Abby Turning Red Quotes

Me? I had a nerd-gasm that led to a real orgasm later on. I got that turned on.

This is the one thing I hope: that she never stopped. I hope when her body couldn’t run any farther she left it behind like everything else that tried to hold her down, she floored the pedal and she went like wildfire, streamed down night freeways with both hands off the wheel and her head back screaming to the sky like a lynx, white lines and green lights whipping away into the dark, her tires inches off the ground and freedom crashing up her spine. I hope every second she could have had came flooding through that cottage like speed wind: ribbons and sea spray, a wedding ring and Chad’s mother crying, sun-wrinkles and gallops through wild red brush, a baby’s first tooth and its shoulder blades like tiny wings in Amsterdam Toronto Dubai; hawthorn flowers spinning through summer air, Daniel’s hair turning gray under high ceilings and candle flames and the sweet cadences of Abby’s singing. Time works so hard for us, Daniel told me once. I hope those last few minutes worked like hell for her. I hope in that half hour she lived all her million lives.

Once I had her clean, I wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to the bed. A small red bloodstain was on the sheets, and again the possessive monster inside me threw back his head and roared his pleasure. I stood there holding her and letting the proof I was the only man to be inside her wash over me. Blythe turned her head, and I felt her stiffen in my arms. “Oh, I can clean that up,” she said, starting to wiggle. I pulled her tighter to my chest. “No. I’m going to dry you off and hold you some more. I like seeing that blood. I did that,” The pleasure in my voice made Blythe smile.

How crazy life can be, and how good it can turn out,

I took a swallow of beer. “I’d put my wife in a chair when I’m supposed to pull off her garter, and I’d dance around her to ‘Stuck in the Middle with You’ like in Reservoir Dogs.” “Yes! And I’d want my husband to show up at the last minute all red like in The Hangover. The pictures would be awesome.” I turned back to the show with a smile. Thisis the date I should have been on tonight. This was a date I would have gone home with. “Hey,” she said, leaning her head back on the couch and looking at me. “I’m sorry I was rude to you when we first met.” I chuckled. “So you’re going to stop giving me shit about my driving?” “No. You’re a horrible driver. I meant that stuff.

She felt the electric tickle of Finn behind her. He must have come from the hallway. She turned. Standing on the first step, she was almost eye level with him. He’d carried the irresistible smell of the morning in with him, caught in his hair and clothes. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said. Teagan leaned closer. “What are you doing?” Aiden asked. Sniffing Finn. How weird would that sound? She changed the sniff into a kiss on the cheek, but Finn turned just before her lips met his face. She felt a shock as their lips touched, the wild inside her exploding like fireworks, rocketing through her to Finn. He swayed, and she managed to get her arms around him before his knees gave way. “Wa,” he gasped. “Could you steer me toward the couch, girl?” “Oh, my god,” Abby said from behind her. “The couch? Are you going to let them do that in your living room, Mr. Wylltson?” “Do what?” Finn flushed red. “Oh. I just meant . . . I need to sit down. The girl’s that good a kisser.” Thomas and Mr. Wylltson were staring. Aiden’s mouth was hanging open. “What are you doing, Tea?” Abby asked. “You totally lunged at him.” “I did not lunge.” I was just sniffing him. That would sound worse than lunging. “I just . . . caught him.” “Then why don’t you let him go?” Because he wasn’t steady on his feet yet. Finn’s electronics had gone haywire. “Well played.” Thomas winked at Finn and grinned at Teagan. “And well caught.” Finn groped for the banister. “I’m telling you I never meant to kiss her. Not in front of her da, that is—” “Unhand the young man, Teagan, and step away,” Mr. Wylltson said. “You are befuddling him.” “By that”—Finn found the banister and Teagan let go and backed up a stair—“I did not mean that I intended to carry on behind your back. This whole thing isn’t what it looks like”—his eyes lifted to Teagan. “Is it?

We’re talking about them as athletes, rather than some of the conversations we had in ’99: My god, who are these women? They’re kind of hot!” Julie Foudy said. After the team won in 1999, the players turned into one-of-a-kind heroes, pioneers, and role models overnight. Many people rooted for them as a larger statement about women in sports. But by 2015, the players of the national team were athletes that America grew to love simply as athletes. If fans were going to be jubilant about a victory in the 2015 World Cup final, it wouldn’t just be because of some deeper meaning or greater impact—it would be because fans knew these players and wanted them to win. It was evidenced by Alex Morgan’s almost 2 million followers on Twitter, Hope Solo’s autobiography becoming a New York Times bestseller, and Abby Wambach appearing in Gatorade television ads on heavy rotation. No longer did the players need to show up at schools and youth clinics to hand out flyers, like the 1999 team did. The word about the national team was already out. In the team’s three May 2015 send-off games, they sold out every match, drawing capacity crowds at Avaya Stadium, the StubHub Center, and Red Bull Arena. Consider what Foudy told reporters in 1999 after the World Cup win: “It transcends soccer. There’s a bigger message out there: When people tell you no, you just smile and tell them, Yes, I can.” By 2015? Players like Carli Lloyd were talking about world domination. It was all about the soccer—and that, in and of itself, was something special and powerful.

Her back is torn open like a great cat has used her spine for a scratching post. Long stripes of split flesh crisscross from shoulder to hip, some thin as a razor, others open wide enough to reveal folds of tissue in pinks and reds that I’ve only seen at the butcher. The whip took skin and cloth, leaving both her body and dress in shreds. A human did this to another human. Some boy did this to Abby over some perceived slight. She ran for help and no one gave it to her. They handed her over to a boy who tore her body open and left her for dead. Fury builds in me like venom. A sharp, dangerous feeling I’ve never felt about someone I haven’t met. “Carr.” Patricia nods. “His monument is on the quad.” “His monument?” I turn to her, enraged that this monster is honored at Carolina or anywhere else. She sighs heavily. “Everything has two histories. Especially in the South.

Finally, it was our turn and my stomach churned with anxiety and nerves. As we raced out onto the stage to form our positions before the curtain went up, Sara turned to me and said, “Break a leg, Julia!” “What?” I frowned. “That’s for good luck,” she smirked and then faced the audience whose applause was deafening once again. We lunged into our routine, with Sara in the front row, doing the somersaults that she was so good at and as usual, her precision and timing were excellent. The applause erupted again and with a flick of her long ponytail, she executed a very tricky interchange with Alex and then moved to the back. Alex attacked his moves with his usual gusto and the sharp, expressive movements which made him the stand out hip-hop dancer that he was. I felt a rush of pride at being a part of such a cool routine but just as I moved to the front position, I felt my leg give way under me. It was a completely involuntary reaction and one I was powerless to prevent. I was supposed to kneel down and support the weight of one of the smaller girls on my bent knee but unfortunately, it was the leg that I had injured that morning. There was no way I could bear her weight and the sharp pain caused my knee to drop just as Abbie pressed down on it to raise herself into the air. With a gasp from the audience, she went tumbling to the ground. Bright red with embarrassment, she glared at me in horror and all I could do was help her up and try to resume the timing and movements of the routine going on around us. Fortunately, Abbie had no trouble getting back into rhythm, but I just seemed to lose my place and was not able to recover. As if in slow motion, I felt myself limping around the stage after the others and then looking down, I realized that blood was oozing from my leg and onto the floor. I tried to ignore it and focus on the moves that I knew so well, but I was simply unable to get it together. Gratefully, Millie took over my spot and I moved once again to the back row, trying to camouflage myself amongst the others. The scene around me was almost surreal and I felt as though I were a spectator watching the event unfold from afar. The swirling, twisting and turning of the dancers in front of me, along with the steady thumping beat of the latest hip-hop song that everyone knew so well, all seemed to mesh together into a whirlpool of crazy colors and sounds. Then, feeling a slight nudge in my lower back, I was pushed towards the front of the stage. An instant flash of recall had me leaping into the air. Everyone still considered this moment the highlight of our routine. It was the grand finale and my chance to relinquish my status as actually being a decent dancer and choreographer. Flinging my arms and legs forward, I came down onto the stage, one foot at a time. Then reminiscent of that morning’s episode in the school driveway, rather than gripping onto the stage in a final dramatic stomp, my foot slid forward and just kept on going until my whole body landed horizontally on the floor with a loud bang. In a blur of dizziness, I sat up and looked around then saw that I had slipped on a pool of blood; blood that had oozed from the gash in my knee and onto the stage. At that very moment, I was overcome with a sudden rush of nausea and unable to stop the sudden convulsion, I vomited all over the floor in front of me. Too terrified to open my eyes, I wished I could turn back the clock. Back to the day of our dress rehearsal when everything had gone so smoothly. My final leap had been the high point of the day, where even Miss Sheldon and also Alex our expert hip hop dancer, had congratulated me on my performance. I dared to glance fearfully out into the audience. Everyone appeared aghast and I could see the shocked expressions of my mom and dad. Then, realizing I was surrounded by worried faces peering down at me, everything suddenly went black.

Yes! And I’d want my husband to show up at the last minute all red like in The Hangover. The pictures would be awesome.” I turned back to the show with a smile. This is the date I should have been on tonight. This was a date I would have gone home with.

Turns out, falling in love was truly the worst. The darkness is just my twisted little friend.

It was also easy to do because just about everything annoyed them. I really got Abbie torqued one time while she was eating a tuna sandwich and droning on about how she only ate tuna that were "dolphin safe" as she called it. I pointed out it wasn't so safe for the tuna, which she must have turned her back on when it came to caring about God's little creations, since she had a mouthful of the tasty things. She got so red I thought her head was going to explode.

Shawn was crying. “The bitch didn’t even fucking stop.” “Keep it together,” Javier said calmly. “Look at me, Shawn. He’s a patient. He can be your buddy when this call is over. Right now he’s a patient. Do your job and he’ll be okay.” Shawn nodded, trying to collect himself. Javier snapped the cervical collar on Brandon’s neck and we all put our hands on him, ready to flip him. “On the count of three,” Javier said, not looking up, sweat beading on his forehead. “One, two, three!” And in one fluid motion we turned him onto the backboard. Brandon always wore heavy-duty pants when he rode. But he was in a T-shirt. It was eighty today. His bare left arm was torn to shreds by the asphalt. He looked like he’d been through a lemon zester. Blood oozed from the white streaks of the under layer of his skin. And this was the least of his worries. Shawn, Javier, and an EMT lifted him onto the gurney while I felt his chest and stomach. He had rib fractures and rigidity in his abdomen. “A possible liver laceration,” I said, a lump bolting to my throat. Javier mumbled a curse word, and Shawn shook his head, his eyes red and glassy. We needed to get him to the hospital.

Dr. Campbell handed us off to the orthopedic surgeon, who went over the next steps to deal with Brandon’s broken bones. Another surgeon told us about the repairs to the laceration to his liver. Then a plastic surgeon talked to us about the skin grafts he would need to cover the extensive road rash on his left arm. By the time the doctors were done with us, Sloan was wiped. I put her back in her chair and called Josh. The phone was still ringing when I heard it behind me. I spun and there he was. The second I saw him, my emotional disconnect from the situation clicked off. My coping mechanism snapped away from me like a rubber band shot across a room, and the weight of what happened hit me. Sloan’s grief, Brandon’s condition—Josh’s trauma. I dove into his arms, instantly withered. I’d never trusted anyone else to be the one in control, and my manic mind gave it to him immediately and without reservation and retreated back into itself. He clutched me, and I held him tighter than I’d ever held anyone in my life. I wasn’t sure if I was comforting him, or if I was letting him comfort me. All I knew was something subconscious in me told me I didn’t have to hold the world up anymore now that he was here. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered, breathing him in as my body turned back on from being in suspended animation. The sound to the movie around me turned all the way up. My heart began to pound, I gasped into his neck, and tears instantly flooded my eyes. He put his forehead to mine. He looked like shit. He’d looked bad this morning at the station—I knew he hadn’t slept. But now his eyes were red like he’d been crying. “Any updates?” His voice was raspy. I couldn’t even comprehend how hard it must have been for him to see what he saw and stay at work, going on calls. I wanted to cover him like a blanket. I wanted to cover them both, Josh and Sloan, and shield them from this. I put a hand to his cheek, and he turned into it and closed his eyes. “He just got out of surgery,” I said. Then I told him everything, my hands on his chest like they anchored me. He stood with his arms around my waist, nodding and looking at me like he was worried I was the one who wasn’t okay. It didn’t escape me that we were holding each other and I didn’t care what it meant or what wrong signals it might send to him at the moment. I just knew that I needed to touch him. I needed this momentary surrender. For both of us.

I love you, Kris. I’m always going to love you,” he whispered. “Please forgive me.” I looked away from him, wiping a tear from my cheek. “I can forgive you if you can forgive me back.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pressed his cheek to the side of my head. Our embrace was full of loss and regrets and what-ifs. Tyler was a version of my life. A path I could have taken. But now I was so far off course I didn’t even know where I was going anymore. All I knew was I was headed for a dead end. And when I got there, I’d be alone. “Kristen, have you ever heard of the red thread of fate?” Tyler said over me. “No.” I sniffled. He turned me until I sat facing him. “I’ve been studying Mandarin,” he said, speaking to my eyes. “Learning a lot about the Chinese culture. And there was a story I read that really resonated with me.” He reached out and tenderly wiped a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “In Chinese legend, two lovers are connected by an invisible red thread around their pinky fingers. The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers from birth, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. The cord might stretch or tangle, but it can never break.” His eyes moved back and forth between mine. “You are on the other end of my thread, Kris. No matter how far apart we are, you’re tied to me. I stretched us and I tangled us and I’m sorry. But I didn’t break us, Kris. We’re still connected.” He paused. That pause that he always did on the phone, the one that told me he was about to tell me the good part. Then he pulled a tiny, black velvet box from his pocket and opened the lid. My heart stopped dead. Oh my God. “Marry me.

Today she’d taken off for a hair appointment at 10:00 in the morning and hadn’t been home all day. We had Sloan and Brandon’s wedding invitation thing later tonight. It was boring without her here. She’d left Stuntman Mike, wearing his DOGFATHER shirt, and he’d become my work buddy. He mostly slept, but once in a while he’d jump up barking at phantom sounds. It kept things interesting. At 5:00, Kristen still wasn’t home when I got in the shower in the guest bathroom to start getting ready for the party. But when I came out, dressed and ready to go, my breath caught the second I rounded the corner. She sat at the kitchen counter, looking at her phone. She was a fucking knockout. She’d been pretty before, even under her baggy T-shirts and sweatpants. But now? Dressed up? My God, she was sexy as hell. She wore a black fitted cocktail dress and red heels. Her hair was down and curled and she had her makeup on. Bright-red lipstick. When she glanced up, I tried to act like I hadn’t been frozen in the doorway. “Oh, hey. Will you zip me up?” she asked, sliding off the stool still texting. She didn’t even give me a second look. I cleared my throat. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” She turned and gave me her back, still looking at her screen. The zipper to her dress was all the way down and the lacy top of a light-blue G-string peeked out. Her perfume reached my nose, and I could almost taste the tart apples on my tongue. Fuck. This is torture. I pulled the zipper up, my eyes trailing the line of her spine. No bra. She was small on top. Perky. She didn’t need one. I stopped to move her hair and my fingers touched her neck as I gathered it to one side. I had the most incredible urge to put my lips to the spot behind her ear, slip my hands into the sides of her dress, around her waist, peeling it off her. She has a boyfriend. She’s not interested. I finished the job, dragging the zipper to the top. She’d looked at her phone the whole time, totally unaffected. Kristen wasn’t shy or conservative. That much I’d seen over the last few weeks. She probably didn’t even think twice about any of this. But I practically panted. I was getting a hard-on just standing there. I hoped she didn’t look down.

I want to rip his damn arms off his body, Ash. Sawyer, who I’d do anything for. I want to hurt him. If he touches you again in front of me, I’m going to crack. I can’t take this.” I closed the space between us and wrapped my arms around his waist. I’d done this. My need to be near Beau had created this impossible situation. “I’m sorry,” I whispered against his chest, wishing I could make it all go away. He sighed and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tighter up against him. “Don’t be sorry. Just try not to let him touch you. When he touches you, I see red. I can’t take it. I don’t want to see him or anyone else touch you.” I pulled back just enough so I could gaze up at him. His jaw was clenched tightly. Knowing he was thinking of Sawyer with such ferocity made me feel so guilty. I hadn’t wanted to come between them, yet I was doing it anyway. “What can I do to make this right, Beau? I don’t want to come between y’all. It’s the main reason I’m doing this. He’s your family.” Beau slipped his fingers into my hair and cradled my head. “Staying with him. Letting him touch you, hold you, God. It’s eating me alive. You may be keeping Sawyer from hating me, but you’re only making me hate him.” I reached up and clasped his hands, pulling them away from my head as I stepped back. Tears blurred my vision. “What am I supposed to do, Beau? You tell me. What am I supposed to do?” He opened his mouth to respond and closed it as his eyes settled on something over my left shoulder. A possessive gleam came into his eyes as if to warn off any predators that might get near what was his. I knew without turning around who he was glowering at so fiercely. I didn’t glance back at Sawyer. I wasn’t sure what to say.

She turns to face me, her eyes wide. “I think I know where Lana is.” “Where?” She gestures to the screens. “Who’s missing?

smirk as I take a step forward, pressing that barrel right up against my temple with my hands still raised. His eyes widen fractionally, but he masks all other signs of surprise. “I’m the girl you sent your son to kill. I’d hoped you see the devil you loved through clearer eyes, but I guess you never did and never will.” Confusion only lights his eyes for the barest of moments before recognition slides over his face. “No,” he says in a rasp whisper. But then his eyes turn to ice, and the resonating sound of a dead click rattles around the room that is otherwise cloaked in silence. Fear replaces determination when I smile. And he pulls the trigger again, and again, and again…all while I take a step back. “Hope you don’t mind, Sheriff. I took the liberty of emptying all the bullets from every other gun in the house, sans your service weapon you left in the other room.

You’ll pay for this,” the sheriff hisses, glaring at my brother and me as we get carried out of the courtroom. “He was with us!” I shout again, staring frantically at the jury as they continue to wrangle me out. “They’re hiding the truth! They’re suppressing evidence! This is just a fucking witch hunt, and my father is being framed!” “Just make them show you our statements!” my brother bellows as they finally haul us all the way out. As soon as the doors seal shut, they reopen, and the sheriff stalks out. Cuffs are being put on our wrists, but they can’t lock us away for long. It’s on film. We’re in contempt of court and nothing else. “Put them in a cell until this damn thing is over. I won’t deal with them again until I have to,” the sheriff barks. Then those cold eyes turn to us. “You’re making a deal with the devil by betraying the souls of the innocent. Your father is guilty. And I’ll make sure he hangs for his sins.” He starts to walk back inside as we start demanding to be turned loose. The sheriff turns just as we reach the corner, and he eyes me. “I’d hoped you see the devil you loved through clearer eyes, but I guess you never did and never will.

see the fear in her eyes turn to anger as she loads her guns again. She pulls out a knife, and I watch as she jumps to stand on her one good leg and throws the knife. Johnson’s eyes widen seconds before the knife sticks into his forehead, but the gunshots ring out faster, and I watch as her body jerks and drops, the bullets hitting her. “No!” I shout again, slamming my fist into the wall as my heart caves in on itself. Then I look at Leonard. “The chopper. Get me to the fucking chopper now!” He shakes his head slowly. “Even if we could get to it, it’d be too late, Logan.” My stomach rolls and my heart implodes in my chest as I slide down the wall, gripping my head as everything in me turns to stone, weighing too much to move. Tears burn against my eyes as I watch Lana weakly climb across the floor, firing again at the deputies. I can’t watch. I can’t watch her die.

You knew?” I ask her quietly, my tone full of disbelief and heartbreak. Everything hurts right now, even as I fight off the onslaught of emotions. In this unit, you train against showing emotion at all costs. I’ve never found that to be harder to do than today. Her lips move for several seconds before words actually start coming out. “Logan, I’m sorry, but—” “You knew!” I shout with accusation, as my fist slams into the wall, and my entire body heaves for a breath of air that doesn’t feel lined with lead. “Logan!” she yells, but I turn around and face her, slowly regaining my calm. “Listen. It was complicated, and she—

Someone like that? Someone who would kill or die to keep you safe? Someone who loved you so much that she almost gave up her revenge?” “Her revenge?” I ask bitterly, shaking my head as I turn and stalk away. “It’s not her fucking revenge!

You didn’t ask who the original killer was when I said I knew.” Turning around again, I start walking quickly into the night before calling over my shoulder, “Because I already know.