Page 65 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

His gaze locks on mine, unflinching. “Yeah, I know you fucking do. I saw it every damn time you looked at her. But we were too fucked up from what happened before to let the words breathe. We’ve been living in this cage we built for ourselves, Theo, and if we don’t tear it apart now, we’ll lose her too. ”

Before I can answer, Nate’s hand slides up, gripping the side of my neck.

He stares into my eyes for a long beat, jaw tight, eyes burning with every unspoken thing we’ve both carried for years.

Then he leans in and kisses me. It isn’t gentle.

It’s the kind of kiss that tastes of battle scars and promises we’ll claw our way out together, no matter what it takes.

When he pulls back, his hand stays on my neck, thumb brushing my jaw.

“Then let’s go get our fucking girl.” I say, my hand staying locked around his arm, holding him there with me. “But first, I need to do something.”

“What’s that?” Nate says.

“I need to go to Bianca’s grave. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.” His thumb brushes across my jaw. His eyes soften, the fight draining into something heavier. “I need to say something to her too.”

The car is too quiet.

Nate’s hands are fixed on the wheel, his jaw set the way it always is when there’s too much on his mind.

I haven’t driven since the accident last year.

Since he got hurt. My gaze stays fixed on the road ahead while my hand stays buried in my pocket, fingers curled around the necklace that has never been far from me.

It has been through every city. Sat against my skin on every stage, every sleepless night where I’ve stared at the ceiling trying not to fall apart. It has seen me at my highest, and it has stayed with me when I’ve been on the floor, drowning in my lowest.

The original chain is long gone. I wore it until it broke, from the weight of years I refused to take it off. Now the angel wings hang from a black cord, the threads worn thin and rough against my skin from too many days of pulling it on, too many nights of holding it in my fist.

There’s a jagged half-pick on there too.

The one Bianca broke by accident during a jam session in our room. I remember that day when she pressed it into my palm, her fingers curling around mine. “Keep it. So you don’t forget to feel when you play.”

I told myself it was luck, that it had something to do with the music.

But the truth is, it was her. It was always her.

The last piece I could still hold.

Today I’m keeping the promise I made to her that day.

Not because the love for her has faded. It never will, but because I’m done letting the grief hollow me out. There’s finally something in my life worth holding onto. And I know in my heart if she were here, she’d tell me to stop hiding behind her memory and start fucking living.

We pull into the cemetery just after noon.

The sun is high, burning down so bright it borders on cruel. Heat shimmers off the cracked pavement as we pass through the rusted gate. That crooked tree stands in its usual place, limbs twisted up towards the sky, its leaves brittle and brown. It’s been dying for years, same as us.

Nate’s carrying flowers. Bright ones, the same kind I pick every single time we come here. The colors are too vivid for this place, almost jarring against the washed-out headstones and faded grass. They feel alive, and maybe that’s the point.

Neither of us speaks.

Our footsteps crunch against the gravel, each sound loud in the heavy quiet. The wind moves slowly through the rows, brushing over the headstones like it’s memorizing their names.

And then we’re there.

Bianca Rose Laker

1999–2018

Bright, Wild, Unforgettable

It’s the same punch to the gut it’s been for seven fucking years. It still doesn’t feel real. Maybe it never will.

There’s already a fresh bunch of flowers resting at the base of her headstone, the same kind Quinn brought the last time we were here.

Their stems are bound with a thin white ribbon.

Beside them sits a new photograph, edges tucked under a small stone to keep it from blowing away.

It’s Quinn and Bianca, shoulders pressed together, both with streaks of glitter running along their cheekbones, lipstick shades too bold for anywhere but a bedroom mirror.

I can almost hear their laughter and see them leaning in toward each other, faces lit up by something only they found funny.

It’s proof that Quinn was here.

I wonder if it was earlier this morning, yesterday, or whether we just missed her by mere minutes.

Both Nate and I stare at the photograph, caught in that frozen slice of time, until Nate finally moves. He steps forward, drops to one knee, and sets our flowers beside hers. The bright petals brush against Quinn’s bouquet, colors bleeding together against the grass.

Nate stays there for a long while, his head bowed, shoulders still.

The wind catches his hair, lifting it from his face.

From where I stand, it looks as though he’s speaking to her, words too soft for me to hear.

I wonder if he’s telling her goodbye. If he’s telling her he loves her, and that he’ll carry her with us no matter where we go.

Maybe he’s promising her that it’s time for us to keep moving, even if we’re still taking her with us in everything we do.

Nate rises slowly, brushing his palms against his jeans before stepping up beside me.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. The silence between us is thick enough to say everything.

I move forward.

My hand slips into my jeans pocket, fingers brushing over the curve of metal I’ve carried for far too long. The angel wings rest against my palm. They still hold a weight that never seems to fade. I lift them into the light, and for a second, they glint in a way that makes my chest ache.

As I stare at the wings, her voice drifts back in fragments.

“I want you to be exactly who you are… spectacular, beautiful… all of it.”

I can still feel the brush of her knuckles against my neck as she fastened the chain. She made me feel seen in a way no one else ever has.

“Every time you feel yourself shrinking. Every time you want to fade. This is proof that someone fucking sees you.”

The words land heavier now than they ever did then, pressing into me until my lungs ache. Because I have been all of those things since—shrinking, fading, hiding in plain sight. And somehow, through the wreckage, I’ve found my way back to the surface.

My thumb drifts over the metal, following the gentle curve of each wing.

The clasp comes apart easily beneath my fingers, and I work the broken guitar pick free before slipping it into my pocket.

The wings rest in my palm, light but carrying every ounce of her weight.

They were always hers. I was only keeping them safe until I could finally see myself the way she saw me.

I step forward until I’m close enough for my shadow to spill over her name. My knees almost give out before I make the decision to kneel. The still air here sits wrong, like even the wind knows it should keep its distance.

My thumbs follow the curve of one wing before I set them down against the base of the stone, the cord necklace pooling between my fingers. For a second, I keep my hand there. It almost feels as though I’m passing them to her, as if she might curl her fingers around mine and take them back.

My throat tightens until it burns.

I try to swallow, but it’s useless.

“You told me once that I’d give this back when I finally believed I was worth more than I thought,” I say, my voice low, scraped raw. “I guess this is me saying you were right.”

The words hang, heavy enough that I can’t move past them. I stare at the wings until my vision blurs.

“I’m not that scared kid anymore,” I manage, softer now. “When no one else saw me, you did. You taught me how to let someone in… how to love without hiding. And fuck, Bianca, you gave me more than I ever deserved.”

I stay there longer than my knees want me to, the ache working its way up my legs, but I can’t walk away yet. My hand hovers over the stone, close enough to touch, but I don’t. If I do, I might not let go.

“I’ll always love you,” I whisper. “You’re in every chord I ever play. You’re part of every goddamn thing that I am.”

The chord slips fully from my hand, pooling against the granite. The wings look small there. Fragile.

But I know better. They’re stronger than anything I’ve ever known.

I lean back on my heels, wiping at my eyes before the tears can spill all the way. But one still escapes, sliding hot down my cheek. I let it fall.

Finally, I push myself up, my fingers brushing the pick in my pocket, holding onto the last piece of her I can’t leave behind. I turn away before doubt can pull me back.

I move to Nate and stop beside him, both of us staring down at her name carved into the stone.

Without looking, he finds my hand, his grip strong, steady.

For a long moment, we stay here.

Two people bound by the same loss, the same love, finally saying our goodbyes in the silence she left behind.