Page 8 of (My Accidental) Killer Summer (Summers in Seaside)

eight

. . .

Noah

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the neighborhood as I pull into the driveway of my old home.

Two years gone, and somehow it still looks the same—white trim in need of paint, the front yard too perfect from Elle’s relentless gardening, wind chimes swaying lazily on the porch.

It’s surreal to be back. Nostalgia claws at me, but so does dread.

I tell myself I’m here for the kids. To reconnect. To fix what I broke.

Laughter drifts from the backyard. I freeze at the side gate, fingers gripping the wood. For a moment, I just listen. It’s the sound I’ve missed most. When I peek over, the sight steals my breath.

Elle.

She’s sitting at the patio table, sun catching strands of her hair, laughing at something Jill says. God, she looks the same. Strong, radiant, untouchable. The kind of beautiful that guts me because I lost the right to reach for it.

My heart kicks. My palms sweat. I steel myself and walk forward.

“Daddy!” Jill’s voice pierces the air, bright and certain. She launches across the yard, skinny limbs pumping. I kneel just in time to catch her, her arms clamping my neck like she’s afraid I’ll vanish.

“You’re home!”

“Yeah, baby girl.” My voice is rough. I kiss the crown of her head and squeeze her close. “I’m home.”

The word feels dangerous on my tongue. Like a promise I can’t afford to break again.

Jaq comes slower, jacket on, hood up despite the heat, shoulders tight. Always the wary one.

“Hey, kid,” I say carefully.

Their head jerks up. For a split second—one heartbeat—I see it. Joy. Relief. Hope. Then the shutters slam down.

“Hey.” Flat. Distant.

I let the silence stretch, even though it burns. I don’t push. Elle’s eyes flicker to mine from the table. She doesn’t intervene, doesn’t rescue me. She just lets me flounder, because she knows this is mine to fix.

“How’s school?” I try. It comes out stilted.

“Fine. Normal.”

“Normal’s good,” I say, even though what I want is more. Anything.

They start to turn away, and my stomach twists, but then?—

“Want some ice cream?” Jaq asks, still not looking at me.

My throat closes. It’s small. But it’s an opening.

“Love some,” I manage.

We all sit at the patio table. Jill launches into a story about school, hands flying, voice sharp with righteous indignation. I lean back, watching her come alive, and the ache in my chest grows. She’s grown. She’s bolder. But she’s still my little girl.

Jaq smirks at Jill’s dramatics, a reluctant smile tugging at their mouth. Seeing it—seeing even that sliver of softness—feels like winning a war.

I glance at Elle. She’s watching too, lips curved, eyes softened. Our gazes lock, and for a moment it’s too much. The heat, the pull, the way she still sees me even when I don’t deserve it. I look away before I give myself away.

“…and then I told him, ‘You can’t just assume everyone wants to be in your group!’” Jill finishes, chin high, eyes shining.

I grin, pride swelling. “Good for you. Standing up for yourself matters.”

“Yeah,” Jaq says, quieter. “Wish I could do that more.”

“You already do,” Jill says, bumping their shoulder. “You just don’t notice.”

I watch them together, the teasing, the bond that’s unshaken by my absence. I ache to be part of it again. To be woven back into their world.

Elle sits quietly, sipping from a glass of water, gaze flicking between us. I wonder what she’s thinking. If she remembers the nights we used to sit out here together, kids asleep inside, her head on my shoulder. If she’s remembering the man I used to be before I screwed it all up.

“Daddy?” Jill asks suddenly, yanking me back. “How long are you back this time?”

Her question slices me open. Because to her, I’m temporary. A man who drifts in and out, never solid. Never permanent.

I swallow hard, heart hammering. “I’m back for good.”

“Really?” Her face lights up. “Cool!”

Jaq doesn’t say anything, but they glance at me, quick and sharp, like they’re testing the truth of it. I hold their gaze. Don’t look away.

For the first time in years, the air feels lighter. Hope rises thick around me, tangled and sweet. I let myself believe in it.

“Hey,” I say suddenly, “how about we get outta this heat? Maybe take in a movie? If it’s okay with your mom.”

All three sets of eyes turn to Elle. Her lips curve in the faintest smile, but her eyes… her eyes are complicated.

“You guys should go,” she says softly. “It’d be good for you.”

Her tone makes it clear. She means them. Not us. But the way she says it—like she’s handing me back something I thought was gone forever—I feel it down to the bone.