Page 72 of Seven Lost Summers
His eyes flick around the room as if searching for something to hold onto. His shoulders are tense, his stance tight in a way I haven’t seen in years.
It drags me straight back to those first weeks after he came to live with us. The way he lingered in doorways, never sure if he was allowed in, never sure if the food on the table was meant for him.
That’s what I see now. The same hesitation. And I fucking hate myself for making him feel that way again.
I need to talk to him. I need to get out what’s been sitting heavy on my chest since we left Quinn’s, but the words won’t move yet.
“Hey,” I say.
That one word is enough.
His shoulders ease, the tension slipping from his frame, and his face softens just enough to breathe again.
He crosses the room and lies down beside me, eyes on the ceiling.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with everything we’re not saying.
Then he turns onto his side, facing me. His eyes lock on mine, deep brown and steady, carrying a worry he doesn’t bother to hide. It shows in the crease of his brow, in the way he waits for me to be okay without knowing if I ever will be.
Without a thought, I wrap my fingers around his, holding on. Just enough pressure to tell him I’m still trying. I lift our hands between us, elbows bent, and stare at them.
“I need to tell you something,” I say, my grip tightening as I pull in a steadying breath. My heart’s pounding, and for a second I almost don’t let it out. But the words break free. “I felt something when I was with Quinn the other day, and it’s been fucking with my head ever since.”
I turn toward him. He’s already watching.
Theo exhales. “I thought you were gonna say something worse.”
“Like?”
“That you couldn’t even look at me without thinking of everything we lost.”
The words hit harder than I expect. I manage a dry laugh and nudge his arm.
“Never,” I say. “You don’t get rid of me that easy.”
Silence settles between us again until Theo says, “I felt something too.”
I turn to face him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. He keeps his gaze on the ceiling, as if the words come easier when he doesn’t have to look at me.
“Last week… when we saw her again,” he says, voice low. “There were these moments. Little things. She’s still beautiful. Fuck, she’s more than that now. It’s not just her looks—it’s the way her nose scrunches when she’s concentrating. That tiny scar near her eyebrow. I forgot how she got it, but it caught my eye and I couldn’t look away. She still bites her bottom lip when she’s thinking too hard. Still rolls her eyes at me like I’m a fucking idiot.” He exhales, slow. “I don’t know if it’s because we haven’t seen her in years, or if it’s something else. Something new. But there was comfort there…like my chest stopped hurting for a minute.”
I say nothing.
I just let it hang between us.
“She’s still her,” he goes on. “Tough as hell. Smarter than all of us. And somehow she made everything seem okay, even if only for a little while.” He finally glances over at me. “I don’t know what it means. But I noticed. And it stuck.”
“Have you spoken to her since we left?” I ask.
“I texted her,” Theo says. “Thanked her for the box. Told her I’d get someone to put together a collage, or whatever the fuck it’s called, to hang on the wall.”
Theo goes quiet again before adding, “You should call her.”
I shake my head, exhaling. “I wouldn’t know what the fuck to say.”
Theo smirks. “Well, don’t lead with one of your lame-ass one-liners, hotshot. She’ll shut you down in two seconds flat.”
I laugh. “Yeah, she used to do that, didn’t she?”
