Page 17 of Summer's Echo
Summer
May 2019, Seth and Brooke’s Wedding
Five thousand, four hundred seventy-five days. One hundred thirty-one thousand, four hundred hours. That’s how long it had been. That’s how long I had tried to forget him, to bury the weight of what we were beneath time and distance.It wasn’tmeant to be,I’d tell myself over and over, as if repetition could make it true. As if I could will myself to believe that whatever we had was child’s play, a moment in time that had passed. And yet here I was, still caught in the pull of Echo Abara, powerless to resist. No matter how much I wanted to walk away, I found myself here—standing on the patio just outside the ballroom, drifting back into his orbit once again.
If someone asked me to define what Echo and I had, I’d borrow one of my favorite words from Shakespeare:labyrinthine—intricate, complex, impossible to navigate. A complicated word for a complicated situation. The perfect way to captured the maze of emotions, history, and unspoken truths lingering between us. Or maybe it was just confusion. Either way, it was a tangle I couldn’t seem to unravel. Not then. Not now. And God help me, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
My eyes flickered between the St. Louis Arch glowing faintly in the distance and the string lights draped along the patio’s edge, both casting a soft, golden glow over the night. The scene was set for something intimate. But we didn’t need ambience. This wasn’t a romantic moment between me and Echo.
“You dragged me out here, so talk,” I snapped, my voice carrying more attitude than was necessary.
He exhaled, unfazed. “I don’t recall you kicking and screaming,” Echo shot back. “Not much has changed, I see.”
I stiffened, crossing my arms, leaning on my feistiness as a protective shield. “Actually, a lot has changed. I’m not the same Summer you once knew.”
“I can see that,” he said quickly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. For a split second, regret flashed across his face, his gaze dragging over me like a reflex. It was clearly unintentional, but undeniable. I bit my bottom lip, trying to suppress the blush crawling up my cheeks.
“Real talk…it’s really good to see you, Summer,” he admitted, relaxing against the brick pillar. “What are the odds that my boy would end up with your best friend?”
I nodded, letting a bit of my defensiveness melt away. “That is kinda crazy,” I said. “Brooke kept Seth a secret for a while. We’re just now getting to know him—and the company he keeps.”
“Seth’s good people. Brooke’s in good hands,” Echo said with certainty.
I nodded again, glancing back into the ballroom. Earlier, I had been searching for Deshawn, but this time, I was simply admiring Brooke, glowing with happiness as she danced with Seth. “She deserves every bit of happiness,” I said quietly.
Echo tilted his head slightly. “What about you, Sunshine?”
“What about me?” I asked, though I already knew what he was getting at.
“Are you getting all the happiness your heart can hold?” he asked, his voice softer now as he took a sip from his glass, his brow lifting in question. His words hit deeper than I expected, and I fell silent, lost in a swirl of thoughts I wasn’t prepared to confront. No one had ever asked me that before. But of course, Echo saw me—he always had. Even after all these years, he still saw me.
“I’m engaged,” I said flatly, the words settling heavily between us.
“Congratulations,” Echo replied, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm that didn’t escape me.
“Thank you,” I muttered, watching him warily. “You don’t seem surprised. I guess I should’ve known Seth told you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t speak with Seth about you,” he said. “But I was aware. Again, congratulations, Sunshine.”
“Thanks,” I whimpered, my voice faltering under the weight of his presence. Or maybe it was the way he called meSunshine—smooth and easy, like the years between us never existed. Like we were still the same kids who once believed forever was ours.
Echo tilted his head slightly, studying me, as if searching for the girl he once knew. “So, does the excitement grow over time, or is this…it?” he said, punctuating the words with a nonchalant shrug.
His voice was casual, but the question sat heavier than it should have. The eye roll of old returned involuntary—a reflex I thought I’d outgrown. I hated how easily he could read me, how he still peeled back my layers like no time had passed.
“Stop acting like you know me. I’m excited.Elated, even,” I added, pushing the words out too forcefully. But even as they left my lips, they felt hollow.
A quiet scoff slipped from him as he shook his head, his focus drifting upward toward the steel arch towering above us. “This was the scene of your happy day, right?” He gestured to the monument, its soft glow casting shadows against the St. Louis skyline.
I nodded, ready to ask how he knew Deshawn had proposed there, but Echo continued before I could speak. “Maybe thingshavechanged because I don’t remember the pomp and circumstance of it all being your style.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice softer now, drawn in, clinging to every syllable. Somehow, I felt both affirmed and exposed.
“The Summer I used to know hated attention,” he said, turning to me, his stare composed and unflinching. “I always imagined your dream engagement would be something simple—a quiet dinner at home, cuddled up by the fireplace with your sketchbook, the ring tucked away somewhere in the folds, waiting for you to find it. That’s the Summer I used to know.”
I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat refused to budge. He was right. Thatwasme. I didn’t like attention, and the memory of the day I got engaged played back with startling clarity.
When Deshawn told me he had plans for Valentine’s Day, I’d groaned internally. I was drained from a business trip, and the icy February wind cut through me as I stepped out of the car. My cheeks ached from forcing a smile as I saw the crowd—family, friends, and a few folks I didn’t know gathered under the Arch. Deshawn stood holding a bouquet of roses in front of oversized, illuminated letters spelling outMarry Me. I remembered the freezing cold biting at my skin and the exhaustion tugging at my limbs. But what stuck out most wasn’t the cold or the crowd, it was the disconnect between the spectacle around me and the quiet simplicity I’d always dreamed of.
