The stranger doesn’t seem deterred, or if she is, her smile doesn’t show it. She’s confident. I like that.
Or I did.
The girl in front of me ignores Poppy, and the death glare she’s shooting like daggers.
“What’s up, Poppy,” I ask.
“Let’s get something to drink,” Poppy says, reaching forward and snatching my hand. I don’t fight her, lifting a hand to offer a dismissive wave to the girl’s large breasts before turning my gaze forward. She leads us to the kitchen, which is mostly empty, papers taped across the fridge and cupboards warning people out of them.
Poppy stops and spins to face me, her green eyes bright with an intention that unleashes a bite of my unease that has barely been surface-deep as of late. “Why won’t my best friend tell me what happened between you guys?”
“Probably because nothing happened.”
She narrows her eyes, lifting a finger that she points at me. “That’s bullshit. You care about her. I know. I’ve seen it.”
I chuckle. “Are you part of my fan club, too?” It’s a dick move, but I can’t help myself. I’ve spent the past two weeks trying to convince myself of the opposite of everything she’s claiming.
“You know she wasn’t trying to hurt you, so why are you trying to hurt her?”
Something inside of me, a timer of sorts, seems to go off. “Because this entire situation proved how impossible it is for us to be together. Her brother’s my best friend. My teammate. My fucking captain. What do you think will happen if he finds out? How do you think that will impact my game? My future?
“I couldn’t go to the fucking hospital while he was there because I knew it would look too fucking obvious. And I couldn’t call her because I knew he’d be there. Hell, I couldn’t even send a fucking text because I knew their parents would probably see it because she was sleeping so damn much. And that had me realizing that this was only the beginning of sneaking around and lying to everyone.”
Her stare is quizzical as she remains silent, allowing me to finish my laundry list of reasons that prove things between Raegan and I would end like most Ancient Roman stories: packed with betrayal and heartache.
“You were willing to take these risks just hours before the accident, so something obviously changed your mind.”
“Her jumping.” The admission leaves my mouth in two punctuated words, the defining moment where everything in my life seemed to tip from what could be to what is.
“You feel guilty because she jumped,” Poppy says the words in a whisper like it’s a revelation. A secret.
“Don’t start with your psychobabble bullshit. I hear enough of that shit at home from Caleb.” I shake my head, working to dislodge the words that keep breathing new embers into my chest, feeding a fire I keep working to smother because it makes me want to break every fucking wall in this house and the next.
“You should talk to her. She doesn’t remember you being at the hospital at all.”
Another burst of oxygen blows on the flame. “I wasn’t.”
She raises her eyebrows and puckers her lips like my words create a sour taste. “I saw you, you idiot. So did Maggie. We made friends with the night nurse, brought her some Chick-fil-A, and she was more than happy to tell us about your nightly visits.” She tilts her chin, annoyance clear. “You should tell her. Even if you’re too afraid to admit you like her as more than a friend, you should at least admit to her that you cared enough to be one when she needed you. She deserves that.” She stares at me, daring me to insist I didn’t show up again. I consider calling her bluff, but that could take us down pathways guaranteed to make this rage inside of me come barreling out.
Satisfied, she starts to turn around and then stops, her ruffled brow confirming she’s about to deliver more upsetting news. “By the way, I thought you should know that Maggie leaves Tuesday. If you’ve learned anything about Raegan in the past month or so that you’ve been doing … whatever … you’ll know that means something.” She cocks a single brow with a challenge, then turns back toward the crowds and disappears.
I breathe out a long and heavy sigh. Alcohol feeds fire, yet even with this knowledge, I’m ripping the duct tape that holds the freezer door shut in an attempt to keep people from raiding their food, and dig for a bottle of alcohol. I find a half-empty bottle of whiskey that I grip by the neck and unscrew before bothering with closing the door.
I drink from the bottle like I’m at my first high school party, chugging the alcohol like I have something to prove. The heat of the drink plucks at the memories of Raegan, like Post-it notes torn from a wall. With each one, I’m forced to relive a memory of her smile, the humor that flashed in her eyes, the vulnerability she entrusted me with. I’m drunk on the memory of her when her voice filters through the past moments I’m burying myself in. She’s less than ten feet away, dressed in long sleeves and jeans though like every party, it’s uncomfortably hot in here. In front of her is a guy I don’t recognize, passing her a glass that she accepts, but lowers. He says something to her, and she smiles, but her eyes wander, and I briefly consider if she’s looking for me before I drop the mostly empty bottle to the counter and make my way over to where she’s now laughing at something he’s said.
Her eyes land on me, reading my pursuit. She lowers her brows and says something to the guy who turns to look at me as well. I stop in front of them, my shoulder connecting with his. It wasn’t entirely intentional. It’s been a while since I’ve drunk so much.
“Ben, this is Lincoln. Lincoln, Ben,” Raegan introduces us with a wave of the red Solo cup still in her hand.
He nods, offering his hand to me.
I don’t accept his handshake. I know I’d do something douchey like try to squeeze too hard, and I made a pact with myself a long time ago that I wouldn’t be that asshole—especially when I contend for so many other asshole titles.
“Did you guys meet tonight?” I ask, looking between them.
“We have a class together.” There’s a warning in Raegan’s tone that has me trying to focus on her.
“I’m not going to punch him, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I tell her.
Ben blinks several times, trying to catch up to the maze of unspoken words. Luckily, Ben seems to be a smart guy and takes a straight shot of shut-the-fuck-up.
“We should go. I have to get up early. Ben, it was nice seeing you.” Raegan sets that fucking cup I’ve been watching like a live grenade down and moves to my side where she takes my hand. It causes a chain reaction of conflicting emotions as the fire rages and then quakes at her touch. I follow her through the house and several feet out the front door before she stops and pivots to face me. She looks the way I want to remember her, the way I wish to think about her rather than of the lifeless person being Life Flighted by a helicopter we chased across town, dialing every hospital in an attempt to figure out where they were taking her. Those couple of hours it took until they had her registered and could confirm her location were utter hell—a hell that hasn’t ended.
The wind blows, pulling her scent and hair toward me as I trace over each inch of her, searching for any sign of the accident again.