than I could remember. “How is she?”