Page 2 of Summer's Echo
“I can’t marry him,” I cried, sharing my secrets again with the wind. My voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper. The words felt like a boulder weighing heavy on my chest every time I said them, as if saying them aloud made the situation more real. Images of the day I’d left behind at the church flooded my mind—my family and friends, the elegantly decorated reception hall, my stunning bridesmaids, and most vivid of all, my loving parents.
“My parents,” I yelped, the realization riddling me like bullets. “Teresa Knight is going to kill me.” The thought of my parents’ reaction—my mother’s disappointment—brought a fresh wave of thunderous sobs. The tears spilled freely, blurring my vision, clouding my lenses just enough for the beauty around me to dissolve into nothing.
“They are going to be so upset,” I mumbled through hiccupping breaths, attempting to quell the tears. All of the time and money they’d spent—gone, just like that. Frustration bubbled up inside me, and I yanked the glasses from my face, tossing them onto a small pile of leaves. What the hell was I even doing here? Alone. On my damn wedding day.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I fussed at only myself.
My brown eyes throbbed, swollen and red from crying. Without my glasses, everything was a blurry mess—a perfect reflection of my own fucked-up emotions. I buried my face in my hands, the burden of my choices pressing down on me with unbearable intensity. The tears didn’t stop, and the pain in my chest felt endless, but beneath the sorrow and guilt, I knew that I’d made the right decision. As if sent by the heavens, a divine kaleidoscope-colored creature—a butterfly—fluttered down and landed softly beside me. It lingered there, delicate and unassuming, as if sensing I needed a friend. I let a faint smile slip through, grateful for its quiet companionship.
My gaze shifted to my phone, its screen glowing with another call from Deshawn. His name flashed a few more times, and with deep sighs, I declined the call…again, and then again. The silence settled around me, brooding but oddly comforting as if the butterfly’s graceful stillness had absorbed some of my pain.
6:07 p.m.
I shook my head, the thought nagging at me: The happy couple should’ve been man and wife by now. A painful tightness settled in my lungs as I pictured Deshawn standing at the altar in his custom-fit white-and-black striped tuxedo jacket, looking every bit as striking as I knew he would. There was no denying it: Deshawn Towns was fine.
The first time I’d laid eyes on him at a day party in Atlanta during SpelHouse homecoming, I’d literally drooled, mouth hanging open like a fool. His rugged jawline, framed by a slight shadow stubble, added to his allure when he’d flashed me that devastating smile. He was beautiful in a way that made my pulse quicken. Thick and brown-sugar sweet, Deshawn stood six feet tall with broad shoulders and a commanding build wrapped in flawless dark chocolate skin. Delicious, rock-hard, slightly bowed legs pleasantly filled every pair of pants like they were made just for his body. His bold, deep-set, slanted eyes, a shade so deep they nearly mirrored the color of his skin, seemed to hold the best-kept secrets. His low-cut, wavy Caesar always looked fresh from the barbershop. And what can I say about his lips? Soft, full, with an easy curve that triggered my senses into overdrive. But his arms were my favorite. Goodness gracious, those damn arms were sculpted pieces of art. The intricately designed half-sleeve tattoo accentuated the crushingly powerful perfection. That muthafucker was sexy as hell with an air of mystery that had hooked me from the start.
The relationship felt like a whirlwind at first. After that first night in Atlanta, Shawn seamlessly became a fixture in my life. Weekly phone calls quickly turned into daily check-ins, and casual lunch meetings during the week became quiet weekend dinners. He wasn’t much of a romantic, but I found comfort in the simplicity of being around him. On unpredictable, high-stress days, I discovered a deep craving for the steadiness he provided—the basics felt like a refuge. There were no dramatic highs or lows, no surprises, just easy predictability. For Shawn, romance was working dinners in his office or reorganizing his Excel budget spreadsheet while encouraging me to do the same.
After a long-time corporate career as an advertising executive, I’d recently become an entrepreneur, starting my own creative design firm, and Deshawn was an attorney in the general counsel’s office of a large company. When we were not gallivanting to galas or striving to be a power couple professionally, we enjoyed traveling and exploring our mutual love for food and wine. He’d never been married, no children, loved his mama, and did I say fine as hell? The kind of man most women dreamed about. On paper, he was perfect—wewere picture perfect. But no matter how flawless he seemed, he wasn’t my dream. He wasnevermy dream. And that was something I couldn’t continue to sweep under the rug.
I let out a harsh exhale through puffy lips, tears burning hot against my skin. My mind swarmed with relentless and overwhelming memories of the man I’d nearly vowed my life to, each one a tangled mix of joy and pain. The good, the bad—each moment played out in my mind like a never-ending reel, refusing to let me find an iota of peace.
“Heffa, you didn’t show up for your wedding… Ain’t no peace for you for the foreseeable future,” I muttered to myself, my voice thick with frustration and self-loathing. But as I sat there, raw and shaken, the question burned inside me: Had I just walked away from my future or saved myself from the inevitable? The truth hurt, but it wasmytruth—mycross to bear.
7:13 p.m.
Daylight savings was upon us, and the days were slipping away faster than I could catch them. It was already starting to get dark earlier, and the park was no exception. The overhead lamps scattered along the walking trails and parking lot flickered to life, casting a soft glow over the green expanse. The cool breeze brushed against my skin, sharper now than before—chillier than I was prepared for because I had no plan. I had no place to go. My parents would welcome me home, but I wasn’t ready for their questions and disappointing stares. I’m sure my condo was the first place everyone had looked, and Deshawn’s apartment—basically my apartment since I stayed there so much lately—was definitely not an option.
“I could probably go to Hailee’s,” I thought aloud. But even as the words left my lips, I knew that would be ano,too. Hailee Burns, one of my best friends since middle school, would just call our other friends, Brooke Thompson and Trinity Clay, if they weren’t already at her house—and soon, all three of my best friends would be crowded around me, filling my cup like they always did. They wouldn’t judge me, I knew that much, but I wasn’t in the mood for their reassurances or advice. I needed silence, space to just…think…breathe. I owed everyone an explanation. My family. My friends. And most importantly, Deshawn. But at this moment, the only truth I knew for sure was the one that had been circling my mind like a mantra:I can’t marry him.
With a final burst of fiery orange, the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the inky sky. My gaze swept across the picturesque scene, watching nightfall cover the rolling greens like a blanket. The darkness swallowed the distance like the lingering anguish eating me alive.The bushes shook unexpectedly, a quick and frantic rustle that sent a jolt through me. Clutching my chest, my heart raced as I spun around, bracing for the worst. But when I looked, nothing was there. I let out a shaky sigh of relief, forcing myself to reposition and refocus on my current dilemma: Where on earth was I going to go tonight? Checking my phone again, I scrolled through a list of nearby hotels. My fingers trembled from exhaustion and the autumn chill. The heaviness of my decision depleted me. I was drained, both mentally and physically. Sleep was what I needed right now. Tomorrow would be the reckoning, demanding much more from me than I could fathom tonight.
The rustling started again, faint initially, but I ignored it this time, assuming it was just the cool wind stirring the leaves like before. Tired, my body slumped forward, the tension in my shoulders pulling me down as I pressed my palms into my forehead. The sound grew nearer. I pinched the crease between my eyes to quell the merciless pounding beating like a drum.
“Sunshine.”
Surprisingly, I didn’t startle at the familiar sound behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to recognize that voice—the smooth baritone timbre that lived in my dreams, pleasantly haunting me with its unmistakable familiarity.
“What’s good, baby girl? Are you okay?” the voice uttered, hitting me like a wave, crashing over my senses with a combination of recognition and relief. The air was cool, but a warmth coursed through my veins. It was as if time stood still for a moment. My breath caught in my throat, and my eyelids fluttered shut. He lived there. I could see his smile when I closed my eyes. Was this real? Was he here, or was my exhausted mind playing tricks on me?
“E, what are you doing here?”
My expression felt composed, but my breastbone rose and fell in rapid succession, shallow breaths betraying the calm I tried to maintain. The years between us slowly unraveled in my head. With each labored, ragged breath, the memories tumbled over the next like a song stuck on repeat. I was frozen at the mere whisper of my name. The name he gave me. The name reserved only for him.I was neverSummerto him, but instead hisSunshine, hisSun, and him? He was mine—Summer’s Echo.
Chapter Two
Echo
October 2019
I stared at Summer, taking in the sight of her red tear-stained eyes, puffy cheeks, and swollen lips. It broke something inside me. But then, there was that smile—the faint curve at the corner of her mouth. That familiar, bittersweet smile sent a chill down my spine, awakening memories I desperately wanted to bury, but they resurrected every time I saw her face—shit, heard the mention of her name. She was here, in the flesh. After years of minimal contact, punctuated by social media stalking and distant updates through friends, I saw her again for the first time last year at a mutual friend’s wedding reception. Her boyfriend—now fiancé—had been glued to her side, a quiet confirmation that the closeness we once shared had long since faded. But here we were. Time had passed, lives had changed, but for just a second, this felt like an old, familiar rhythm. But in reality, nothing was the same. So yeah, Summer’s question was valid. What the hell was I doing here?
When I boarded a red-eye flight to St. Louis last night, I couldn’t believe I was going through with this. Attending Summer Knight’s wedding was exactly what I swore I wouldn’t—shit, I couldn’t—do. The thought of witnessing her promise forever to another man…take another man’s last name felt like a slow death. And yet, this morning, I stood in my childhood bedroom knotting a tie and rehearsing how I’d sit in the church and pretend like my world wasn’t ripping at the seams.
“This is bullshit. Why am I torturing myself?” I’d mumbled, tugging the tie tighter than necessary. Since I was seventeen years old, she’d been mine. My best friend, my confidant, my homie. But life—and the life-altering mistake that changed everything had reshaped us—twisted our paths in ways I never saw coming. The distance between us had grown jagged and unyielding, so vast that now she was about to become somebody else’s wife.
“You look nice,” my sister, Sadie, had whispered from the doorway. I smiled, extending my arms to receive her hug. When I’d arrived last night, the house was quiet. My parents were in Chicago visiting a sick relative, and I didn’t realize Sadie was home. She was the youngest of the Abara family, still living at home while attending college.
