“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, pushing the words past my stomach, which is currently lodged in my throat.

She shoves the truck into Park, turns off the ignition and throws the keys at me with a haughty, “Drive yourself home then.”

I’m in such shock, the keys bounce off my chest and drop to the floorboards. I’m groping around for them stupidly when she jumps out of the truck. Playing catch-up, I chase after her.

“Where the hell are you going?” I yell.

“Anywhere but here!” she screams back, her voice cracking.

“You can’t walk along a highway at night, Elizabeth.” My voice is sharp, but I’m more worried about her than I am pissed.

“Leave me alone, Austin!” she shouts over her shoulder, but mercifully she stops walking when she gets about ten feet away.

I slacken my stride, hoping she won’t take off again if I give her space. She’s got her back to me, but her silhouette shows her arms are crossed and her chin is pointed defiantly in the air. We’re engulfed by silence. The only sound I hear is the pounding of my heart.

I rake my hands through my hair and let out an aggravated sigh. I’m standing on the side of a deserted highway at night with this crazy woman who won’t even talk to me.

“Would you fucking say something? I’m not staying out here all night.”

“No one is asking you to stay.”

“Like hell I’m going to leave you stranded on the side of the road.”

“I am not a child. I can find my own way home.”

“Oh, yeah? Throwing a tantrum is really mature.”

She turns abruptly, charging toward me with her arms flailing. Her eyes are wild and fiery. Hands raised and fingers curled, she’s a cat ready to claw my eyes out.

“You have no right to judge me. Or my family. Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t know me. You don’t know how I grew up.”

“It must have been so tough for you, having to decide which of your ponies to ride and all. Real torture.”

She stops short, just outside of arm’s reach.

“Screw you. You don’t have a monopoly on shitty childhoods. Do you know how many times I’ve heard my parents say I love you?”

She pauses. I don’t answer.

“Twice.” She holds up two fingers in my face. “My mother on the day she died. My father at her funeral. That’s it. In my whole. Fucking. Life!”

Her body is physically shaking with rage, but tears gather in the corners of her eyes. I didn’t realize how broken she is. The urge to hold her is nearly overwhelming. I clench my fists to keep myself from trying to touch her.

“Then fuck ’em,” I say with a shrug.