24
Jameson
“Slow down!” Emma begs as I hit the wooded trail that leads back to the cars. “You’re making me run, practically. I’m not built to run on the sand.”
I slow my pace, but don’t stop. Instead, I take a sharp left turn, away from the parking lot, and onto a faintly used trail into the woods.
“I want to smash his face,” I grit out as I walk along the path.
“He’s your best friend,” Emma reminds me. “He’ll get over it. You both will. This too shall pass, as they say.”
“I guess they aren’t friends with a complete f*****g lunatic,” I seethe.
We stumble upon a clearing with a few sagging picnic tables, and Emma grabs my hand, jerking me to a stop. I look at her, the storm within still churning.
“Please stop,” she says. “Just… talk to me.”
Looking down at her, I feel so much confl
