Page 28 of Roses in Summer

While it sounds beautiful, I’m also shocked by the less-than-six-month timeline.

“Are you pregnant?” B asks, and for once, I’m thankful for her lack of consideration when it comes to her curiosity.

“No, you troll. CeCe asked me the same thing.” Ava huffs, referring to her best friend and our sister by proxy. “We already live together, and we want to be married. Why wait?”

“Because you’re twenty-three,” Bianca responds, drawing out her words as though Ava is having comprehension difficulties.

“So astute of you,” I murmur, earning a smile from Ava.

“B, I love you, but we’re ready to be husband and wife. I know we’re young, but our lives aren’t going to change after the wedding. We’ll still live together, I’ll still work crazy weekends, and Grey will still work at the firm, doing things with money or whatever it is he does.”

“Investment banking, vixen.”

“Seethat, whatever that is.”

I shake my head before looking down at my phone and cringing at the time on the home screen. “Shit,” I mutter. Olivia hasn’t been home since six, and it’s almost nine. Unlocking my phone, I check her location, relieved when I see she’s at a familiar address: the pizzeria next to our apartment.

Beside me, my brother looks down and sees a picture of Liv and me on my lock screen. “Where is she tonight?” he whispers, low enough that I’m the only one who catches his words.

I don’t have to ask who “she” is; my brother is as attuned to Olivia as she is to him, even if she’s determined to avoid him.

“She went for a run,” I offer, not giving him the whole truth because I know Olivia wouldn’t want him to know. His jaw clenches, staring at the door like he could summon her.

“I’m going to go find her.”

“What? Rafe, no—” I start, stopping when he unfolds himself from his chair and stands.

“I’m leaving. Congratulations again.” He waves at Ava and Grey, turning toward the door so quickly that I have to pump my legs to keep pace.

“Don’t say anything, Seraphina,” Rafe mutters, not sparing me a look as his fingers clutch the door handle. “She’s hiding, always fucking hiding. I just want her safe and back in her apartment, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, I pray my best friend won’t try to kill me in my sleep for the information I’m about to share. “She’s at the pizzeria downstairs, probably eating a plate of mozzarella sticks by herself while she waits for you guys to leave.”

He nods, opening the door.

“And Rafe?” My voice stops him. “Just be gentle with her, okay?”

Nodding again, he walks through the door and closes it softly behind him. I stare at it for a minute, engrossed in my thoughts, when an arm wraps around my shoulders, giving me a soft squeeze. Looking up, I see the concerned stare of Greyson, the big brother I never expected.

“You okay with seeing Linc again, smalls?”

I nod, mimicking Rafe’s movements from moments again.

“Don’t bullshit me, Ser. Are you sure you’re going to be okay seeing him? It’s been four years, but I know the two of you were friends… until you weren’t.” What Greyson doesn’t say is that we were friends until I let Mitch Abernathy manipulate me into cutting all ties with Lincoln in an unnecessary move to protect my family.

Who didn’t need protecting.

I look away from Greyson’s face. The memory of my mortification is too real when it’s presented through someone else. When I think about high school, how it started, and how it ended, I always separate it into three distinct parts: the before, the during, and the after. It would be easy to attribute those segments to Mitch, but it’s Lincoln who divided that timeline.

Before and after were gray, entirely self-imposed, and wholly my fault. But during? During was a kaleidoscope of color and excitement, with late-night texts and early-morning FaceTimes.

But, god, how I wished our story ended differently. With Grey’s arm around my shoulders, I think about our stolen moment on the first night we met and how nothing outside of Lincoln existed while we played that silly game of twenty questions to pass the time. Even now, I can hear his voice in my head like a specter, calling me “ciern,” or thorn, in near-flawless Polish with a smug grin on his face.

Shaking my head, I lean into Grey for a moment and give him a pat on the back before disengaging myself. “I’ll be fine. Like you said, it was a long time ago; he probably doesn’t even remember me.”

I don’t expect the bark of laughter that erupts from Greyson’s mouth or the words he can’t seem to hold back. “Oh, this summer is going to be a fucking shit show, smalls.”

11

---