Page 16 of The Forbidden Summer
He doesn’t.
My thumb brushes the edge of his mouth.
He leans in.
It’s barely anything. Just a ghost of contact. A breath shared. A single suspended second where wealmostlet it happen.
God, just fucking kiss me! Put me out of my misery.
But then his hand comes up and presses softly against my chest. Not pushing me away. Just... stopping time.
“I can’t,” he whispers.
And I nod, heart thudding. “I know.”
He lets go of my hand and steps back. Père doesn’t look at me again as we drag the boat up the shore together.
But the lull between us feels unavoidable. It’s no longer what we’re avoiding. It’s what we’re bothholding back.
I just don’t know if he feels the same as I do, or if I caught him in a weak moment, and he couldn’t hide his longing. Maybe it’s not about me, maybe Père’s just lonely and touch-starved.
But for me, it’s so much more than that. And for a moment, I let myself believe it is for him, too.
Waylon
One brief moment—a handful of precious seconds—that’s all it took to lay my soul bare. Now, it’s all out in the open, the ugly truth hidden in our hearts brought to light. And there’s no taking it back.
I was caught up in the moment, the quiet wrapping around us like a cocoon, the soft sway of the boat beneath us, gently rocking, lulling me into a false sense of security.
His eyes—those bright, trusting eyes—locked onto mine with a kind of knowing that sent a ripple through me. And I couldn't look away. I didn’t have the energy toshutter my feelings, to disguise the need simmering just beneath the surface, begging to be acknowledged.
It was there, unspoken but raw. And Van saw it.
In that moment, when the world felt like it had fallen silent, I let go. I gave him permission to admit his desire without needing a long, drawn-out conversation neither of us was ready to have. It was simpler this way. Less complicated. I couldn’t bear the weight of words when everything between us was already so much more than what could be said.
I didn’t have to say it. I let my silence speak for me.
Van almost kissed me. I almost let him! The softest of touches, but it felt like a spark, setting something ablaze inside me. A quiet, dangerous promise.
There’s no going back now. No pretending I haven’t noticed his attraction to me strengthening each summer. No disguising my interest, the way my pulse quickens when he’s near, how his mere presence stirs something deep within me.
We’ve danced around it for too long, avoided the words and the truth, but there’s no way to pretend it doesn’t exist anymore. Not after today.
I can feel the shift between us, the subtle tension growing, and I know that from this moment on, everything is different. Whatever happens next, there’s no pretending we don’t both know exactly what we want.
Merdé!I fucked up so bad.
My conscience wants to rationalize this, to point out that Van isn’t really my grandson, not by blood, but I refuse to deny our connection to justify my inappropriate desire.
Evander Holt is my grandson in every sense of the word. Every sense that counts.
My attraction to him is complicated, nuanced, and forbidden,and just plain wrong. It is. It has to be, or I wouldn’t feel so guilty and ashamed every time I look at him, every time I have to stop myself from reaching for him.
I can’t imagine telling his mother or his stepfather, I can’t imagine holding his hand walking down the street. Hell, I can’t imagine sitting on my wife’s grave and telling her I’ve fallen in love with her grandson.
Which means it’s wrong.
But goddamn, it feels so right.
