Page 34 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

How the fuck do I tell him that this pull I have toward Quinn hits wrong in a way I can’t shake.

That every time my mind drifts back, that voice cuts in, telling me I shouldn’t.

She was Bianca’s best friend. They were inseparable.

Every memory I carry of her has Quinn stitched into the edges, tied to her, woven into the mess of what the four of us used to be.

That every time I let myself think about what it means to want Quinn, the weight slams into my chest. That sting you can’t explain but can’t escape.

The betrayal that lodges in your bones no matter how much time has passed.

But I don’t get the chance to say a damn word, because Quinn walks in.

The second her eyes land on us, she stops cold. She doesn’t move. She only watches, eyes flicking between us.

“Sorry,” she says, finally. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I do what I always do—pretend.

That smile I’ve mastered over the years, the one that says I’m good and everything’s fucking perfect, slides on without effort. A reflex. A lie with teeth.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” I say, too fast, too smooth.

I don’t look at Nate because I already know what I’ll see. Him still staring. Still reading every goddamn crack I’m trying to hide.

I turn slightly toward the counter.

“Your beer’s here,” I say, grabbing the bottle and passing it to her, anything to break the weight of this moment.

Quinn steps forward and takes the drink.

As she moves, Nate lifts his arm. His hand clamps onto mine, giving a quick squeeze.

The gesture is subtle, but the impact hits hard. A silent message. I see you.

Quinn circles the bench and drops onto one of the stools.

“Kit said to come with you guys to the studio,” she says. “What time do you usually start?”

“Hold on,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. I scroll through the messages until I find Xander’s note with this week’s schedule. The time shifts now and then.

He planned the whole thing around Poppy and Alex. Makes sure he can drop Alex off at school when Poppy has early mornings at the academy. He’s fully committed when it comes to them.

Even when he has to walk through a crowd of women at school drop-off who can’t stop staring. Grown-ass women swooning as if they’re still sixteen. The attention drives him insane. He’s never been one for small talk, and he sure as hell isn’t the type to smile and charm his way through the moment.

But he goes through it anyway, because he loves being a dad.

I tease him about it sometimes. Call him the local MILF magnet, all to get a rise out of him.

He doesn’t bite.

He only snorts, gives me that deadpan stare, and lifts his coffee for a slow sip, as if I’m the dumbest person in the room.

That’s Xander. No bullshit. No temptation.

Loves Poppy and Alex in this fierce, all-consuming way that never needs to be proven.

I skim the message before glancing up at Quinn.

“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.”

“I know,” she whispers. “But I was still stuck in that place.”

I drain the last of my beer, set the bottle down harder than I need to, grab another, and move back over. My eyes follow Nate as he grabs a pan and sets it on the stove.

“It was a year,” I say. “A year of nothing but surviving. Playing anywhere that would take us, scribbling down lyrics that didn’t mean a damn thing.

Nate hammering the drums like he was trying to split his own chest open.

Me drinking too much, sleeping too little.

All of it was just us trying to erase her without ever admitting that’s what we were doing. ”

Quinn speaks up, gentle but steady. “But you didn’t forget.”

“No,” I admit. “We never did. We only got better at pretending.”

Nate drops the chicken into the pan with a splash of oil. The sizzle cuts through the silence for a moment.

“And one night there’s a knock at the door. Nate opens it, expecting cops or some pissed-off neighbor ready to complain about the noise.” I pause, letting the memory sink in. “But it’s Ace. Said he heard Nate on the drums.”

Nate turns down the stove before speaking. “Next night, he brings Xander with him. He and Theo clicked instantly.”

I glance over, but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are on Quinn.

“I watched them that night,” Nate goes on. “Xander didn’t say much at first. Theo and him jammed for hours. Then they talked like they’d known each other for years.”

He finally glances at me, and I catch something in his eyes that hits me square in the fucking chest.

“And I knew,” he says. “We both did. That this was the moment. That we’d found the thing we’d been missing. Everything moved forward from that point.”

I don’t say a word. I don’t need to.

Quinn stays quiet for a beat, her gaze flicking between us. “So that’s how Broken Oasis started?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah. Four guys with too much baggage and no clue what the hell they were doing.”

“Still don’t,” Nate mutters.

I shoot him a look. “Speak for yourself, Reynolds. I’m a fucking professional.”

Quinn laughs under her breath. “You think Bianca would’ve liked the band?”

Nate stares down at the plates in his hands.

I keep my eyes on the floor.

The question has haunted us more times than I can count. But hearing her say it guts us both. I glance up.

“She would’ve loved the band,” I say finally, voice rough. “Would have told me to smile more and Nate to stop showing off his arms in every damn photo.”

Nate exhales a soft laugh. “She would have called Xander the ‘hottie,’ only to watch me lose my shit.”

Quinn smiles too, but the smile aches—the kind that remembers.

“She believed in you guys,” she says quietly. “Even before you had a name.”

“Yeah,” I say, lifting my beer. “She always fucking did.”

I glance at Nate and catch him in the moment. His lips twitch, eyes softer than usual.

For once, he’s letting himself enjoy it.

For a moment, we’re only three people in a kitchen. No baggage. No sharp edges pressing in from the past.

And for once, the ease feels better than I ever expected.

The conversation slips back into an old rhythm.

Nate throws together a salad while Quinn and I watch, tossing out smart-ass comments between sips of beer. The banter comes easy, the kind of flow that used to be second nature.

Something in the air whispers we haven’t lost everything.

Time has moved on, but it hasn’t erased us.

When dinner’s ready, we carry the plates out to the patio. The sky stretches dark above, the air still warm and heavy from the day. We eat, drink too many beers, and talk about nothing that matters and everything that does.

For a little while, we are who we used to be.

Almost.

Because the girl who once anchored all of this—the one who made us more than we ever were on our own—isn’t here. Her absence is quiet, but it never fades. It lingers in the empty spaces, in the words left unsaid, in the way we sometimes fall silent at the exact same moment.

Still, we keep going.

We let the laughter last a little longer. We fill the gaps with stories and shared glances. Maybe this is what it means to keep living after someone you love is gone.

Maybe this is what healing really is.

Not forgetting. Not fixing.

Just finding each other again, even while knowing a piece of us will always be missing.