Page 87 of Seven Lost Summers
“Nine. But we don’t actually do anything until ten.”
Nate huffs out a quiet laugh. “He’s not wrong. We usually talk shit for the first hour. Xander puts up with the nonsense, but he still expects us to show when it counts. Always has. He’s the kind of guy who never stops pushing himself.”
Quinn nods, taking a sip of her beer.
I smirk. “Don’t stress. Xander’s cool, obsessive about getting things right. Now, Ace… that’s a whole different problem. The guy wakes up pissed off. I don’t even think he sleeps. He powers down and reboots angrier.”
Quinn snorts, laughter breaking loose as she sets her beer down. “God, you’re such an idiot, Theo.”
And fuck, that sound… the impact lands harder than it should.
I can’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth. It’s been a while since I heard her laugh that way. Since any of us managed to.
For a moment, the world almost seems normal.
I watch her for a beat longer before taking a sip of my beer, trying to settle whatever the hell is stirring in my chest.
She leans in, elbow on the bench, eyes flicking to mine. “So how’d you guys meet Xander and Ace anyway?”
I glance over at Nate, catching the shift in his expression. His jaw tics ever so slightly before he exhales through his nose and scrubs a hand down his face.
“This is gonna take a while,” he mutters, pushing off the bench.
He heads for the fridge, grabbing ingredients. Pulls out some chicken, throws open the pantry door, snatches a packet of pasta, whatever sauce is at the front. He moves around the kitchen like a man who needs something to do with his hands, as if staying still might let all that old shit crawl back in.
I shift, stepping back until I’m leaning against the sink, arms folded, beer in hand. The glass is sweating. So am I.
Quinn waits, her eyes moving between us.
And fuck, I go all in.
“We were fucked,” I say finally, my voice lower than I mean for it to be. “After Bianca… everything cracked.”
I stare ahead, not really seeing the kitchen. Only her. Bianca. That goddamn smile, that laugh that used to rattle through my chest, the way she’d throw her head back and make you believe nothing bad ever touched her.
“We couldn’t stay in that town. Every street, every room, every fucking shadow had her name carved into the walls. The stupid amp cable she left in our room. Her sweater still hanging over the back of the chair. Even the air carried her presence.”
I take a long pull of my beer.
It doesn’t help.
Nothing ever does. My throat tightens anyway.
“Nate kept trying to hold everything together. He was better at pretending.”
The knife in Nate’s hand hits the cutting board a little harder now.
“There were days I’d vanish. Wouldn’t answer calls, wouldn’t show up. He would always find me though. Every time. Sitting by her grave like some lost fucking kid, trying to talk to someone who wasn’t ever gonna answer. Asking why the fuck she left us.” My voice drops. “We couldn’t breathe in that place. Everywhere we turned, her shadow was waiting. So we left.”
Quinn’s voice is soft when the words leave her. “Yeah. I remember. You guys just vanished.”
I look at her.
So does Nate.
I meet Nate’s eyes across the kitchen, and in that look sits the flicker of guilt neither of us can wash off. We left her behind. Alone. Her with Bianca’s ghosts.
“We didn’t know how to stay, Quinn,” I tell her. “Didn’t know how to face you without falling apart. You and that damn camera reminded us of her. It was always the four of us.”
