Runaway Love

Chapter 8

Los Angeles, California

Ermias

The rain had picked back up, steady now, tapping against the windshield like fingers drumming out a slow beat.

I was headed toward the shop when I saw her.

She was walking fast, hood pulled up, arms wrapped tight around herself. Head down like she didn't want the world to see her face—or maybe like she was trying to outrun something.

But I knew that walk.

That move-or-drown kind of pace.

Lauren.

I slowed without thinking, easing the car over toward the curb.

She didn't notice me at first. She was too focused. Wet sneakers slapping against the sidewalk, her bag pulled tight across her body. Determined. But tired.

I rolled the window down just enough.

"Lauren."

She stopped like she wasn't sure she'd really heard it. Then turned, blinking through the rain.

I leaned slightly out the window. "You good?"

She gave a small nod. Hesitated. "Yeah... I'm fine. Just heading back to the apartment."

Her words were steady, but her eyes said otherwise.

I looked at the sky, then back at her. "You walking the whole way?"

"Bus got delayed. Wreck or something. I don't have time to wait."

She was soaked. Hair clinging to her cheeks, jeans dark from the rain. That envelope—whatever was in it—tucked to her side like it held the last of her peace.

"Get in," I said, already unlocking the door.

She blinked again. "I don't want to—"

"You're not bothering me. I'm heading that way anyway."

She stood there another second, like she was trying to calculate the risk.

Then she moved.

Quiet. Quick.

She slid into the passenger seat, closed the door, and exhaled like she'd been holding her breath for blocks.

"Thank you," she said, voice low.

I nodded and pulled off slow.

Didn't press her.

Didn't ask questions.

Just drove.

Because sometimes showing up ain't about what you say.

It's just about being there.

Lauren

The silence inside the car was thick, but not uncomfortable.

Warm air hissed from the vents, fogging the windows just a little. My fingers were stiff, wet and cold from gripping the strap of my bag too hard for too long.

Out the corner of my eye, I saw Ermias reach behind his seat. A second later, he held something out to me.

"Here," he said simply.

It was a thick hoodie. Heavy, probably from the gym or the backseat of his car. Faint smell of cologne and laundry detergent still clinging to it.

I hesitated. Just a second.

Then I took it.

"Thanks," I murmured, slipping it over my damp shoulders. It swallowed me a little, but the warmth hit instantly.