Page 80 of Our Darkest Summer

He put down the box between us and took off the lid. “Want to go through these?”

I nodded, and he sat down beside me. The pier groaned slightly beneath our weight, the warmth of the wood soaking into my skin. A familiar scent of old paper and dust hit my nose as he sifted through the photographs. I took a few from the pilehe handed me, but my thoughts were already drifting back to last night.

To the twisted, lifeless body of Bob Marley lying in a pool of red. To the words smeared across the mirror. To Thomas as he washed the blood away.

I felt Connor watching me, and I blinked, snapping back to the present. I turned a photo over in my hands.

“What did Kevin say?”

Connor hesitated, his fingers stilling over a faded picture. “Not much really.” His voice was quieter now. “But I’ll go over later.”

I nodded, sucking in the inside of my cheek. “Do you think it was a warning to him, or—whoever leftitthere knew that I had ornithophobia?”

Connor sighed, running a hand through his curls. “Can’t it be both?”

A shiver crept down my spine despite the warmth of the sun. I guess he was right. It could be. Kevin was helping as much as I was. But who would know about my phobia, besides us four?

Connor must’ve sensed the shift in my thoughts because he nudged me, pulling me back to the moment. “You’re doing thatthingagain.”

“What thing?”

“Where you overanalyze everything and spiral into your own doom.”

I huffed. “I donotspiral.”

He gave me a look, and I rolled my eyes, flipping through the stack of pictures. A loose paper slipped from between them, catching on the breeze for a moment before landing against my knee. We both reached for it at the same time.

Connor unfolded it, and a small smile tugged at his lips.

“So they planned to give Thomas the bigger room from the beginning, huh?”

He placed the paper down on the planks for me to see. It was an old floor plan of the lake house, withhomewritten at the top, and their names carefully scrawled in each bedroom.

I traced the letters with my finger, a strange tightness settling in my chest.Home. I wondered how it had felt for them back then.

Connor thumbed through a few more pictures, then paused. “Oh, I remember this.” He held up a slightly blurry photo.

I leaned closer. It was a group of little boys playing in front of the lake, almost where we were sitting now. The shoreline looked the same, framed by trees, the water lapping at the edge.

“My mom threw a Fourth of July party for me and T,” he explained, tapping the younger version of himself and his brother.

In the picture, Connor was mid-sprint, his expression a mix of panic and excitement, while Thomas was in midair, tackling another boy to the ground.

I squinted. “Is that Braxton?”

Connor pulled the picture closer, then snorted. “Holy shit. Yeah, I think so.” Braxton was sitting in the dirt, his eyes watery, his lip wobbly. “He was so cute.” Connor smiled.

“And who’s that?” I pointed at the kid in Thomas’ grip.

Connor hesitated, studying the face. “I actually don’t remember.” His brow furrowed. “But that’s my mom,” he added a moment later, pointing to the outstretched arms in the background.

Lizzie wasn’t fully in the frame, but I recognized the emerald ring on her finger and the trim of the sun hat with the purple ribbon that was left in the tool room.

We moved through more photos, flipping through birthdays, first days of school, holidays. Some pictures made us laugh—like one of Josh and Lizzie in hideous Christmas sweaters—while others made the air between us feel heavier.

I turned over a picture of Lizzie and Josh standing side by side, grinning. Lizzie was holding out her hand toward the camera, her ring catching the sunlight.

“Is this one of their engagement pictures?” I asked.