Page 92 of Run Away With Me

‘Me neither.’

I wasn’t sure what else to say to that. ‘I’m sorry’ felt pathetic and insincere, even though Iwassorry. No one should have to live under somebody else’s control. Not Brooke with her parents, or me either, having to hide from the Creep in case he decided to lash out at me. It was all so wrong.

I shuffled over and wrapped my arm around her waist, and, after a moment, she tilted her head to kiss my cheek. It felt like the whole world was shifting – the air, the sky, the ground under my feet all moving to accommodate Brooke and what she meant to me. My friend, the girl I liked, the girl who liked me back. It was so much more than I could ever have hoped for.

I didn’t want to force Brooke to keep talking about her parents, especially when she was clearly dealing with so much trauma from the whole situation. And itwastrauma. I could see it: in the way she shrank herself when talking about her parents, about the expectations that had been put on her and the absolute control she’d been forced tolive under. I wanted my mom to care about me more, but the Summers took it to such an extreme that I almost felt grateful I hadn’t been brought up that way.

We took a meandering route back, even though the afternoon had brought on the kind of heat I really wasn’t used to after living in the Pacific Northwest for most of my life. I was going to need a new wardrobe soon.

‘Do you want to do anything this afternoon?’ I asked as Brooke unlocked the door to our room.

‘Honestly? No, not really.’

‘Want to watch crappy daytime TV and share your pie with me?’

‘Yes and no, in that order,’ she said with a laugh.

I shut the door and Brooke doubled back to flip the bolt across. I felt better knowing no one could get in. She left the gun on the dresser, in clear sight of the bed and the door, and I held my tongue again.

‘The diner is, like, thirty seconds from here,’ I said as she settled back down on our unmade bed. ‘We can get more pie later.’

‘Fine,’ she sighed, and I didn’t think she minded really.

The pie was blueberry, with a brown-sugar crust, and it looked and smelledinsanelygood. Brooke handed me one of the wooden forks Molly had given us and pushed the container toward me so I could take the first bite.

‘Thanks,’ I murmured, breaking off a small piece to try. The taste lived up to the look and smell.

Brooke didn’t stand on ceremony and shoveled a huge bite into her mouth.

‘We’re going back there for dinner tonight, right?’ she asked with her mouth full.

‘Unless you want to get in the car and drive somewhere?’

‘No,’ she said emphatically. ‘I looked at their dinner menu earlier and they’ve got burgers and fried chicken.’

‘Your two main food groups!’

‘Fuck off,’ she said, laughing through another mouthful of pie. ‘I’m going to order both, and you can split with me.’

‘Sounds good,’ I said. ‘And more pie?’

She nodded. ‘They have a chocolate peanut butter pie and Iwant that.’

‘Why didn’t you order it earlier?’

Brooke pulled a face at me. ‘It’s not breakfast pie.’

I snorted with laughter. ‘Isn’t all pie breakfast pie?’

‘Absolutely not.’ She held up her hand to tick off on her fingers. ‘Pumpkin, oatmeal, or any fruit pie can be for breakfast. Chocolate, pecan, anything caramel is dinner pie.’

‘Key lime? Or lemon meringue?’

She circled a finger in the air. ‘All day long, baby.’

I laughed again, took a final bite of blueberry breakfast pie, and nudged the rest back to her. I was still full from earlier.

‘Brooke, where do we go from here?’ I pushed myself to ask.

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