Read Online Time to Run by John Gilstrap - Free Book Online Page A

my remaining life in some stupid hospital!”
    Her dad grew very serious with that, very quiet. Scary, almost, the way his eyes narrowed and his voice became barely audible. That’s when he threatened to have her arrested. Unbelievable. And the thing of it is, he was serious. Either she’d do things his way or he’d have her put in irons and tied down to the hospital bed.
    Then, the beeper had sounded, and for one brief spectacular moment, life had seemed fair.
    Here you go, Nicki. Here are the organs that will save your life.
    Ha! Only kidding!
    God, she hated doctors. Minutes after they had taken her new heart and lungs back, Dad and the mad scientists were treating her like a chemistry experiment again.
    And now she was cobbling a new life.
    â€œAdios, assholes,” she muttered, drawing a look from a janitor old enough to have played soccer with Moses. When she fired off one of her patented “screw you” looks, the old man averted his eyes.
    Brad would be proud. He’d given her step-by-step directions on exactly what she should do. He’d told her the place to go, and even how much the bus fare would be to get there. Now she’d just have to hang around long enough for him to get the e-mail she’d sent this morning and then come to pick her up. He was the man with the plan, the one who told her not to worry about a thing.
    On paper, it had all sounded so romantic, but now that she was here, standing in a skanky bus station surrounded by so many strangers, so far away from home, the romance eluded her. Now that she thought about it—you know, really thought about it—how did she even know for sure that this guy who called himself Brad wasn’t some twisted imposter who’d done some really good research? On the Internet, you could be anyone you wanted to be. How many times had her father told her that?
    The familiar fluttery feeling tickled her stomach as a touch of panic gripped her, and she sat down in anticipation of the light-headedness that was never far behind when she got upset. By inhaling through her mouth, and then letting the breath go as a silent whistle, she could actually wrestle her heart rate down.
    And nobody cared. Was that terrific, or what? Nobody rushed to her side, felt her wrist or offered to get her a drink of water. Out here, no one knew anything about her. It was liberating as hell. As far as any of these strangers knew, she was just a regular teenager; maybe a runaway, maybe not. Maybe a fugitive from the law. Or, maybe just a girl waiting for her grandmother to get in from Toledo.
    It was as if she’d been given a chance to reinvent herself, for as long as her body would let her. Keep your marijuana and your booze, baby. This freedom shit was the greatest high in the world.
    â€œNicolette Janssen?” The voice came from behind her, and sounded nothing like she’d remembered.
    She whirled on her bench, and there he was, a fully grown, slightly bulkier version of the boy she remembered. He sported a beard now, albeit it a little scraggly, a darker brown than his yellow hair would have implied, and there was a certain pallor about him that led her to believe that he’d lost his passion for sunbathing. There was no mistaking that smile, though—a flash of brilliant white. When he pulled the sunglasses off, she knew for sure.
    â€œI hate that name,” she said, wishing there was a way to control the heat that spread through her cheeks.
    Brad tossed off a shrug. “I know. But I think it’s pretty. I hear ‘Nicolette’ and I think ‘class.’” He moved his shoulders to adjust the straps on his backpack.
    Nicki smiled in spite of herself and blushed even brighter. “When I hear it, all I think of is some fat French barmaid.”
    Brad laughed and came around to her side of the bench, where he held out his hand. “Come on, now, stand up. Let me see you.”
    This was the moment of