Page 61 of Summer's Echo
“I prayed last night,” she whispered. “I prayed that this thing…this love between us…doesn’t just exist in memories or in the curiosity of ‘what if.’” Her words rested deep in the cavernous corners of my heart. “I prayed for a second chance to get it right…when the time is right.”
I appreciated her honesty, her vulnerability, and I needed her to hear mine.
“I’m not asking for this to be easy.” I reached across the table, my fingers skimming over hers again. “I’m just asking for you to be mine.”
The moment of silence was charged with something bigger than both of us.
“Here we go!” The waitress’s cheerful voice broke the spell, snapping us back to reality.
Leaning back, I waited as the waitress placed our plates in front of us. I needed Summer to say she was ready to be mine, but I wouldn’t push her—not now. So, just like that, I let our loaded past settle into the background, choosing instead to simply enjoy her in this moment. We shifted into easy conversation, normal banter, something light because the past three days had been heavy enough. I clung to every word of the woman Summer, just as I had the girl.
We arrived at the airport about an hour and a half before my flight. I insisted she pull into the garage instead of the drop-off lane. I needed a moment with her without the blaring horns or the rent-a-cop security waving us along like we were just another passing car. This moment wasn’t fleeting. It meant something. I smirked, glancing ahead toward the terminal before leaning toward her.
“Damn. I want to pack you in my suitcase.”
She blushed, but before she could respond, I kissed her. She didn’t resist. Didn’t hesitate. She kissed me back, hungry and urgent, her fingers tangling into my hoodie, pulling me closer. Fuck. I had to pull away before I walked through this airport with a damn problem in my pants. My dick was so damn hard. I rested my forehead against hers, my restraint was slipping by the second.
“Can I trust you, Sunshine…” My fingers found her chin, tilting her face up, brushing my lips there, savoring the moment, “to come to me when you’re ready?”
Her eyes stayed closed, her body still lost in the moment—in me. “Yes. You can trust me.”
I nodded, knowing this was me putting my heart on the line for her. “Check your email,” I blurted out suddenly. Her brows furrowed. “Just do it.”
That damn eye roll—it grounded me in the past and present all at once. A piece of our history that I wouldn’t dare change. She grabbed her phone, unlocking the screen before tapping into her inbox. A second later, her breath hitched. “E,” she said, questioningly.
Sitting there, clear as day, was a confirmation email for a one-way ticket to LA. Sent to her an hour ago. I had known I was going to buy it. I just waited for the perfect moment.
“If you haven’t figured it out yet, this is me…being pressure.” I winked.
She bit her bottom lip, but I didn’t let her keep it for long. I captured it between my own, stealing back the control—taking what was mine. This kiss wasn’t slow. It wasn’t careful. It was needy. Burning. Wild. I tangled my fingers in her hair, gripping tight, desperate and consumed as we pressed harder against each other. I was ready to pull her across this center console and fuck her right here in the car. And judging by the way she gripped the back of my head, the way she moaned greedily into my mouth, so was she.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I forced myself to break the kiss, my breaths coming hard and unsteady. “Sun. Sunshine.” My voice was rough, weighted with restraint. “Baby, I gotta go.”
Her swollen lips grazed mine before she pulled away, easing back against the driver’s seat, rubbing her mouth like she could still feel me there. I reached for the door handle, needing to get the hell out of this car before I missed this flight.
“I can drive you around,” she offered, her fingertips skirting against my arm, as if she wasn’t ready to let me go just yet.
I shook my head, forcing myself to be stronger than I felt. “If I don’t walk away now, I won’t let you leave.”
She smiled. It was tender, delicate, and devastatingly exquisite. It shot straight through my damn heart. I kissed her hand, letting my lips rest there for just a second longer than necessary, then I forced myself out of the car. Retrieving my bags, I rounded the car, stopping at her window. I bent, taking her face in my hands, kissing her one last time. Not hesitant. Not hurried. Just enough. Enough to make sure she felt me long after I was gone. I pulled away, my lips barely brushing against hers as I whispered, “I love you.”
She didn’t stall. Didn’t avoid me. “I love you back.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Echo
December 2019
Since moving to California, one thing I’d always missed about the Midwest was winter. Maybe I was one of the few who actually loved the crisp, biting air filling my lungs; the way the chill clung to my skin long after stepping inside, especially in December, when every home and storefront glowed with festive lights and decorations, turning the city into something almost magical. But the real treat? Snow. Whenever we were lucky enough to get it, the whole world changed. A fresh, quiet blanket covered the streets, rooftops, and trees, softening the edges of everything. And for a little while, the city slowed down, wrapped in a peaceful kind of stillness.
Winter in Los Angeles was a complete contradiction. The sun shone boldly, the sky a brilliant blue. The air carried a hint of crispness—just enough to remind you it was December, but never enough to bite. The city hummed with the energy of the holidays, palm trees wrapped in twinkling lights, fake snow dusting storefronts. And then there was the scent—a mix of ocean breeze and cinnamon spilling from local bakeries and coffee shops. A strange blend, but somehow it worked.
It was the middle of December, one of those days where I was out before the sun rose and didn’t get back until it dipped behind the moon. A long-ass day. One of those chilly evenings where a jacket was necessary, but my friends and business partner still insisted on sitting outside for dinner. I declined. I wanted to go home. It had been over a week since I’d heard from Summer, and her absence was pissing me off. Since I’d left St. Louis, we’d been like a90 Day Fiancétrial run—getting to know each other all over again through FaceTime calls, sharing lovey-dovey Instagram messages, late-night texts ofI miss you. Then suddenly, it stopped. Actually, no. I knew exactly why it stopped. A couple of weeks ago, I’d asked her to spend Christmas and New Year’s with me. And instead of an answer, she just went silent. She had promised me she’d come to me when she was ready. Maybe she wasn’t ready. And that terrified me. Because I was—I had been. And I couldn’t keep waiting, couldn’t keep standing still while she decided if she’d ever meet me there. The uncertainty gnawed at me, hollowing me out in ways I didn’t want to admit. I told myself I was done waiting, but that was a lie. If I could have truly moved on, I wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t still be waiting for her like she was the only thing that had ever made sense.
I pulled into my garage a little after seven, too drained to even stop for food. Tonight would be a delivery night. Stripping out of my clothes, I stepped into the shower, letting the steam clear my head. Craving didn’t even begin to describe what I felt for Summer. I yearned for her. Not just sexually, though don’t get me wrong, I was more than ready to bury myself inside of her. But it was more than that. I needed her touch. The sound of her voice. I hadn’t realized how much she calmed me until she was gone. Tonight, my plan was simple: eat, then call Summer. And if she didn’t answer? I had a voice text ready to go, demanding answers.Who am I kidding?If I were being honest, the message wasn’t about closure, it was about holding on. About forcing a response, anything to keep this thing between us from slipping further into the silence. I wanted answers, but more than that, I wanted proof that she was still on the other side of this, still tethered to me in some way.And if she wasn’t? If she let the call ring out, ignored my words, made it clear that I was the only one still trying, then I’d have no choice but to walk away. I’d done it before—lived without her, moved on, survived—so I could do it again, right?
Lying ass nigga. Hell no, you can’tdo it again.Even the thought of sending the message made my stomach churn. I wasn’t ready for what came next if she didn’t respond.
