Page 101 of Wrath

I laugh. “I’m scared of you, too, you know.”

His face sobers. “You should stay away from me.”

“Why?” I can’t say it louder than a whisper.

He smiles at me. It’s the saddest smile I’ve ever seen from anyone. It feels gentle, like he’s giving me bad news with only his lips and cheek.

“Because I’m not a good guy.” He smiles again, this one just a fraction better. “I’m not like you.”

“Dude, I’m not a good guy either. I’m just normal.”

“Iamsorry,” he says. His tone is heavy, musing, like he’s mulling over his regrets. “I’m sorry I was such a fucking dick to you. If I could, I would go back and change that.”

“Could you, though?” It’s the kind of stupid, pseudo-philosophical question my brain churns up all the time.Couldhe—in a hypothetical, time-machine scenario—change how he acted?

He looks pensive. “That depends, I guess. On what else I could change.”

“Do you have a lot of stuff you’d want to re-do if you could? In this hypothetical time-machine scenario?”

“What do you think?” he says flatly.

“I don’t know. I don’t know all that much about you. Even though I want to,” I add.

He gives me nothing. This is why I’m so off-kilter. I watch as he adjusts his grip on the wheel and navigates into the middle lane of traffic. He grabs his phone off his lap and frowns down at it. “Get off here in twelve more miles. That sound familiar?”

“Yeah. You don’t need the GPS, though. I can get you there.”

He nods once and stares out at the road for a while. “Feel free to play some music.” He hands me the plug-in for an iPhone.

Just like that, the conversation’s over?

I try to stay chill and fuck around on my phone. I don’t know exactly what music he likes, beyond classic rock, and I don’t want to just play something random. I scroll Instagram to have something to do. Looking at it in the car makes me tired.

“You falling asleep?” he murmurs. “Put your seat back.”

I force a smile. “Okay, Dad.”

He reaches over and runs his hand up into the back of my hair. “Get some rest. I’ll go slow.” A moment later, his hand reaches for mine. “I’ll go with you. If you want.”

I shut my eyes so I can feel his hand around mine. “You don’t have to.”

His hand tightens on mine. “I will.”

Somehow, I can’t bring myself to look up at him. Embarrassment, I guess. And all my desire for him. I’ve been tripping over my feet around Ezra since the first day he got here—even during the times that I felt like I hated him. He’s so magnetic. His hand around mine right now makes my heart beat faster. Not a bad thing; he just supercharges me.

I keep my eyes closed until I feel him changing lanes, and then I open them, confirming that he’s exiting. I let his hand go. We’re getting close.

“Whatcha thinking?” he asks softly.

“Nothing.”

His hand comes back to my leg, rubbing briefly before he needs it to drive. We’re turning left into the parking lot now…driving by the big, red and blue hospital sign.

He parks in the deck and walks around to my side of the Jeep. When I get out, he takes my hand and squeezes. “You’ve got this, dude.”

“Thanks.”

He lets my hand go, but we walk mostly in step with each other on the sidewalk toward the entrance. As we step into the revolving door, his hand goes to my lower back. Then we’re in the lobby. Colorful and tall and open. I’m hit by the memories of this place—of coming here with my mom. A woman pulls a kid by in a red wagon—they have these wooden wagons kids can ride in—and my throat cinches.

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