Ezra
The car ride back is gruesome, and I can feel the irritation rolling off Wren in waves. My lips twitch.
“I think if I start walking back, I’ll get there before you do,” she grumbles, pink lips in a pout.
I don’t have it in me to respond. I’m busy managing the throbbing pain in my leg.
“Just let me drive, Ezra,” she snaps, spinning to face me. “What is your problem? You’re obviously in pain, yet you want to keep torturing yourself…and me with this snail pace.”
I give her a brief look. “I can’t let you drive, Wren.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust your driving,” I reply. “Hell, I don’t know when or how you got your license.”
She slaps a palm on her face. “Then let me prove my driving to you!”
“No, thanks.”
“At this rate, we’ll probably arrive in two months.”
A chuckle actua
