Chase sat in the car for minutes — hours — ticking away the passing of time with a different question. How could she do that? How could she walk away like that? What kind of person turns her feelings on and off like a — like a fucking switch? He needed her. He needed her and told her how much he needed her but she just turned her back on him.

He pounded a fist on the padded center console. How did she do it? How did she flip from loving and worried girlfriend to cold-hearted bitch in the span of two minutes? He didn’t know and wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He’d been wrong about so many things but not this… not her.

Damn it, Megan.

He started the car and drove away — no destination in mind — as long as it was far away.

The miles blurred but he was replaying every word, every look, every smile, every touch from Megan. Three towns later, he concluded he was an ass, pulled to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. He hadn’t noticed it before — he was too busy being pissed off at his parents — but it was there in her eyes, in the hunch of her shoulders.

He’d hurt her.

No.

He’d wounded her.

And then, he’d let her walk away, so damned blinded by his own issues, he never even noticed hers.

Yeah, no doubt. He was a total ass.

He swung a U-turn and retraced his route.

It was time to talk about the things that scared Megan Farrell.