Page 9 of Seven Lost Summers
I lean forward, catching a glimpse inside.
Rows of photos hang from a string, clipped with tiny pegs, swaying as if they’re breathing. Black and white shots. Fragments of her world, pieces of what she’s seen.
I only get a second to look before Quinn steps back out, a large box cradled in her arms.
And just like that, the air shifts, because whatever’s in that box… it fucking matters.
Quinn steps forward and lowers the box onto the floor in front of us.
The cardboard is worn. The edges frayed, creased from being opened, closed, carried, and shoved aside more times than she’ll ever admit.
She grabs her beer from the table and sinks onto the floor behind the box, legs crossed, settling in like she knows this is going to take a while. Another slow drink, then the bottle rests at her side. Her fingers hover over the lid, pausing. Instead of opening it, her gaze lifts, shifting between me and Nate—searching, measuring, making sure we’re ready for whatever the fuck waits inside.
Quinn finally lifts the lid from the box and sets it aside.
Nate leans in right away, elbows braced on his knees, eyes locked on the box as if it might hold a piece of her that hasn’t already slipped through the cracks.
Me?
I don’t move.
My eyes snag on the photo sitting right on top, and it’s already got me by the throat.
Bianca stands there, guitar slung over her shoulder, that smile tugging at her mouth—the one that cut through the darkest fucking days. She had that untouchable magic, carried the whole goddamn universe in her hands, and dared anyone to take it from her.
The sting hits fast, brutal, unforgiving.
I blink hard, fighting to hold it back, but the wave crashes in anyway. Because she’s still here. Caught in this photo. Out of reach.
Quinn reaches into the box, her fingers stalling at the edge of the photo, hovering as though the touch alone might split her open. She exhales, steadies herself, and lifts the worn image, placing it in Nate’s hands.
“Do you remember when this was taken?” Her voice barely carries, softer than usual.
Nate takes the photo, his grip tightening until the corners bend, knuckles whitening under the strain.
That’s when I catch it.
The shift. His whole body goes rigid, a flicker of something sharp and raw burning in his eyes. The tension carving itself into every line of him.
He swallows hard, thumb drifting over the photo’s edge, tracing it as though he could etch every detail into memory. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough, cracked open by whatever the picture dragged to the surface.
“Yeah… I remember.”
Quinn reaches back into the box, her fingers skimming over ghosts, over fragments of a past that refuses to stay buried. This time she doesn’t falter. She lifts a photo and passes it straight to Nate.
He takes the memory in his hands, and the instant his eyes lock on it, something in him cracks. His brows knit tight, breath torn from his chest by whatever that photo holds.
And then I see it too.
Bianca’s on Nate’s bed in the photo, guitar slouched at her side, that crooked smirk pulling at her lips. Her eyes are bright, daring, carrying the kind of spark that made it seem like she had the whole damn world figured out. Her hair’s a mess, strands curling across her cheek, windblown and wild, exactly how she always was. And now she’s nothing but a photo in a fucking box.
My vision blurs before the burn even hits. I blink hard, but the heat only climbs higher. A tear breaks free, hot and fast, and I lock my jaw so tight it feels ready to snap. It doesn’t matter. Pain’s pain. And this… this fucking shatters me.
“You okay, Theo?” Quinn asks softly. But she already knows the answer, I’m not.
Nate turns, his eyes locking on mine, and for a moment the weight of it all nearly crushes me. Then his hand finds my leg, solid, steady, and fuck, that touch is everything. That quiet way he always knows when I’m about to fall apart. He doesn’t say a word. He never has to.
He’s been doing this for years—holding me together without ever asking for anything back. No questions. No judgment. Just him.
