Chapter Thirty
I’m such an i***t.
These four words run through my head as I stare at the license plate of Natalie’s car through Piper’s windshield. Rush hour—which is a bit of a misnomer if you live in Phoenix, as it tends to start around three o’clock and lasts until six—has slowed our progress to a dull plod. This suits me just fine, as it gives me the perfect excuse to brood as we inch ever closer to Elyse’s house. Piper, to her credit, is exercising sensitivity by letting me mope. Sulk. Whatever.
What is there to say, really? I stupidly thought I could keep my batshit crazy life from bleeding into my normal one, and to prove it I went and jumped head-first into a situation that may very well get me killed.
“I’m sorry,” Piper says, her words barely audible over the noise of the heat
