Page 181 of Seven Lost Summers
I’m sitting by the window, knees tucked to my chest, watching the city lit up like it was painted in gold. The hotel window is cool against my skin as I watch the glow of ancient streets and cathedral spires stretch out beneath the stars. The air smells of rain and heat and old stone.
The guys are asleep in the king bed in the bedroom.
Nate is snoring softly, one leg hanging off the bed like always. Theo is curled around a pillow with his mouth slightly open. He’s finally able to sleep in the dark now.
It’s quiet here, peaceful in a way that seeps under your skin and makes you breathe slower.
This is when the truth always hits me.
Not during the chaos of the crowd screaming out their names. Not when I’ve got my camera raised, catching moments before they vanish.
In this stillness, the truth sinks in.
We’re okay.
That ache I used to carry—the one that clung to my ribs and made every breath feel cracked—doesn’t live here anymore.
It’s gone. Replaced by the steady rhythm of this life we’ve built. The easy kind of love that doesn’t need permission. The kind that doesn’t question whether we’ve earned it.
We laugh more now. Loud, ridiculous laughter that fills the walls and drowns out every silence that used to haunt us.
Nate’s always in the kitchen, losing himself in recipes for Theo and me to try. Theo’s always walking through the place half-naked, talking shit, leaving dirty little love notes scribbled on napkins.
And me—I wake up every morning knowing I’m safe. I’m seen. I’m loved.
But the ache isn’t pain anymore. What remains is a shared memory of a beautiful, wild girl we all loved with everything we had. She brought us together in our youth. And even in her death, she brought us back.
That day at her gravesite I couldn’t have predicted we’d find each other again. I had no sense that loss would lead me here, into something impossible and real all at once.
I have never loved anyone the way I love them. Not with this kind of burn. Not with this kind of ache.
I breathe them in, greedy for the taste, because I know what it means to live without. I hold that moment deep inside me, letting the weight sink into my bones. It’s wild, relentless and mine.
The door creaks behind me.
Nate steps in, shirtless, rubbing the heel of his hand over one eye. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“Not really,” I say, my voice soft.
Theo follows. His hair is a mess, eyes hooded. He doesn’t speak, just lowers himself onto the window seat beside me.
Nate slips behind me, settling against the cushions.
I lean into him, my back pressing to his chest. He curls his arms around me, his lips brushing my shoulder before resting his chin on it.
Golden light from the window splashes across Theo’s face. It warms the curve of his mouth, the dark lashes casting shadows beneath his eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell him.
I always do.
Every time, the weight lands in his chest like a blow he can’t brace against. His lashes flicker, his breathing stumbles. I see the impact tear through him. No mask, no smirk, no quick-witted line to deflect the truth.
Because somewhere along the way, his father carved lies into his skin with every cruel word he threw at him.
But I will never stop saying the truth. I’ll whisper those words into his mouth with every kiss. I’ll breathe them against his neck when he’s asleep. I’ll tattoo the promise into every silence until the belief settles deep in his bones.
Because he is beautiful, and he’s mine.
