In her state, she couldn't possibly drive. It was dangerous—far too dangerous.
She could only force herself to wait, suppressing the anxiety churning within her.
But the wait was agonizingly long, almost unbearable.
She had never known waiting could be so painful—a pain so sharp it brought her to the verge of tears.
But what good would crying do?
It couldn't lessen the pain or change the situation.
Crying was the most useless thing in the world.
Summer Thorne dug her nails into her own skin, trying to feel real, to ground herself. But no matter how hard she tried, it was useless.
Furious and frustrated with herself, she finally slammed her fists on the steering wheel.
The sharp sound made a passing car slam on its brakes before slowly starting to move again.
But it had gone less than twenty feet before stopping again. The passenger door swung open and a familiar figure got out, walking straight toward her.
