Page 25 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

Nate

I

t’s

been

five

days

since Bianca died.

Five days of pretending the world hasn’t ended.

Five days of dragging my body out of bed and walking through a life that doesn’t feel like mine anymore.

The sun still rises. People still talk, and none of it fucking matters.

I keep thinking I’ll wake up. That one morning I’ll open my eyes and the air won’t seem this heavy. That I won’t ache like I’m drowning in a room full of oxygen.

But every day bleeds into the next, and she’s still gone. Still not texting me. Still not walking through the door with her iced latte and that smile that made everything seem less broken.

I keep catching myself about to say her name. About to send her a meme. About to tell her something Theo did that would’ve made her laugh until she snorted.

And then I remember… she’s not here to laugh anymore.

Everything I do seems pointless. I eat, but nothing tastes of anything.

I sleep, but I don’t rest. I breathe, but the breath is shallow, my body doing this out of obligation, not from want.

I sit here, trying to stitch myself back together with threads that keep snapping.

I can’t remember who I was before her. I realize that’s stupid, given the amount of time we had together. Eight months of loving her, and I can’t tell who I’m supposed to be without her.

All I understand is this: Bianca is gone.

And the world keeps turning as if that’s not the most fucked-up thing it’s ever done.

Theo’s barely here.

He disappears now, vanishes into silence and shadows as though that’s the only place he can breathe. Sometimes he’s gone for hours. Other times… it’s days. No messages. Only absence.

I don’t understand where he goes.

Fuck, I can’t tell if he even wants to come back. But the worst part now is I no longer know how to reach him anymore.

I used to be able to pull him out of the dark by saying something stupid. Elbow him. Remind him that he’s still here, that he’s still loved. He’d roll his eyes, call me an asshole, and let the wall crack just enough for me to squeeze through.

But not now.

Now it’s concrete. Cold and solid. He’s locked behind the wall and I don’t have the fucking key.

I want to reach out and grab him and shake the pain out of him. Tell him we’re in this together. That I feel the same way too. That Bianca’s name still echoes in my chest like a bruise that won’t stop blooming.

But the truth is… I’m barely keeping my own head above water. How the fuck am I supposed to save him when I’m drowning too?

I stand in my bedroom, staring at the spot where she used to sit, cross-legged, grinning, some smartass comment always locked and loaded. But it’s empty now. Her laugh is stitched into these walls, taunting me with a ghost I can’t touch. She’s…

Gone.

I still can’t make peace with that word.

The word doesn’t fit her. She was fire. She was fucking stardust.

And now she’s... nowhere.

I press the heel of my hand into my chest, trying to push back the weight settling inside. The weight’s too heavy. Too cruel.

My fingers reach into my pocket the same way they have a thousand times these past five days, curling around the smooth, worn edges of her guitar pick.

The pick’s mine now. Or perhaps I belong to the pick.

I’ve been clinging to the thing as though the pick can anchor me to the version of myself that existed when she was still here.

I rub the pick between my fingers, and for half a second—for the tiniest, most fucked-up heartbeat—I almost convince myself I’ll catch her voice behind me. Sense her brush past, rolling her eyes, calling me dramatic.

But there’s nothing.

Just the silence. And me, choking on everything I never got to say.

I never told her I loved her.

I wanted to. The words sat on my tongue more times than I can count, pressing against the back of my teeth, begging to be let out. But I never gave them air.

I thought I had time. That I could wait until the moment seemed right. I kept telling myself that day would come. Another chance. I thought I could hold the truth in a little longer and the delay wouldn’t matter.

Now it fucking matters more than anything.

She’s gone, and I’m standing in the ruin of everything I never said. She didn’t realize. She had no idea that I loved her.

And that truth is fucking killing me.

I haven’t seen Quinn since the day the whole thing happened. Not a word. Not even a fucking text.

The reason is I don’t know how to face her. Every time I go to pick up my phone, my hand just fucking hovers there, frozen. My thumb over her name, heart in my throat, and then nothing. I tell myself I’ll text her tomorrow. I’ll call her later.

But later never comes. What the fuck am I even supposed to say? Sorry you watched the person you love die. Sorry you were alone in that.

She lost her best friend. The one who knew her better than anyone.

She’s drowning in the same fucking grief that’s tearing me apart.

I want to reach out. I want to knock on her door, pull her into my arms, tell her she’s not alone in this.

But I can’t. How do I help Quinn breathe when my own lungs are collapsing?

I’m flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, when the bedroom door creaks open.

I turn my head, and Theo is there.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even lift his head. He simply stands in the doorway, hands shoved so deep into his pockets. His hood’s up again, pulled low, trying to hide the mess underneath.

He appears as if he hasn’t slept, hasn’t eaten.

Hasn’t fucking existed since the moment she died.

Just floats through time, eyes blank, breath shallow, held together by nothing but the thinnest thread of force, and even that’s giving out.

He still won’t meet my gaze. Maybe he can’t.

Probably knows the second our eyes connect, he’ll fall apart all over again when he sees the same truth in my face.

The bloodshot eyes. The cracked lips. The hollowness carved so deep into my chest I don’t even bother trying to scrape the weight away anymore.

I want to say something but the words rot in my throat before they ever make it out. Nothing exists that I can give him that he doesn’t already carry. The truth’s carved into both of us, plain as day.

We’re not fucking okay.

We’re never going to be.

Theo steps further into the room, his eyes flicker to mine for a moment.

The pain in them hits hard, sharper than anything I’ve felt since this whole thing started.

He opens his mouth like he wants to speak, but nothing comes out.

His jaw works, throat tight, but whatever he was about to say dies before it’s born.

“Where the hell have you been?”

The words tear out of me, hoarse and jagged, like they’ve been stuck in my throat for days. I don’t mean for them to sound so harsh, and I hate that it sounds like blame when all I really carry is the ache of missing him.

Theo looks at me. I see it—right there in his eyes—the fight to hold it together, the silent scream behind the silence.

I rise from the bed, the space between us suddenly unbearable.

A few steps closer to him, and everything becomes clear.

His eyes are shining, tears pooling at the edges, held back by nothing but sheer force of will.

His jaw is tight, shoulders rigid, the emotion is present.

He’s barely holding himself together, and I see every fractured piece.

He too is dying inside, much the same as me.

I pull him into a hug before he can pull away. He doesn’t resist. He crumbles into me, his body heavy with grief.

“I don’t understand how to do this, Nate,” he whispers. “I can’t figure out how to live in a world where she’s not here.”

He crumples forward, chest heaving as he folds into me, fists bunching in my shirt as though this is the only thing tethering him to this fucking earth.

The first sob tears out of him as if it had been waiting for years, and suddenly it hits, wave after wave. Shaking. Shuddering. Falling the fuck apart in my arms.

I grip him harder, locking us together, trying to hold all his pieces in place.

My own eyes blur, throat closing around the words I’m barely getting out.

“I don’t either, man. But we’re gonna have to figure it out. Together. Because I can’t—” My voice catches. “I can’t lose you too.”

He clings tighter, fingers digging into my back like he’s scared I’ll disappear too.

“You can’t keep doing this, Theo.” My voice stays even, but everything in me seems to be cracking open. “You can’t keep vanishing every time things get too hard.”

He doesn’t meet my eyes, only keeps gripping my shirt.

“Please,” I push, voice shaking now. “You’re my fucking brother. I can’t let you keep hurting yourself just to feel something.”

I pause, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “She wouldn’t want that. You know that. She hated when you tried to make yourself small.”

Theo pulls back slightly. He scrubs a hand down over his face like he can wipe it all away. The tears, the pain, the truth of it.

“I can’t figure out how to stand at that spot tomorrow, Nate and watch them put her in the ground.” His whole body trembles, shoulders caving. “I can’t face this. I can’t say goodbye.”

I pull him back into me, holding tight, holding steady, as though I can shoulder some of the weight for him.

“I’ll be there,” I whisper. “You won’t have to do it alone.”

His breath shudders against my shoulder. His fists stay bunched in my shirt as his sobs shake both of us.

I don’t let go.

I stay rooted, arms locked tight around him, anchoring us both. Because when someone means the fucking world to you, you hold on. No matter how hard things get. No matter how much it hurts. You hold on until they can breathe again.

The sky’s too clear for a day this cruel.

Sunlight spills over the cemetery as though the world is clueless, and doesn’t give a shit about the girl we’re about to bury.

Clouds should be crowding the horizon. Thunder. Something to match the storm ripping through my fucking chest.