Page 131 of Seven Lost Summers
A grin pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
Kit moves to the last finger. “And Nate. The quiet one. Golden boy. Voice of reason. Steady as hell... until he isn’t. Still uses his drumsticks to stir his coffee. Once ordered three pizzas during a live radio interview because he and Theo forgot to eat breakfast and thought they might collapse mid-question.”
Scarlet’s crying now, doubled over with her face in her hands.
A laugh slips out of me.
Kit finally glances my way, face unreadable. “I know everything about them. Unfortunately. Intimately. Against my will.”
A beat passes. After a moment, she nods toward the bag on my shoulder. “Did you get some good ones yesterday?”
I nod because my throat’s too tight to speak. Reaching for the laptop, my fingers brush the zipper, and even that soft sound seems too loud in the quiet. Everything feels louder now—my heartbeat, the blood in my ears, the weight of this moment pressing in from all sides.
I pull the laptop free, setting it on the counter in front of us.
My hands aren’t steady. If these photos are not exactly what Kit wants, maybe this whole thing ends right here, right now.
I flip it open.
My fingers seem clumsy on the keys as the screen glows to life. I move the mouse to a folder. I don’t think; I click without hesitation.
Xander fills the screen. His head is angled toward someone slightly off-frame, that half-smile bleeding through. His hair’s damp, curling at the edges, neck glinting with sweat. The light hits his jaw at the perfect angle, all bone and attitude, but it’s the look in his eyes that lands the blow. Unbothered. Unshaken. Fucking magnetic. The kind of shot you never get twice.
Kit steps closer. I don’t meet her eyes. I keep my focus on the screen.
She hums low in her throat. “Alright…”
I click through to the next.
Ace. He’s caught mid-moment, guitar slung low across his hips, hand gripping the neck, body angled just enough to catch the light on his forearm. His head’s tilted slightly, hair falling over one eye, mouth parted in concentration. There’s a lazy, lethal kind of heat in the shot. The kind that turns into a poster, pinned to bedroom walls while fans lie on their backs, legs parted, pretending they’re not getting off to it.
Scarlet exhales. “Damn.”
Kit, eyes glued to the screen, doesn’t say a word.
I move to the next photo.
Theo.
He’s leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, looking past the camera. There’s a softness bleeding out of him, a quiet fucking ache in the curve of his mouth. His shirt hangs loose at the collar, sleeves shoved up his forearms. The light hits at the perfect angle, brushing against the edge of his face, catching in the strands of his hair and casting that sharp jawline in gold. He looks good. Messy in the best way, as if he rolled out of someone’s bed and hasn’t decided if he wants to stay or fuck them again.
And still, somehow, it’s the softness that lands the hardest.
That flicker of something vulnerable behind the eyes. The part of him no one ever sees unless he forgets to hide it and yet the camera caught it. Frozen, branded into the pixels.
Kit leans in, just slightly. “Shit.”
Scarlet’s grinning. “Shit, Quinn, you really got him.”
Kit nods once. “That doesn’t happen by accident.”
I press my lips together and click to the last member of the band.
Nate.
He’s behind his kit, caught mid-beat. One arm lifted high, muscles flexed, the other hand low against the snare. The leather straps around his wrist, the way his shirt clings to his chest. He’s pure momentum in the frame, caught mid-breath, head tipped just enough that the light catches the curve of his jaw, the gleam of sweat on his neck. There’s a wild joy on his face that makes him look more alive than I’ve ever seen him.
Kit blows out a slow breath. “He’s gonna hate that one. Which means it’s perfect.”
