Page 134 of Seven Lost Summers
Theo’s on the couch, locked in a heated Mario Kart race with Alex. They’ve been at it for half an hour.
Every now and again, I hear Theo’s voice rise in dramatic horror when Alex throws a banana peel at him or overtakes him before the finish line.
“You’re cheating!” Theo yells, laughing. “There’s no way you hit that drift by accident.”
Alex cackles like a little demon. “Get better, old man.”
Old man. He’s six and already has Theo wrapped around his finger. The two of them are chaos and comfort in one.
I glance over my shoulder in time to see Theo leap off the couch as his kart crashes into a wall. He throws his hands up in mock despair, and Alex howls with laughter, clutching the controller above his head as if performing some kind of victory dance.
“You got lucky,” Theo tells him, slumping dramatically against the cushions.
“I beat you five times. That’s not luck.”
Theo ruffles his hair, and Alex bats him away, still giggling.
I should be smiling, enjoying it like I always do. That scene always loosens something inside me, but not tonight.
Tonight my focus is on that fucking chair in the corner. The one Quinn usually curls up in, legs tucked, eyes watching everything like she’s documenting the world. But the chair sits empty. Has been ever since we got home from Ace’s.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
Quinn’s been quiet all day. Too quiet. Said she had edits to make, photos to upload, and shots to send to Kit. But I know the difference between working and hiding. I know what pulling away looks like, and I fucking hate that.
She didn’t even join in earlier.
All of us sitting around at Ace’s, drinking, half-buzzed on that rush that hits when the prep’s done and the real work begins. The first song is getting recorded tomorrow.
She didn’t even take out her camera earlier or laugh at the way Theo faked pulling a hamstring after Alex made him do burpees. She only sat in the chair with her eyes miles away.
And I can’t stand it.
I press the air out of the bag, seal it tight, and toss the whole thing into the fridge.
Theo curses behind me. Again.
Alex laughs so loud the sound echoes, this evil little cackle that only a six-year-old on a sugar high can pull off.
“You cheated!” Theo calls out, breathless and dramatic.
“No, you’re just bad,” Alex fires back, voice high and full of glee.
I turn my head to see Theo hunched over on the couch, shoulders tense, controller clenched tight, jaw locked in frustration. Alex’s legs are crossed, face smug as hell, tongue peeking out the side of his mouth while his fingers blur over the buttons.
I wash my hands in the sink, watching the marinade swirl down the drain. I dry them on a towel and head for the back door, needing air.
The backyard is quiet.
Only the sound of distant cars and the occasional bird cutting through the stillness. I step outside and lean against the railing, breathing in the night. The breeze carries a chill, but I don’t move. I welcome the cold. Maybe the sting in the air will wake something in me. Maybe that same pull will bring her out here.
A minute passes, followed by another, before the door slides open and Theo steps out.
“You need help with the grill?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.
I shake my head, eyes still fixed on the horizon. “I’ve got it.”
We’re both quiet for a beat, watching the dying light disappear into the night.
