Page 76 of For The Record

She gives me a full-blown smile now, one that makes me want to forget the world and my responsibilities and spend the rest of my night with her in my arms. We’re too different to be identical, but we’re the same in all the ways that matter. Skye has a look on her face, and it speaks before her lips part, as though everything she worked hard for in life is right in front of her. “I love you.”

The words hit me, sending me reeling. I tug with too much force and her kimono’s belt unravels from its knot, revealing her soft skin beneath. She sucks in a breath. I say, “Excuse me?”

“I love you, Leo Perez,” she says again. “I’ve known it for a long time, but it scared me to say it. I was scared of being in love or a relationship because I thought it would mean taking away a part of me… Or losing myself… But now I think it might be the opposite.”

A tear slides down her cheek, and I brush it away with my thumb. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Her smile is shaky, brown eyes welling up with tears. “I kept trying to deny it, you know? All my life I’ve only watched people fall in love and make families and then put themselves first. I thought that was how love had to be. But then I met you. And I so how you are, with your family. And you… you put them first. Always.”

“I’m not perfect,” I say, setting my hands on the bare skin of her waist. And did I really put them first? Maybe not. Maybe not until it was far too late.

“Trust me, I know,” she says. “But you’re the one.”

How can she infuse so much confidence into a voice so soft? Yet there it is, blazing up at me in her brown eyes.

Something breaks open inside of me, something raw and vulnerable that I have to keep from spilling. “I wish I’d met you earlier.”

“I would’ve been too young for you,” she says.

I laugh. “Touché. Now I feel like you’re jail bait.”

“I’m sure I’d be worth the prison time.” She nods, like this is reality instead of a hypothetical situation.

Twining my fingers through her hair, I pull her mouth towards mine. The scent of her perfume intoxicates me, her body arching up into mine. I groan, one hand sliding to cup her hip. Just then, the lock clicks and the door swings open, causing us to break apart.

“Poppy?” Skye walks toward her friend. Hercryingfriend. “What’s wrong?”

Her shoulders shake with sobs. I go to fetch a box of Kleenex, feeling pretty useless, and by the time I returned, they’re holding cartons from Scoop and Scoop Some More and huddled together on the couch. “What happened? Was it Ryder? What did he do? I’ll kill-”

“Ahem,” I clear my throat, plunking down the tissue box in front of them.

Still, as I watch the two friends, Skye’s words echo in my mind. Do I really put my family first? I’m not sure I ever did, at least not until it was too late. Not before their deaths. Skye talks about her best friend like she would die for her. But love is about the small sacrifices, too. Putting up with daily annoyances and tiny irritations. What about not dying for your family, but living for them too?

“Thanks,” Poppy says with a sniff as she takes a Kleenex. “Sorry for interrupting your date.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I was just leaving.”

Skye shoots me a questioning look. I shrug and try to send one back that says, do you want me to stay? She passes me my jacket, which is as good as an answer; and kisses me on the cheek.

“I’ll call you,” I say.

Despite the hasty ending… Tonight was pretty good.

Chapter 37: Leo Perez

“Leo?”

I bolt upright, bleary grogginess turning immediately to alert wakefulness when I hear my sister’s voice. I check the clock, glowing neon numbers reading 3 a.m. “Raina? What is it?”

Is that a sniffle I hear? “I couldn’t sleep…”

I throw off the covers and tug a t-shirt over my head before opening my bedroom door. “Why not?”

“I had a nightmare.” Her expression is so young and so old at the same time, a too-heavy burden dumped onto her slight shoulders. She looks like she’s been crying, shoving a crumpled Kleenex into her shorts pocket.

I don’t have to ask to know what it was about. Nightmares and images of our parents in the crash have haunted us both in the past few weeks. Sometimes, I come downstairs in the morning and find her passed out on the sofa, an empty cup in front of her and the TV blue light flickering over her face. Watching television to stave off the bad dreams until her mind is numb from insipid reality shows.

I suppose it’s better than drinking herself into a stupor, which I’ve essentially forbidden her from doing, by locking up every beer, wine cooler, and other alcoholic beverage in the basement wine cellar. It has a code that only I know, as well as a key in the safe that I have access to.

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