Page 104 of Wrath

“Different day.”

So, is he saying my mom told him I like orange soda on a different day? But he didn’t speak with her today while I was at the MRI? Did it take him more than two hours to get this food? Why didn’t he answer his phone?

I can’t read his face as he pulls onto the busy road in front of the hospital. Is he going to offer me some kind of explanation? Seconds pass…and then a minute. I tear into the burger because I’m fucking starving.

“Thanks. For this,” I make myself say.

He makes a grunt-like noise, and then he reaches into a compartment and pulls out…earbuds? I watch as he puts them into his ears.

Okaaay.

I don’t know how much time passes while I wait for him to act normal. To ask me how it went or…fucking anything. He doesn’t speak to me at all as we drive out of Birmingham and toward Fairplay. I can’t even guess what’s his problem.

Did I say something weird when he came back to see me?

Then, as I’m crumpling up my burger’s wrapper, it hits me:too much. I bet coming back to the room to see me before the MRI was too damn much for Mr. Emotion-phobe here. I was high off my ass, wearing a purple hospital gown with kangaroos on it. When I saw him, I bet I did a goofy smile or some such dumb shit.

I take a few deep breaths and tell myself to try to chill out. Maybe he’ll be normal again in a minute. But if not, I’ll analyze this later. When my head is clearer.

Ezra hangs a left onto the road that’ll take us back to Fairplay, his triceps popping out as he turns the wheel.

So what he’s one of God’s most beautiful creations? If it turns out this doesn’t work between us, college will have a ton of hot guys, at least some of them out of the closet. I’m imaging what my ideal type would be—someone who doesn’t look like Ezra—when he pulls his earbuds out of his ears. His eyes swing to mine, and, in a scratchy voice, he asks me, “How’d it go?”

I open my mouth, but I can’t get words to come out.Now you wanna know?I hear it in my head, but I can’t bring myself to say it. To let him know I’m hurt he didn’t ask me sooner.

“Went fine. Just watch and wait or whatever.”

“What did the tests show?”

“Nothing.”

His brows scrunch. His pretty lips press flat and pensive. “Is that a good thing?”

“I guess. Better than showing something bad.”

“Do they think it’s going to happen again?”

I shrug.As long as you don’t push me off a bridge again. “Might be a fluke thing. Never happen again.”

“Did they think it was a fluke?” he presses.

“I don’t know.” I rub my forehead. “She just said check back in later.”

“When?”

I can’t help a laugh at his aggressive—if belated—questions. “Six months.”

He nods slowly.

“If you’re worried about driving me, don’t be. I like cycling sometimes, and I’ve got a bike I can take to school. Or I can walk. It’s…what? I bet it’s less than two miles.”

“Abike?” His face twists, and his jaw drops open. “Are you serious?”

“I know it’s less cool than your Jeep, but—”

“Mills, you’d face-plant.”

“No I wouldn’t.” I laugh again, because he’s being insane. “I’m good on a bike, dude.”

---