Page 63 of Seven Lost Summers
The words tear out of me, hoarse and jagged, like they’ve been stuck in my throat for days. I don’t mean for them to sound so harsh, and I hate that it sounds like blame when all I really carry is the ache of missing him.
Theo looks at me. I see it—right there in his eyes—the fight to hold it together, the silent scream behind the silence.
I rise from the bed, the space between us suddenly unbearable.
A few steps closer to him, and everything becomes clear. His eyes are shining, tears pooling at the edges, held back by nothing but sheer force of will. His jaw is tight, shoulders rigid, the emotion is present. He’s barely holding himself together, and I see every fractured piece. He too is dying inside, much the same as me.
I pull him into a hug before he can pull away. He doesn’t resist. He crumbles into me, his body heavy with grief.
“I don’t understand how to do this, Nate,” he whispers. “I can’t figure out how to live in a world where she’s not here.”
He crumples forward, chest heaving as he folds into me, fists bunching in my shirt as though this is the only thing tethering him to this fucking earth.
The first sob tears out of him as if it had been waiting for years, and suddenly it hits, wave after wave. Shaking. Shuddering. Falling the fuck apart in my arms.
I grip him harder, locking us together, trying to hold all his pieces in place.
My own eyes blur, throat closing around the words I’m barely getting out.
“I don’t either, man. But we’re gonna have to figure it out. Together. Because I can’t—” My voice catches. “I can’t lose you too.”
He clings tighter, fingers digging into my back like he’s scared I’ll disappear too.
“You can’t keep doing this, Theo.” My voice stays even, but everything in me seems to be cracking open. “You can’t keep vanishing every time things get too hard.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes, only keeps gripping my shirt.
“Please,” I push, voice shaking now. “You’re my fucking brother. I can’t let you keep hurting yourself just to feel something.”
I pause, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “She wouldn’t want that. You know that. She hated when you tried to make yourself small.”
Theo pulls back slightly. He scrubs a hand down over his face like he can wipe it all away. The tears, the pain, the truth of it.
“I can’t figure out how to stand at that spot tomorrow, Nate and watch them put her in the ground.” His whole body trembles, shoulders caving. “I can’t face this. I can’t say goodbye.”
I pull him back into me, holding tight, holding steady, as though I can shoulder some of the weight for him.
“I’ll be there,” I whisper. “You won’t have to do it alone.”
His breath shudders against my shoulder. His fists stay bunched in my shirt as his sobs shake both of us.
I don’t let go.
I stay rooted, arms locked tight around him, anchoring us both. Because when someone means the fucking world to you, you hold on. No matter how hard things get. No matter how much it hurts. You hold on until they can breathe again.
The sky’s too clear for a day this cruel.
Sunlight spills over the cemetery as though the world is clueless, and doesn’t give a shit about the girl we’re about to bury.
Clouds should be crowding the horizon. Thunder. Something to match the storm ripping through my fucking chest.
Each step toward the gravesite is heavier than the last. My boots crunch over gravel, before grass, but I barely register the sound. Everything blurs together. Only noise under the weight pressing down on my shoulders. My lungs keep tightening, as though they’re being squeezed by something I can’t shake off.
Theo walks beside me, silent. He’s a shadow of himself—shoulders hunched, eyes locked on the ground, fists shoved deep into his pockets. His jaw’s clenched so hard I can see the muscle twitch, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. He’s holding everything in, sealing himself shut so nothing leaks out, and the weight scares the shit out of me. Because I know what happens when he does that. I’ve seen where it leads.
Scarlet’s on my other side, barely holding herself upright. Her eyes are red, her hands shaking, and her lip keeps trembling like she’s one second from falling apart. She stares straight ahead, but her gaze is empty. Hollow. I want to reach for her, to tell her it’s okay to break, but I don’t have the words. I’m barely holding myself together.
Behind us, I hear Mom sniff once, sharp and broken, and I know Dad’s got his arm around her.
