Page 99 of Return Policy

27

SOPHIA

The truck door slams shut, and it’s like a shotgun to the chest, causing me to flinch.

I sit in the passenger seat, unable to move, unable to speak. No.

No.

No.

No.

Not again.

This can’t be happening again.

“Turn it up! I freaking love this song,” Charlie demands from the back seat of Seth’s truck as we drive through the winding country roads on the way home from the springs.

I reach out to turn the dial, and “Kiwi” by Harry Styles blares through the speakers. We all sing along, and I play an air guitar in perfect rhythm with the music.

Looks like all that Guitar Hero really paid off. Who’s laughing now, Leah?

Seth reaches over and squeezes my knee before placing his large hand back on the steering wheel.

We come around a bend in the road and the truck jerks, a vibration rippling through the vehicle, rattling my bones as something skids across the road in front of us.

“Shit!” Seth shouts, pulling the car off the shoulder.

“What was that?” I ask, panicked, rubbing my eyes to focus better on the shape unmoving near the side of the road. “Did you hit a deer?”

We’re in the middle of nowhere. Deer cross here all the time. It’s always a risk.

It’s gotta be a deer…

“That’s—it’s not—I don’t think it was a deer,” Seth says quietly.

We fly out of his truck, running toward the unmoving shape, and once my mind registers what it is, bile rises, threatening to escape.

There’s a shopping cart with random things spilled out of it next to the body surrounded by blood.

Blood. Blood. There’s so much blood. Why is there so much blood?

No.

No.

Please move.

Please.

“Seth…” I say as we walk closer. “You hit someone.” I exhale a shaky breath. “You hit a person!”

I sprint to the body, bending down to check if they’re breathing, my hands and knees immediately soaked in blood. An older man with a white, unkempt beard lies before me. His clothes are tattered, well-worn, and now stained red. I try to remember the things my dad told me to do in a situation like this, suddenly grateful to be the daughter of a paramedic.

I reach out, pressing my fingers against his throat to check for a pulse.

“What are you doing?” Seth yells, ripping me off the ground by my arm.

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