Page 87 of Bona Fide

? I’m So Sick — Flyleaf ?

A soft vibratingstirs me from my sleep before one of my eyes peak open to see the screen of my phone light up. The bold numbers on my alarm clock tell me it’s well after four in the morning. Wade’s arm wraps possessively over my abdomen as I reach for it only to find an unknown number displayed on it.

Recluntately, I answer in a groggy tone. “Hello?”

“Get out of bed with my husband, Miss Shelton, you need to go.” My eyes squint in the dark, letting my brain pick up—at a very slow pace—who and what was just said.

“What?” It’s all I got right now. Wade and I fucked so slow last night that it lasted for well over anything I’ve ever done before. Then he spent the rest of the night feeding me snacks and watching Scandal.

“Bed,” the female voice snaps. “Get out of bed, Miss Shelton.”

“Demi?” Wade stirs in his sleep, pulling my ass closer to his stomach.

“I suggest you get in your car and make your way to Riverview. There’s a nasty fire starting and—” I shoot out of bed, almost tripping in the process from my leg still being caught within my comforter.

Mama lives in Riverview.

“What the fuck did you do?” I rage, stepping on a shirt and quickly snagging it off the floor.

“Lint in the dryer, maybe? The stove could’ve been left on—does your mother drink tea?” I rip a pair of jeans or leggings, shorts—I don’t know, up off the mess of Wade and my clothing and put them on and sprint down the hallway.

“Bitch, I swear to fucking God if you touch my mother, I will—”

“I didn’t touch her, Miss Shelton,” Demi professes. “I swear it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Look at your text messages,” she replies casually. “And you might want to hurry. She hasn’t come out of the house yet.” My phone is away from my ear as I scramble through to my texts, my heart hammering into my ribs.

I can’t breathe, my fingers shaking so vigorously that the simplest thing to do is the hardest right now.

Finally, getting there and clicking on the anonymous, blue siding is radiated by reddish-orange flames. The short shrubs and blooming tulips—it’s Mama’s house.

Flames illuminating from the inside of her living room through the windows and out. Smoke rises in a black mast into the lit sky, and my phone lands with a thud on my hardwood floors.

The next thing I know, I’m at the front door, trying to slip my shoes on.

Fuck, my keys.

Pivoting around, I slam right into a hard chest, hands gripping my arms.

“Reagan, what the—”

“Mama’s house—” I jerk out of his grasp and round him, sprinting towards my kitchen to grab my keys. “—it’s on fire.”

“What? How do you know—” I’m on him with seconds, giving him a shove because I need to hit something.

I’m panicking, I’m fucking terrified, and I don’t know what to fucking do.

Mama’s house is over thirty minutes away, and I’m not going to make it before the flames get to her.

I don’t remember moving, but I’m running to my car before I’m jerked back around by giant hands.

“I’m driving, give me your keys.” I slam them into his hand and start back towards the car. Wade beats me inside, turning my car on and backing out of the driveway as soon as my door slams.

“Put her address in my phone, baby,” Wade says, handing it over to me. “That way you don’t have to worry about telling me where to go.”

My eyes are blurred and overcast with tears that make a threat to fall. Trying not to blink and key in Mama’s address, Wade blows through stop signs in the subdivision to get to the main road.

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