Page 67 of The Forbidden Summer
The world falls away. The noise of the cleanup, the smoke still hanging in the air, it all fades. There’s only him, the way his mouth fits against mine so easily, so naturally.
When he pulls away, his forehead rests gently against mine. His breath is warm, the faintest whisper of a smile on his lips. “You good?” he asks, his voice a mix of concern and affection.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, the lump in my throat too thick to swallow. It's almost too much, the way he looks at me like I’m everything, when all I’ve ever felt is like I’m not enough.
But he makes me feel like I’m everything to him.
“Yeah,” I murmur, trying to sound more certain than I feel. “Yeah, I'm good.”
Van doesn’t press, just pulls back and slaps me lightly on the shoulder, as if to shake off whatever we’ve just shared. It’s like we’re both trying to play it cool, but I can’t hide the way my heart races, the way I want to pull him back into my arms and kiss him again.
Instead, we turn back to the truck. The late afternoon air is thick with smoke and dust, but it's nothing compared to the fire inside me. We gather up the tools and pile into the truck, the sound of the engine humming under our feet. We don’t talk much, but there’s a comfort in the silence now, like we’re not afraid to be in it together.
As we drive back toward the Miller’s, the music low in the background, the late afternoon sun spilling through what’s left of the trees, I glance at Van. He’s humming along to the song, one hand resting on the window, his face relaxed. For the first time in days, I let myself believe everything’s going to be okay. That this—whatever this is between us—it’s not going anywhere.
Not today, at least.
By the time we finish clearing the barn, the sun hangs low and heavy, staining the sky orange and pink. My muscles ache in a good way, the kind of tired that feels earned. Van wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt, flashing a strip of bare skin, and I have to look away before my thoughts wander somewhere they shouldn’t.
We sit on the tailgate, boots dusty, hands rough with splinters. I pass him the water bottle, and he gulps it down before handing it back with a lazy, satisfied smile.
For a while, we just watch the town breathe around us. Families hauling debris. Kids riding bikes with masks on, waving at the volunteers. Someone strums a guitar nearby, a soft, clumsy tune. It feels almost beautiful in a way, like everything broken is trying its damndest to heal.
Just like my heart.
I tip my head back, taking in the first stars as they blink to life. Van leans against me, his shoulder warm against mine.
“You did good today,” I murmur.
He snorts under his breath. “You saying I impressed you, old man?”
“Always do.”
For a heartbeat, I think maybe he'll say something back. But instead, he lets out a soft sigh and rests his head on my shoulder. I close my eyes. Just for a second.
If I could stop time right here—hold this moment where the world is battered but still standing, where the boy I love is safe and close—I would.
Maybe we’re both a little broken. Maybe we always will be.
But sitting here, under a bruised sky, the sharp edges don't seem so sharp anymore.
I wrap my arm around his back, pulling him in closer. He comes without resistance, fitting against me like he was made for it. We don’t need to say anything. Not right now.
The fire may have scarred the town. It may have blackened trees and taken pieces of what we thought was unshakable.
But it didn’t take us.
It didn’t takethis.
And as long as I’m breathing, nothing ever will.
The road stretches out ahead of us, the headlights cutting through the dark as the night swallows everything around us. The windows are down, the cool air rushing in, mixing with the scent of burnt wood still hanging in the atmosphere. The hum of the engine is steady, a soft backdrop to the soft strumming of the guitar in the song playing on the radio. The world feels quieter at night, almost like we’re the only ones still awake.
I glance over at Van, his arm resting on the door, his fingers tapping lightly to the beat. His hair's a little tousled from the wind, his face relaxed, but there's something in the way his eyes catch the light, something that's softer than I’ve seen in a while. Maybe it’s the way he lets himself be here in the moment with me, not worrying about what comes next.
“I’m glad you came back,” I say quietly, not meaning for it to be so heavy. But it’s true. It’s more than just the fire, more than just us saving what’s left of the town. It’s the fact that Van came back, that he chose to come back for me, even when he could’ve stayed home and let everything fall back into the way it was.
He turns his head just slightly, catching my eyes for a fraction of a second before looking back at the road. There’ssomething in the way his mouth tilts up at the corners. The smile he gives me is gentle, almost knowing.
