Page 31 of Quarter Miles (Runaway 3)

“How long have you been planning on moving out? Would you have told me?”

I frowned. “Of course I would have told you.”

“Like you told me about taking this trip.”

Score one, Cash. “Well, I’m telling you now.”

He crossed his arms, stared out the window. “Just like Kat. Keeping the world at arm’s length.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t trust any of us. You are part of our family, but there’s no trust.”

I shook my head. “What are you talking about? Where is this coming from?”

“How long have we known one another? You’ve never told me about Aria or Clara or Karson or Lou until this trip. Until I peppered you with questions and there wasn’t any place for you to go and avoid them.”

I sucked in a calming breath. Cash was just lashing out. I’d wanted him to be upset that I was moving out. Well, he was upset. He wasn’t wrong. The past was a topic I avoided at all costs, but he also wasn’t being fair. He had no idea what I’d undergone, and if I wanted to keep it locked away, that was my choice. “It’s not something I like to talk about.”

“That’s my point.”

My knuckles were nearly as white as the steering wheel. “I told you about the junkyard a long, long time ago.”

“No, you told Grandma and Mom. Not the same.”

Why would I want to tell him about the ugliest times in my life? Why would I want the man I’d been crushing on for years to see my dirty pieces? I’d been clinging to the hope that he’d see me as a sexy, appealing, available woman. Not a pathetic runt who’d once been given a stick of deodorant by Mr. Kline, her ninth-grade gym teacher, because she’d smelled and hadn’t been able to afford any herself.

Maybe the reason I’d opened up on this trip was because I’d finally given up hope. Cash wouldn’t see me as anything more than a friend, a sister, so why hide the truth?

“Can you blame me?” I asked. “Why would I want to talk about it?”

“Because we’re supposed to be friends. We’re supposed to confide in each other.”

“We are friends.”

Cash scoffed. “Then act like it, Katherine. Talk to me.”

“I am talking to you!” I threw up a hand. “I’m telling you right now that I want to move out. I need some space.”

“From me.”

“No.” Yes. “I just . . . need a change.”

“Okay.”

There was that word again, laced with sarcasm and disdain. I’d missed the nasty undertones the first time.

The silence returned. The radio was cutting in and out, but I didn’t bother changing the channel. My molars ground together. Cash’s nostrils flared.

What the hell did he have to be mad about? We were in our thirties. Wouldn’t he want a place to himself? Why keep a roommate when he didn’t need the financial support? And how dare he tell me that I didn’t confide in him.

“You’re one to talk about not confiding.”

“What?” He shot me a glare. “You know everything there is to know about me.”

“Do I? Then let’s talk about the ranch.”

“What about the ranch?”