Page 66 of Seven Lost Summers
I register the weight of a hand on my shoulder, familiar. My Dad. He doesn’t speak. He never does when it matters most. He only stays beside me, solid and quiet, a lighthouse in the middle of my storm. And fuck, I’m tired of drowning.
Mom is the first one to speak.
“Sweetheart, the time has come to go,” she says to Theo. That same tone she always uses with him. From that first night when he came to our house, sat at the table to eat, eyes hollow, trying to disappear inside himself.
He blinks, and for a second, I think he hasn’t heard her.
Then Scarlet’s there too, slipping her hand into his. She doesn’t say anything. Just links her fingers with his and waits. Not forcing him. Not pushing. Just holding steady.
Theo exhales, and he lets Scarlet lead him back one step at a time.
Then Dad’s voice sounds behind me. “Come on, Son. It’s time to go.”
It’s only then that I notice there’s no one left at the graveside.
Just us.
Mom and Scarlet lead Theo past us without a word.
Quinn lifts her head. Her eyes meet mine, and fuck, the pain festering there knocks the air out of my lungs. I reach up and brush a strand of hair from her cheek. My fingers catch on a tear slipping down her skin.
Neither of us speaks.
We turn and walk away from the grave, leaving the only girl I’ve ever loved in the fucking ground. Cold. Gone. Forever. Because the hardest part isn’t letting go—
It’s knowing you never really can.
Chapter 12
Theo
Now
We’reatXander’splace,scattered around the pool, the sun beating down like it’s got something to prove. Chlorine clings to the air, thick with sunscreen and the smoky bite of whatever Xander’s cooking on the grill.
It should be easy. Beer in hand, feet up, the pool cool enough to cut the heat. One of those rare fucking moments where time slows and nobody’s bleeding out on the inside.
I take a long sip of my beer, letting the sound of splashing water, lazy conversation, and laughter I’m not part of settle into the space around me.
It’s been a week since we were at Bianca’s grave, and for once, it hasn’t felt like I’m drowning.
The grief still sits in my chest, but it’s quieter now. Less of a storm, more like a shadow. I still see her everywhere. I saw her in Quinn’s smile, reminding me of the echo of those nights the four of us couldn’t stop laughing. I see her in the songs Nate plays without realizing they used to be her favorites.
I guess talking about her with Quinn, saying Bianca’s name out loud instead of bottling it up made a difference. The box of photos Quinn gave us helped too, at least for me.
Nate, though... I’m still not so sure. I know being at Quinn’s place got to him.
It hit him every bit as hard as it did me. We spoke long about it on the way home. The way it seemed walking back into her world, seeing the way she’s living, how fucking different it is from the life we’ve built.
Every day since we got home, I’ve gone through that box of photos. Sorting through the pieces. The kind of shit that shouldn’t mean much but somehow means everything.
There’s one photo Quinn took at that backyard band concert Bianca begged us all to go to, swearing the overpriced tickets were worth it. She dragged all three of us, anyway. Me, Nate, and Quinn, promising it’d be a night to remember.
She wasn’t wrong. Worst fucking concert of my life.
The band sucked. The speakers blew out halfway through. I’m pretty sure the drummer was high off his ass, barely able to hold a beat.
But when Quinn pulled that old, crumpled ticket stub out of the box, none of that mattered.
