Page 44 of The Forbidden Summer
I squeeze his hand. “Then don’t let go.”
He chuckles softly, but there’s no humor in it. “It’s not that simple.”
“It could be.”
We walk a few more steps, our boots crunching on gravel, the lake in the distance shimmering with moonlight. We reach the truck, and he opens my door for me like always, like it’s just another night. But his hand lingers on the edge, knuckles brushing mine again, that same wordless question still hanging between us.
“I’ll come back,” I say, heart thudding.
He nods slowly, his face unreadable in the dark. “I’ll be here.”
He leans in just slightly, his eyes dipping to my mouth, then flicking back up. I tilt my face toward him, not all the way, just enough to give him room to meet me in the middle.
Père’s lips brush mine, feather-light, no heat or hunger this time. Just the shape of him, the soft press of a promise he’s not sure he can keep. His hand finds my cheek, thumb grazing beneath my eye, and I forget how to breathe.
It’s not a kiss to claim. It’s a kiss to remember.
He pulls back, barely, resting his forehead against mine.
I close my eyes.
This feels like goodbye.
And as the truck bounces along the pitted road back to our cabin, my heart splinters into a thousand pieces.
He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift between us. Close enough to touch, but not touching. The cab is quiet, just the hum of tires on gravel and the occasional creak of the old suspension. I watch the trees blur past the window, shadows chasing moonlight, and try not to let the ache in my chest swallow me whole.
I should say something. Should ask him not to let this be the end. But the words stay lodged in my throat.
So I sit in the quietness, biting my tongue, memorizing the way he looks in this moment. His profile lit in soft blue from the dash lights. The faint lines around his eyes. The steady, careful way he drives.
Every bump in the road feels like it jars another shard of me loose. And I don’t know how I’ll leave this place with all of them scattered behind me.
Waylon
My God, that boy is going to be the death of me.
The sun is high, warm enough to make the dock feel like it might melt under us. Van lay there like he belongs to it—arms behind his head, droplets of lake water tracing slow paths down his chest, catching the light. He looks like something pulled out of a dream I hadn’t dared to name.
A sandwich dangles almost forgotten in my hand. I couldn’t remember making it. Maybe I just needed something to do besides stare.
“You should eat,” I murmur, like I’m afraid that if I disturb the silence,he’ll vanish.
Van cracks one eye open, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and reaches for it. “Then give it to me.”
I kneel beside him. “No,” I protest, already tearing off a piece. “Let me.”
I hold it to his lips, and he opens his mouth without a word. His lips brush my fingers as he takes the bite, slow and deliberate. When his tongue grazes the tip of my index finger, I feel it everywhere, like electric heat.
He chews, swallows, and looks up at me with those ridiculous eyes. Seductive eyes. Bright hazel with long dark lashes. They remind me of the lake, way out deep, where the water’s a grayish green color.
“That all you’re giving me?” he asks, looking disappointed.
My breath catches. I don’t move. I can’t.
“Not even close,” I rasp.
His smile turns wicked, slow, and knowing, like he can read every thought I’m trying to keep locked behind my teeth.
