Page 39 of Dotted Lines (Runaway 5)

He scoffed. “She doesn’t want me to come home so she can act like a mother. She wants me to come home because I am nineteen and can get a decent job. She wants me to be her paycheck.”

“She said that?” Aria asked.

Karson shook his head. “She didn’t have to. I know her well enough to understand how she operates. It’s all lies and manipulations. The second time she stopped by, she’d promised that she’d stopped drinking and wanted to make amends. The next visit, I could smell the booze on her breath when she asked me for a loan. She’s never been able to hold down a job, and she’s desperate. Somehow she stumbled onto where I work so she’s out to make my life hell.”

“But she has a nice car,” I said. “Those jogging clothes were fancy.”

“My guess? After I ran away, she found a guy to take care of her. Gave him some sob story or something. She was always good at that. Making men feel like they could rescue her. He probably tossed her and now she’s looking for the next fucking idiot to leech from. That idiot just isn’t going to be me.”

That was more than he’d ever told us. Karson’s words were so bitter. Pain and anger infused his tone and made me ache.

“You’re sure?” Aria asked.

He shrugged. “No, but it’s an educated guess. She’s been doing shit like this my whole life.”

“Okay, what now?” I asked. “She came jogging down our road. She has to know that you’re living here.”

“Maybe. But if she knew, Lou’s fence and padlock wouldn’t stop her. My guess is she heard a rumor I was here but doesn’t know for sure. And the car wash is open to the public.”

Not surrounded by chain link and razor wire.

“She saw us together today. She saw me walking. It doesn’t take much to know we’re together and living around here.”

He dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded. “We could be at any of the houses on this road. But it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing she can do. Eventually, she’ll realize that I’m not playing her fucked-up games and move on.”

“There’s nothing she can do to you,” Aria said. “You’re nineteen. But we’re seventeen.”

“Only for a couple days.”

“Two days. Two years. It doesn’t matter.” She held up her chin. “If the cops find us, they’ll send us back to our uncle’s house and I won’t go back. Not for two seconds.”

I took Aria’s hand and squeezed it tight. “We’re not going back.”

“She’ll go away,” Karson promised. “Two more days.”

That number should have brought me comfort, but instead, my heart lurched. Two more days, forty-eight hours, and we’d go our separate ways.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower.” Aria stood up. “I stink like grease.”

I stayed on the floor, waiting until she left us alone, then I put my hand on Karson’s forearm. “Are you okay?”

“I’m pissed.” His jaw clenched. “I hate her. I fucking hate her, Clara.”

“Want to talk about it?” I held my breath, hoping he’d open up.

He picked up my hand, but not to shrug off my touch. He played with my fingers, tracing them with his own. He pressed our palms together. He circled our thumbs. “She’s a pathological liar. She’s a drunk. She hates me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But it’s nothing, you know? Nothing compared to what the rest of you had to live with.”

Oh my God. It suddenly made sense. “That’s why you don’t talk about it? Because you think it’s not bad enough?”

“I brought a lot of trouble onto myself. It’s not the same. Londyn’s parents were junkies. Gemma’s mother did some fucked-up shit to her. Katherine’s too. What your uncle did to you and Aria is sick. You guys . . . you survived so much.”

“So did you.”

“No.” He caressed my knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “Nothing like that.”