Page 29 of Seven Lost Summers
Chapter 6
Theo
Fuckinghell,mylegwon’t stop bouncing, this constant twitch giving away everything I’m trying to hide.
Nothing about this feels okay, no matter how many times I lie to myself and say it’s just another jam session.
Truth is, my body’s calling bullshit before I even finish the thought.
Clammy hands smear against my jeans, useless attempts to wipe away the nerves. Knots twist tighter in my gut, each one pulling me closer to losing it completely. Time keeps dragging, the clock ticking so fucking loud it might as well be screaming. Every second stretches, taunting me, dragging me deeper into this anxious pit.
Bianca’s not even here yet and already I’m coming apart at the seams.
There’s this weight pressing down on my chest refusing to let up.
All I can do is fucking wait. Wait for her to walk in, for this ache to ease. But I know it won’t. And maybe the worst part is, I don’t think it ever will.
It’s not that I haven’t played in front of people before.
Nate’s family doesn’t count. I’ve played in their living room more times than I can remember, running through the same setlist, headphones on, trying to pretend the world doesn’t exist.
Those moments were different.
They were safe. Nothing about it left me exposed. Pressure never crawled under my skin. Judgment didn’t hang in the air, waiting for me to fuck up.
Back then, if I missed a note or slipped on a chord, it didn’t matter. There was no shame in getting it wrong. Nobody stood there measuring me against someone who plays as if she was born with a guitar in her hands and gasoline in her veins.
That’s what Bianca brings. Fire. Chaos. Brilliance. She doesn’t simply play. She burns the whole fucking room down while I sit here with my training wheels on, hoping not to fall flat on my face.
And now I’m supposed to sit across from her, bass in hand, and pretend I belong in the same fucking room. Every part of me wants to bolt, disappear before she even plugs in her guitar.
Before I can spiral any further, Scarlet’s voice crashes through the house like a goddamn foghorn.
“She’s here?” She yells loud enough to wake the whole fucking neighborhood.
Nate groans, dragging a hand down his face.
“Scar, for fuck sake.” He shakes his head, muttering under his breath, “I swear, that girl’s gonna be the death of me.”
I smirk. “She’s just getting you back for that shit you pulled with Ben today.”
Nate rolls his eyes, but he knows I’m right.
We’ve both seen it—the way guys at school have started watching Scarlet. Like she’s a prize they can win, something to claim and brag about.
And Nate? He made damn sure Ben understood real fucking quick that Scarlet isn’t some chick he can add to his rotation.
Cornered him behind the gym, looked him dead in the eye, and told him if he so much as glanced her way again, he’d be drinking through a straw. And if he ever laid a hand on her, losing his spot on the football team would be the least of his problems.
And knowing Nate… He fucking means every word.
Before he can say anything else, the doorbell rings.
My stomach twists hard. Fuck. Alright, this is happening.
Scarlet bolts past, already halfway to the door before Nate even opens his mouth.
Nate shouts after her, but it’s pointless.
