Under the Lights (The Field Party #2) - Abbi Glines Page 0,21
rarely home. They both work long hours at the restaurant they own in town, and Poppy has to always stay home and keep an eye on her younger sister. Which is funny too. Not sure why it’s funny, but I laugh again.
The room is almost weightless as I float by and then stop to pick up the vodka Sprite that Poppy fixed me. Bo’s brother also bought us a bottle of vodka. I drink the sweet mixture, glad that Poppy put so much Sprite in it. I don’t like the taste of alcohol much, but it sure makes me feel happy. So happy.
The yellow walls of the kitchen are too bright, so I turn off the lights and begin searching for the cheese balls I saw earlier in the pantry. I love cheese balls and all their fattening goodness. “Where’s the cheese balls?” I yell from the corner of the pantry.
“I got ’em,” Poppy calls back, so I stumble out of the pantry, only falling on my ass once and laughing so hard I have to curl up in a ball on the split-brick floor. The cold brick feels good to my face, so I rub it around, letting my cheek be soothed.
“Are you making out with the floor?” someone asks, and I open my eyes to see Cole Sanders standing over me with his glass of straight vodka and an e-cigarette he put the good juice into. He gets away with smoking pot all over the place with that thing. Lucky.
“Maybe.” I grin, holding both my hands in the air. “Or maybe I can’t get up.”
“Maybe I need to come down there and join you,” he says, not reaching for my hands, then winks.
I’m high, but I’m not high enough to let Cole Sanders down here with me. He’s slept with so many girls he’s bound to have an STD by now. No way. I shake my head and sit up quickly. “Not happening,” I say just before struggling to stand up.
He acts as if he were pouting. “Ah, Willa, that hurts.”
Rolling my eyes, I reach for my drink. “Not as much as the herps you’d give me.”
“SLAM!” Bo hollers, laughing hysterically at my comeback. I join him in his laughter and so does Cole.
Life is funny. Everything is just hilarious. I love it here. I love pot and vodka and Bo’s brother.
I love—
Then Poppy’s screams fill the air, and fear consumes me.
I bolted up in bed and placed my hand on my heart, trying to catch my breath. The screaming was still there. In my head. It would always be there. I’d never forget it as long as I lived. Tears slid down my face, and I buried my head in my hands as the pain that came with this nightmare returned. I hated remembering, yet I had to. It was only fair that I did.
Forgetting meant living, and was that even fair? No. Nothing was fair. It never would be again. Just like nothing would ever be normal. Especially me. I was broken in ways that could never be fixed. My life would always have the shadow of pain, guilt, regret, and loss.
Dropping my hands, I swung my legs over the bed and stood up. I had to see her. Remember her and allow the searing heartache to run its course. There would be no more sleep tonight. I was afraid to close my eyes now. I didn’t want to see the rest. I lived it. I tried like hell to block it and unsee it, but I couldn’t. It was there in my mind, burned deeply into me. As it should be.
I opened the dresser drawer and moved the photo albums I had there over until I found the one picture I had kept. The others I’d left behind. I was sure my mother had thrown them out by now. I didn’t want them anyway. Too many memories. This was all I could stand. Seeing this one.
Flipping it over, I saw Poppy’s strawberry-blond hair first. It was teased sky high, and she was laughing at me. My hair was equally ridiculous. The bright colors we wore went beyond hideous, but the pink lipstick and blue eye shadow were the best parts. It was homecoming week last year, and this had been our outfit for Eighties Day. Our mothers had grown up in the eighties, so they’d both been very helpful with the wardrobes. We had nailed the look.