Page 59 of Seven Lost Summers
“Quinn?” Nate’s voice drops, heavy with worry. “What happened?”
He steps forward without waiting, his hands half-reaching out, like he can’t decide if I’m hurt or about to collapse.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I fight for words. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I wipe at my eyes, desperate to control the tears that keep spilling over.
“I…” The sound cracks before I can form the words. I swallow hard, but the knot in my throat doesn’t budge. I don’t even know how to fucking say this.
Nate’s eyes stay locked on mine.
Theo’s flick back and forth between us, restless, searching.
“We were at the mall,” I start, my breath hitching. “Bianca made me try on these stupid jeans, and we were laughing, and then…”
My eyes drop to the ground, because saying it out loud makes it real.
“She just… she just dropped. Mid-sentence. Her phone hit the floor and then she did too. It was as if someone flipped a switch and shut her off.”
My fingers press to my forehead. “I thought she was messing around. For a second, I thought it was a joke. But her eyes—oh God, her fucking eyes—they didn’t look like her. And I kept calling her name, but she didn’t answer. She didn’t move. She was right there, and she didn’t fucking move.”
Theo’s brows pull tight, his jaw clenched.
“Wait, what are you saying?” His voice jumps. “She fainted? Passed out—”
“No.” I cut him off, shaking my head. “No, it wasn’t that.” I force myself to look up. “She never opened her eyes again.”
The air goes still.
Nate stumbles a step back, as if the ground tilted beneath him.
Theo blinks hard. “No.” His voice is thin, breaking.
I press my fists into my sides to stop the shaking. “The paramedics tried. They said there was nothing they could do. It was already…”
The word won’t come.
It doesn’t need to.
Theo’s hand slams against the doorframe, gripping it like he needs it to stay upright. “No. No, you’re wrong. She’s fucking fine.”
“She’s gone, Theo.” My voice splinters, breaking the quiet. “She’s really gone.”
The look on their faces, God. It isn’t just shock. It’s devastation.
“I’m sorry.” My throat tightens, strangling the words. “I don’t even know how to explain it. I couldn’t… I couldn’t do anything.”
Theo stumbles back a step as if I slapped him, as if he can still wake up from this.
Nate doesn’t move. His chest rises once, sharp, then again, slower. And suddenly, he’s there.
His arms wrap around me on instinct, tight and desperate, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear too.
I collapse into him because there’s nowhere else to go. My fists clutch at the back of his shirt, sobs tearing out of me, ugly and loud.
He’s shaking. I feel it in the way his arms clamp around me, in the way his fingers knot into the fabric of my jacket like it’s the only thing holding him up. His breath shudders against my hair, fast and uneven.
“She… she’s not okay,” I whisper, the words scraping my throat. “Bianca… she didn’t make it. She died, Nate. Before the paramedics even got there. She was already—”
The breath rushes out of him. He doesn’t speak. He just buries his face in my shoulder and clings, and I cling back, both of us crushed beneath the weight of her loss.
