Page 50 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)
Kit finally glances my way, face unreadable. “I know everything about them. Unfortunately. Intimately. Against my will.”
A beat passes. After a moment, she nods toward the bag on my shoulder. “Did you get some good ones yesterday?”
I nod because my throat’s too tight to speak. Reaching for the laptop, my fingers brush the zipper, and even that soft sound seems too loud in the quiet. Everything feels louder now—my heartbeat, the blood in my ears, the weight of this moment pressing in from all sides.
I pull the laptop free, setting it on the counter in front of us.
My hands aren’t steady. If these photos are not exactly what Kit wants, maybe this whole thing ends right here, right now.
I flip it open.
My fingers seem clumsy on the keys as the screen glows to life. I move the mouse to a folder. I don’t think; I click without hesitation.
Xander fills the screen. His head is angled toward someone slightly off-frame, that half-smile bleeding through.
His hair’s damp, curling at the edges, neck glinting with sweat.
The light hits his jaw at the perfect angle, all bone and attitude, but it’s the look in his eyes that lands the blow.
Unbothered. Unshaken. Fucking magnetic. The kind of shot you never get twice.
Kit steps closer. I don’t meet her eyes. I keep my focus on the screen.
She hums low in her throat. “Alright…”
I click through to the next.
Ace. He’s caught mid-moment, guitar slung low across his hips, hand gripping the neck, body angled just enough to catch the light on his forearm.
His head’s tilted slightly, hair falling over one eye, mouth parted in concentration.
There’s a lazy, lethal kind of heat in the shot.
The kind that turns into a poster, pinned to bedroom walls while fans lie on their backs, legs parted, pretending they’re not getting off to it.
Scarlet exhales. “Damn.”
Kit, eyes glued to the screen, doesn’t say a word.
I move to the next photo.
Theo.
He’s leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, looking past the camera.
There’s a softness bleeding out of him, a quiet fucking ache in the curve of his mouth.
His shirt hangs loose at the collar, sleeves shoved up his forearms. The light hits at the perfect angle, brushing against the edge of his face, catching in the strands of his hair and casting that sharp jawline in gold.
He looks good. Messy in the best way, as if he rolled out of someone’s bed and hasn’t decided if he wants to stay or fuck them again.
And still, somehow, it’s the softness that lands the hardest.
That flicker of something vulnerable behind the eyes. The part of him no one ever sees unless he forgets to hide it and yet the camera caught it. Frozen, branded into the pixels.
Kit leans in, just slightly. “Shit.”
Scarlet’s grinning. “Shit, Quinn, you really got him.”
Kit nods once. “That doesn’t happen by accident.”
I press my lips together and click to the last member of the band.
Nate.
He’s behind his kit, caught mid-beat. One arm lifted high, muscles flexed, the other hand low against the snare.
The leather straps around his wrist, the way his shirt clings to his chest. He’s pure momentum in the frame, caught mid-breath, head tipped just enough that the light catches the curve of his jaw, the gleam of sweat on his neck.
There’s a wild joy on his face that makes him look more alive than I’ve ever seen him.
Kit blows out a slow breath. “He’s gonna hate that one. Which means it’s perfect.”
Scarlet bumps her shoulder into mine. “You crushed it.”
Kit nods, more serious now. “They’re not just promo shots. You can really see them.”
“I’m trying to,” I say.
“You don’t need to try,” Kit says, eyes still on the laptop. “It’s already there. These feel personal.”
They are. They so fucking are.
She shuts the lid gently and looks at me again.
“They’re good, Quinn. Theo’s right. You’ve got a good eye.”
She grabs her folder and starts toward the studio.
Scarlet calls after her. “Hey, Kit, do you mind if Quinn and I catch up for a little while before she heads down?”
Kit pauses by the door. “Yeah, that’s fine, Scar. Quinn’s clearly got everything under control. Judging by those shots, she doesn’t need me breathing down her neck.” She disappears toward the studio without waiting for a response.
Scarlet turns to me, her expression soft. “You okay?”
I nod, even though it hits like a lie. There’s a tightness sitting behind my ribs. I press the heel of my hand to my chest, trying to ease the heavy thud of my heart.
Scarlet tilts her head toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Yeah.”
She crosses the space and reaches up into the cupboard, grabs two mugs that don’t match, and sets them on the bench.
“How do you have it?” she asks, her back to me.
“Black. With sugar.”
She nods and presses a button. Nothing happens. “This machine hates me,” she mutters, smacking the side of the coffee maker. “But Ace said he fixed it last week. So if it explodes, it’s his fault.”
I huff a laugh and sink into one of the chairs.
The machine hums to life. The scent hits first, before the coffee even touches the mug.
My fingers tap against the wood, I’m restless for some reason.
“You killed it with those shots,” Scarlet says. “Seriously. I don’t think I’ve seen Kit that impressed since Theo figured out how to show up on time.”
I laugh, picturing him with that smug little grin, probably late on purpose. “Thanks.”
Scarlet watches me for a beat, her gaze steady before swapping out one mug for the other. When the second pour finishes, she grabs both cups and walks over.
She sets mine down in front of me, then lowers herself into the seat beside me.
“It’s good having you around again,” she says.
That ache behind my ribs pulses harder, and all I can manage is a nod.
She keeps going. “It’s different this time. For them. Seeing Nate and Theo with you again… it’s changed them.”
My pulse kicks. Because it feels good to be around them too. It feels right.
I wrap my hands around the mug.
Scarlet leans in a little. “They laugh more now. They’ve been lighter since they came back. It’s like you’ve made them remember who they were.”
She pauses.
“I think you helped them remember Bianca,” she adds.
My hands still. The mug stays warm, but I go cold all over.
I look away.
The ache spreads fast. Through my chest. Into my throat. Down to the hollow place I never let anyone see.
That wasn’t what I needed to hear. That I’m a trigger. A stand-in. A fucking ghost dressed in someone else’s memories. That this impossible thing burning between me and Theo, between me and Nate might not be about me at all.
I take a sip of coffee, not wanting her to see how much that last comment fucking hurts. But then I catch the glint of the ring on her finger. It’s easier to focus on that than the mess in my chest.
I set my cup down and reach across the table, grabbing her hand. “Are you gonna tell me about this monster?”
Scarlet’s cheeks flush instantly. “Ugh. That idiot. We were in Rome. We’d had the dumbest fight over gelato, and I was still pissed. He says nothing. Not a word, only pulls this box out of his jacket, hands it to me, and walks away.”
I blink. “Walks away?”
“Yeah, he didn’t even wait for me to open it. Just strolled off like he was going to buy bread or something. Meanwhile I’m standing there, furious, holding a ring box and thinking, this absolute dickhead is the love of my life. I almost threw it at him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.” Her voice softens. “Because when I opened it, I swear to God my heart stopped. I could see everything. Who he is, who he’s still trying to be.
Every stupid fight, every time he showed up when he didn’t have to.
The way he loves me, even when I’m impossible.
That ring wasn’t just a promise. It was every messy, complicated part of us, and him saying he’s all in. ”
I look down at her hand again. “I’m happy for you.”
She squeezes my fingers, just once. “You know, you deserve that too.”
“Yeah,” I say. But it doesn’t feel true. Not today.
I let go of her hand and stare into my coffee, trying to believe I’m not merely a placeholder in someone else’s grief. That I’m not chasing something already broken.
I want to believe it.
But that ache under my ribs won’t let go.