Page 162 of Seven Lost Summers
“I wanted to give you this,” she says quietly.
A pause stretches long enough for my stomach to knot.
Her hands shift and she brings the gift forward.
My gaze drops to the dark sheen of a plain wooden photo frame.
I have no idea what I expected, but it isn’t this. The image is from the studio. Nate and I are shoulder to shoulder, caught mid-laugh, eyes locked on each other. The rest of the room fades into a soft blur, every detail except us slipping out of focus.
The grin tugging at my mouth, the spark in Nate’s eyes, the way his head tips toward mine. All of it caught. Not posed, not planned. The truth, wide open.
I see it now.
The way I look at him, the way he looks at me. Words have never touched it, but the truth bleeds through every line of that photo. The kind of thing you can’t fake, no matter how hard you try.
Her voice breaks through the quiet. “This is you. This is what I see.”
Nate stands still for a long moment, the frame in his hand, his eyes softer than I’ve seen in months. He studies the photo quietly, his jaw working once before he draws in a slow breath. After that, he steps forward and wraps his arm around Quinn. His hold is firm, almost protective, the kind of embrace that carries a whole conversation without a single word.
I stay where I am, letting the scene breathe.
A part of me wants to tell him to say it—to ask her to stay—but the words sit heavy in my throat and never make it out.
After a moment I close the distance and slide an arm around her and Nate, and suddenly the three of us are pressed together, close enough to catch each other’s breath. The weight that has been pressing down on me today lifts a fraction. The heaviness isn’t gone, but for a heartbeat, the ache almost seems manageable.
I am the first to let go, ruffling her hair as I step back. “Thanks, Quinn. But seriously, next time I’m holding out for the chicken. Would have really tied the room together.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Theo, I have no idea what the fuck you are talking about half the time.”
I grin, tipping my head toward her. “That’s fine. Most people do not understand me fully clothed either.”
Before she can fire back, I hook my hands around her waist and lift her clean off the ground. Startled, she squeals, her laughter spilling into the air as I start carrying her toward the bedroom.
The hoodie she’s wearing bunches in my grip, her legs kicking lightly against me.
“Come on, Nate,” I call over my shoulder. “Let’s give our girl one last night to remember.”
The words hang for a beat, hitting me harder than I expect. Our girl.
And fuck… did I really say that?
The ride to the airport is fucking suffocating.
Nate’s in the driver seat, knuckles white around the steering wheel, his whole body wound tight enough to snap. He keeps his eyes on the road, jaw locked, every muscle screaming that he’s holding himself together by force.
Quinn sits in the back seat, forehead near the window, eyes on the blur of buildings and streetlights outside. Her reflection stares back at her, the glass catching every blink.
I sit in the passenger seat, the words pressing against my teeth. I could tell her. I could spill everything and beg her to stay. But I won’t. I know where that road ends. I’ve been down that path before, and the loss carved me out from the inside. There’s no way I would survive if something happened to her.
So I let the silence win.
The clawing pain builds until it hurts more than I thought possible.
It’s easier to watch her go knowing she’ll still be somewhere in the world. But fuck, it’s still tearing me apart.
Nate turns off the highway, sliding into the lane for the airport. When he finds a spot and kills the engine, none of us move. For a second, it’s as if staying still might stop the clock.
The door slams harder than I mean when I get out. I circle to the trunk, pop it open, and grab the handle of her new suitcase. The weight bites into my hand, not from what’s packed inside but from what the bag represents—her leaving.
