His Second Chance

23 | her heat rash

"Yes."

"Wha—"

I was disoriented from waking up so abruptly, and I was not sure if the vision of Wade's hungry family was a figment of my dreams or a piece of my memory. Wade shook his head as he walked over to the closet, pulling out his bag. "Pack your things."

Deciding not to disagree, I collected the few toiletries I had sprawled out in the bathroom. Besides that, a few of my clothes hung in the closet. I did not take the time to fold them, so I resorted to shoving them, as neatly as I could back into my suitcase.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, suitcase in hand, I watched Wade. He did not relax during the entire time he took to get ready for the car ride. I knew why; I had heard why—my memory of last night resurfacing full force—but I itched to know more. I itched for him to tell me.

I wanted to ask him outright: Did you believe the things your grandfather said? And maybe more importantly, who was Amit?

Instead of asking any of those questions, I wrung my hands together and asked a different one instead: "Where are we off to next?"

He did not respond right away as we walked out of the guest room, the door shutting behind us. He took my suitcase handle from my grasp, his bag hoisted over his shoulder, as he sped down the hallway in search of the foyer. I walked a couple steps behind him, still waiting for an answer.

"I don't know," he said while picking up his pace. "About last night..."

"We don't need to talk about it," I said sheepishly. "It was a momentary lapse of my nerves."

"Violet," he stalled. "It's nothing to be ashamed of—"

I cut him off before he could continue. "I'm not ashamed."

"Violet."

Pursing my lips, I responded. "I'm not."

"Whatever you say." He did not seem convinced, not that I was much more convinced myself.

Rolling my shoulders to release the building tension in my body, we made our way to Wade's car—all without having met the wandering gaze of any of Wade's family members, which was a feat in and of itself.

Or so I had thought.

As we neared the parked car, many of his family members emerged into the driveway. Wade grunted, gripping his shoulder bag tight. Closing his eyes and flexing his shoulders, Wade said his farewells to his family all with me towing behind.

I must have muttered over a dozen it-was-nice-to-meet-you's before we had made it through his swarm of family members.

Wade's car was still parked in the middle of the driveway, left abandoned when Wade's family came to greet us days prior. Climbing into the passenger seat, Wade spared no time in backing out of The Pit's estate.

Once back on the road, he peered over at me and said, "Get some rest. You look like you need it."

Glaring at him, I folded my hands over my chest. No matter how hard I tried to ward off the tempting call to shut my eyes and fall asleep, I was no match for the darkness that enveloped me.

Yet again, for the second time today, I did not know how long I slept when my eyes reopened, legs stinging. I scratched my neck and stretched my arms.

"Good afternoon," Wade chirped. He was visibly in a much brighter mood. The distance from his family proved to be the right cure for his dreary attitude.

"Afternoon?" My eyes landed on the dashboard. The clock read: 1: 13 P.M. I did not know what time I had fallen asleep, but I shook my head. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and continued to scratch my neck.