Page 41 of Boulder's Weight

He did say he cares, kind of, right?

"Bullshit," he snaps. "You deliberately let me believe you were going back to Montana. That this was temporary."

He's right, and we both know it.

"I'm sorry," I say, the words not feeling like enough.

"Why?" he demands, taking a step closer. "What was the fucking point?"

I can’t even be mad that he’s cussing at me right now.

I struggle to find an answer that doesn't reveal too much. "It was easier."

"Easier than what?" His voice rises slightly. "Easier than being honest? Easier than telling me you were planning to stick around?"

"Yes," I admit. "Easier than explaining why I left Montana in the first place. Easier than getting into the whole mess with my family."

This gives him a moment to think.

I can see him remembering our conversation about my brother, about the black eye.

"You said your brother found you in Billings," he says slowly. "So… you’re running from him."

I nod, relieved he's putting it together so I don't have to spell it out.

This is embarrassing enough as it is.

"And now you're here," he continues. "Starting over again."

"Yes."

Boulder runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "You could have told me that. I would have understood."

"Would you?" I challenge. "You barely know me, Boulder. Why would you care about my family drama?"

The words come out harsher than I thought they would, and I see them hit home.

"I don't know," he says after a moment, his voice softer. "Maybe because I can't stop thinking about you. Maybe because there's something between us that feels different. Or maybe I'm just an idiot who thought we were being straight with each other."

My chest tightens at his words. "I didn't mean to mislead you."

"But you did," he says. "And now I find out you're working at a club-owned business? That you know Astra and you’re working for her? What else don't I know, Kelsey? Or is that even your real name?"

The question hits too close to home, and I flinch.

Boulder catches it, his eyes narrowing. "Jesus Christ. Is it?"

"Yes," I lie, the word bitter on my tongue. "Of course it is."

Technically, it is.

I legally changed it with the help of the police when I testified against my father.

He studies me for a long moment, and I force myself to hold his gaze, praying he can't see through me.

Finally, he shakes his head. "I don't know what to believe anymore."

"I'm not on vacation," I say quietly. "I moved here, okay? That's the truth. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t want to complicate anything. I know you, okay? I know how you are, what kind of man you are. I don’t want to get attached to you, because I know that you’ll?—"

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