Book 15: Those Are My Memories

Blake

Eight Years Ago

Marianna pants, gripping my arm to hold herself upright as we sludge through mud so thick it sucks my shoes into its murky depths. A layer of water runs over the mud, making what was once a dry dirt parking lot shimmer in the shadow of the festival taking place a few hundred yards away. Music drifts toward through the relentless sheets of rain hammering over our heads, and I stumble, nearly dragging her down into the mud.

“BLAKE!” she howls, laughing hysterically. I catch her around her middle and yank her upright, cursing under my breath.

“I’m never going to let you forget that this was your idea. I told you it was going to rain. Epically.”

“Maybe you should be a meteorologist instead of an architect? You have a knack for it. You’re never wrong.” Her giggle laces through me, sending a flush of warmth across my wet skin.

Her boots keep getting stuck in the mud. My car is still a quarter mile away, thankfully