I ran into the bathroom and slammed the door, shedding my clothing in a frenzy, as if removing them would ease the panic that was coursing in my veins. My chest felt tight, incredibly so—so tight that I couldn’t breathe, and I wondered if I was having a heart attack the pressure was so intense. I flipped on the shower and stepped under the spray before I checked the temperature. The blast of icy water shocked me, distracting me from the vice around my heart for several welcome seconds, but as the water warmed, the fear came back, and I moaned at the simultaneous pressure and pain.
I thought I heard the door open and close. Not the door to the bathroom. I would have welcomed Finn, even in the state I was in. But it was the door that led outside. Finn had gone.
HE RAN AS fast as he could for the first fifteen minutes or so, up and down the streets of the little town, the little blip on the map that he couldn’t even remember the name of. All he knew was they were hugging the northern border of Oklahoma, more than five hundred miles from St. Louis, Missouri, where they’d started their day. And Bonnie was back at the motel, crying in the shower where she didn’t think anyone could hear her. He’d wanted to step beneath the spray with her, damn the world, damn them all, and just be with her. That’s what he’d wanted to do. But instead, he had pulled on his shorts and running shoes and fled out into the cold, quiet streets trying to purge the fear that warred with his desire for the girl who cried for him and confounded him, and made everything so much more complicated than it had to be. And none of it was really her fault. He understood that. But fault or no fault, the situation still existed.
He loped past what appeared to be an elementary school, resting beneath the soft glow of street lights, and he circled the campus until he found a playground and, using the monkey bars, hoisted himself up, over and over again, one pull-up after another, until his back, shoulders and arms were as weary as his legs. The sight of the tall slide made him smile, in spite of himself, and he wished Bonnie were there so she could climb it and sing to him, sing the worry away like she had the night before. Had it only been twenty-four hours ago? Finn became dizzy at the thought. The number of life-changing, plan-altering experiences wedged and crammed into the last few days was mind-boggling.
He resumed his run back toward the direction of the motel, his legs weary, his thoughts heavy, and failed to notice until it was too late, the police cruiser that had idled up next to him. Shit.
“Kinda late for a run, isn’t it?”
“That depends,” Finn said mildly, keeping his pace, and hopefully his tone, steady and unconcerned. “I like it best when it’s quiet. Helps me unwind so I can sleep.”
“Hmm,” the officer said, non-committal. “You from around here?”
“No sir. Just staying at the motel off the freeway up there.” Finn pointed in the general direction of the group of cabins that called themselves something quaint but looked like a row of fish shacks.
“What’s your name?”
Now why in the hell did this guy need to know his name? He was obviously jogging, not bothering anyone. Finn wanted to punch something, but he decided lies would get him nowhere. Lies only made people look guilty when they were uncovered. If this was it, so be it. He would almost welcome it, and Bonnie’s words rung in his ears. “We haven’t done anything wrong!”
“Finn. Finn Clyde.” He jogged over to the officer’s open window and extended his hand, the friendly neighborhood felon. His forthcoming answer seemed to satisfy the officer, who shook his hand briefly but didn’t act as if he recognized the name at all.
“Well, Finn. It’s kinda cold out and you aren’t very warmly dressed, and our streets are more like country roads. Not very well-lit and full of pot holes.”
“I’m warm enough. And it’s not too much farther.” Finn tried not to let his relief show. The officer hadn’t typed his name into a computer or called it into dispatch, as far as he could see. A call came in, and Finn stepped away with a quick wave of his hand. The officer answered the call with his badge number, and then tossed some parting words toward Finn before his attention was pulled elsewhere.
“All right, then. Welcome to Freedom. Have a good night.” The cruiser pulled away and slid down the road. Finn almost stopped running he was so dumbfounded. Then he started to laugh as he remembered. Freedom was the name of the town.
THE ROOM WAS dark when he stepped inside. He let the door swing shut behind him and turned the lock. The drapes were pulled wide, providing enough light to find his way to his bags. He didn’t know why he was digging. His only relatively clean shirt was the one Bonnie had bought him earlier in the day—and it was in the car. He’d had plenty of clothes in the Blazer. Little good that did him. He walked back into the bathroom and pulled off the sweat soaked T-shirt. At least he could get clean beneath the shirt.
When he stepped out fifteen minutes later, Bonnie was sitting in the dark, perched on the end of one of the beds, wearing a little white top and very little else, judging from the bare length of her legs folded beneath her. He had hoped she was asleep. He stopped a few feet from her, rubbing the towel across his head, hand drying his hair before he tossed it toward a chair. He wore his shorts but hadn’t pulled his sweaty shirt back on after his shower. Seeing Bonnie made him wish he had. He felt naked with this girl, defenseless, exposed, and it had very little to do with his bare chest or lack of clothing.
“I thought maybe you left,” she said softly.
“And left you here?”