Page 135 of Seven Lost Summers
“Quinn okay?” he asks finally.
And fuck, there it is. That same gnawing unease I haven’t been able to shake since this morning.
“She’s been quiet,” he adds.
I nod once. “Too quiet.”
There’s a pause. The kind that drags. Then—
“Come on, Uncle Theo!” Alex’s voice floats through the screen door.
Theo flicks a glance toward Alex, before turning back to me. His face softens.
“Go check on her,” he mutters. “I’ll stay here and get my dignity shredded by a six-year-old dictator in Crocs.”
And with that, he’s gone, slipping back inside.
I remain where I stand a moment longer, watching the door, listening to Theo and Alex. After that, I head inside.
I move past the couch, sidestepping Alex’s wild arm movements and Theo’s dramatic groan as another red shell wipes him out.
I pass the laundry room, the door half open, and the place is a fucking disaster. An overflowing basket sits lopsided right inside, towels spilling over the rim. A crumpled shirt lies half in, half out of the doorway, as if someone kicked the thing and gave up. No one’s touched the mess in days. Probably won’t anytime soon.
I keep moving.
Every step toward her room makes me nervous.
I stop at her door.
Breathe in.
Lift my hand.
Knock once.
“Come in.” Her voice is soft.
I push open the door.
She’s lying on her side, one arm curled beneath her head, the other resting across her stomach. Her tights cling to her legs, her top riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of skin.
She’s fucking beautiful.
She has always been.
It’s in the shape of her mouth, the delicate lines of her face, the kind of symmetry that makes you pause when she laughs or pulls her hair back or stares you down like she’s about to call you on your bullshit. It’s in her high cheekbones. The faint freckle under her left eye I’ve known about since we were kids. In those lips, full, bitten raw from how she holds her bottom lip between her teeth when she’s anxious. In her eyes, when they’re not avoiding mine. They hold entire storms.
This isn’t new. I’ve always known the truth. Always fucking felt that pull in my gut when she was near. I never let myself sit with that weight for too long. But now. Now I’m really looking at her. And fuck me if the hit doesn’t land hard. All of it. The softness, the strength. The kind of beauty that’s always made her dangerous.
To me, anyway.
“You good?” I ask, stepping inside.
She shifts slightly on the bed.
I don’t wait for an answer. I move across the room, toe off my shoes, and stretch out beside her. My body sinks into the mattress, the warmth of her right beside me, close enough to touch.
Her eyes stay on the ceiling as her hands rest flat on her stomach, fingers lightly tangled. A quiet stillness lingers in her.
