Page 14 of Summer's Edge

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He’s looking all around, but I get the distinct feeling that he has no idea where he is. Or why. Or with who.

“We’re in the woods,” I tell him, shining my flashlight at the cabin so he can see it better. “Nothing’s wrong. You were just having a nightmare.”

He looks at the cabin and then down at me. I can barely make out his face, but I can still tell he doesn’t quite know what’s happening yet.

“My name is Summer and you’re Edge,” I tell him and smile. “Why don’t you sit down now?”

He does, planting down on the ground with a thud. But he also finally grins. “Nightmare, you say? Yeah, I get those.”

“It sounded like a bad one. Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head and scoffs. “No, not at all. And if I made a fool of myself, I’m sorry.”

He’s impossible. But that’s only a very distantly annoying thought.

“You were fine,” I say, deciding to tell him what he clearly wants to hear.

He scoffs like he doesn’t believe me, but doesn’t say it.

“So, you’re not pissed at me anymore?” he asks. “We’re good, again?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” I say.

Because why not? We’ve known each other for a long time, and we’ve been through a lot. But I can’t help adding, “For now.”

He chuckles. “Until I say something else stupid, you mean?”

“Or do something stupid,” I say, thinking of the kiss. Which was not stupid at all. Stupid was him ending it.

He shifts and lays his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “Oh, Summer.”

Despite being a very short sentence, most of it composed of just my name, it’s still very loaded with meaning.

But I don’t have to unpack it now. I can just sit here, with his arm around my shoulders and his taut, muscular body to lean on. Because I like this. And I won’t like the answers he’ll give me if I ask my questions.

He’s fiercely loyal to my dad. And that means more to him than fucking me does. I suppose I should be happy it’s like that. I suppose there’s no need to take it personally because it isn’t. It’s just the way it is.

Just like I’m that bird with a broken wing from my dream.

I think that’s what we both are.

“So, what’s keeping you from sleeping?” he asks after a while, sounding like he really cares.

But then he follows it up with, “Were you scared?” before I can even decide if and how to answer.

“I had a bad dream too,” I say, meaning to poke him a little. “Though not as bad as yours was by the sound of things.”

He tenses and loosens his grip on my shoulders.

“Yeah, what was yours about?” he asks.

I consider telling him about the bird with the broken wing that I don’t know how to help, but I decide not to. He’ll probably just poke fun at me if I do, and he didn’t sound like he actually wants to know.

“It was just about how trapped I am back at home and how I don’t know how to leave for good,” I say.

“You wanna leave for good?”

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