Page 33 of Quarter Miles (Runaway 3)

Hour after hour, regret ate a hole through me like acid through an apple. I wanted to apologize, to make this right, but Cash was too furious to listen. And I was too afraid that if I opened my mouth, too much truth would escape.

Maybe he suspected I had feelings for him, but I’d spent many, many years with my secrets guarded. I wouldn’t confess my feelings now.

We had to stop. I had to get out of this car.

A sign along the road marked eight miles to the next town. The gas pump, restaurant and hotel icons indicated it offered services and lodging. We’d made considerable progress today and Heron Beach was only hours away. We’d be there before nightfall if I kept driving.

But I was so weary, so desperate to stop, that I pulled off the highway at the first hotel.

“You don’t want to keep going?” Cash asked as I parked.

“Not tonight.” My voice was hoarse as I tried to speak past the choking lump in my throat. “I’d rather get there fresh tomorrow to find Aria. Is that okay?”

“It’s your trip.” He opened his door and stepped out, going to the trunk.

I sucked in a deep breath. Fifteen minutes. I only had to make it fifteen minutes, then I’d be in my room and I could cry alone.

After popping the trunk, I collected my things from the car and climbed out, locking the doors as Cash carried my suitcase in one hand, his duffel in the other, into the lobby.

“Good evening,” the clerk greeted, a young man wearing a tweed vest and white shirt. “Checking in?”

“We don’t have a reservation,” I said. “Do you have a vacancy?”

“Sure.” He clicked on his computer. “I’ve got a standard king room on the second floor.”

“Two rooms,” Cash corrected, digging out his wallet to slap a credit card on the counter.

I shifted for my purse to fetch my own.

The clerk’s gaze volleyed between the two of us. He was probably wondering if we’d just gotten into a lover’s spat.

Nope. Definitely not lovers.

He finished checking us in and with room keys in hand, Cash and I walked to the elevator bank.

I reached for the button, he did too, and our fingers jabbed the up arrow at the same time. It was nothing more than a simple brush of the fingers, something we’d done a hundred times—going for the remote, flipping on a light, reaching for a set of keys—but Cash jerked away from me like I was leprous. Was my touch really that revolting?

The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth again as I bit at my cheek once more. But I would not cry, not over Cash. As much as I wanted to blame him for this, it was my fault. I’d gone too far in the car. And if I was honest with myself, none of this would have happened had I not gone too far with my heart.

We stepped into the elevator, taking opposite ends of the car. Two floors felt like eleven and the doors were slow to open.

Cash bolted through them the moment they were wide enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. He took the lead down the hallway, bags in hand, while I followed behind, eyes aimed at the maroon and gold paisley carpet.

He set my caramel leather suitcase beside my room and without a word disappeared to his own.

Tears flooded my eyes, blurring my vision as I slid my key card into the slot. The stupid light blinked red. I did it again. Red again. “Come on,” I whispered.

Finally, on the third try, when the first tear escaped, the green light blinked and I shoved my way inside. The moment the door closed behind me, I dropped my suitcase to the floor and my face into my hands. My teeth clamped together, keeping the sobs inside, but the tears were harder to control.

Why were we fighting? We never fought. Why couldn’t he have let me go on this trip alone?

I would have come home and everything would have been fine. I would have broached the topic of moving out after I actually had a place to go. Because now, we’d go home and walk around each other on eggshells while I packed to leave.

Sucking in a breath, I stood straight and closed my eyes. This was only a hiccup. Today was rough. Tomorrow would be better. I sniffled and darted into the bathroom to blow my nose and dry my eyes. Then I met my gaze in the mirror.

“You’re a mess.” I laughed at my reflection. My hair was in a bun because I hadn’t washed it this morning. My nose was puffy and my eyes were red. Tomorrow I’d take a little extra care.

I walked out of the bathroom, planning on calling home to check in. I’d waste a couple of hours, give Cash some space to cool down, then I’d go to his room and invite him for dinner, where I’d apologize and beg for his forgiveness.