Page 69 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

“You mean everything to me, Theo. You always have. And I’ve watched how your jokes light up everyone’s world even when you’re hurting.

You make people laugh like it costs you nothing, but I understand it costs you everything.

And still, you hold space for everyone else when no one ever did for you. ”

Her thumb drags over my chest, right where the beat of my heart stutters beneath her palm.

“You’ve always burned bright to me. Even in the dark. Especially in the dark.”

I can barely breathe. A lump swells in my throat that won’t go down, and something stings behind my eyes I don’t want to admit to.

Because damn it, I’ve waited my whole fucking life to hear I’m not some mess people tolerate. Like someone finally sees through all the noise and still wants what’s left.

I don’t breathe.

I don’t blink.

“You are the storm,” she says. “But you’re also the calm after. And I love you, Theo. I love you in every form you’ve ever taken. The loud. The quiet. The chaos. All of you.”

Then she surges forward and kisses me.

Not soft.

Not sweet.

It’s a fucking collision—mouths crashing, breath stolen, her hands in my hair like she needs to anchor herself to something real. I stagger, grabbing her waist with one hand and the back of her neck with the other, kissing her back like I’ve been starving for this.

Because I fucking have.

I lose the world in her.

Everything blurs except for her mouth on mine, her body pressed close, and the way my chest aches from trying to hold this moment still.

By the time she pulls back, my lungs are useless.

My knees are a mess. And my heart… It’s fucking shattered in all the right places.

I blink, dazed. “Jesus, Quinn… if that’s what loving me looks like, I’m gonna need a defibrillator and a helmet.”

Breathless, she laughs, her forehead resting against mine, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

A knock sounds at the door.

Quinn pulls back, her fingers still tangled in my hair, lips swollen, eyes bright and wrecked in the most beautiful way. She doesn’t move for a second, still breathing hard, still pressed to me like she’s not ready to let go.

“That’ll be Nate,” she whispers.

I groan, dragging my hands down her waist and muttering, “His timing’s always shit.”

She laughs under her breath and slips from my arms. I watch her cross the room, barefoot, her shirt slipping off one shoulder, hair a fucking mess from my hands. I’ve never seen anything more perfect.

She opens the door, and Nate is standing in the hallway like some cocky bastard sent to interrupt the best moment of my life.

He doesn’t say a word at first. Just steps inside, quiet and watchful, his eyes flicking between me and Quinn like he’s trying to figure out if I have told her what we came here to say.

A pizza box in one hand, a six-pack of beer in the other, and that raised eyebrow I’ve known for years. The look he gives when I’ve done something reckless.

Which, to be fair, is often.

I meet his stare and nod once.

“Yeah,” I say. “I fucking told her, man.”

Something shifts in his face. Pride. The kind of silent Nate approval that speaks louder than any bullshit words ever could.

He places the pizzas and beer on the kitchen countertop. He goes to lift the lid to grab a slice, but before he does, Quinn’s hand settles gently over his.

“Fuck the pizza,” she says, her voice low, thick with heat. There’s a wicked glint in her eye that punches the air straight out of my lungs.

Then she reaches for my hand, her palm hot, wrapping around my wrist before sliding down to lace through my fingers.

The feel of her skin against mine is enough to make my thoughts splinter.

We follow.

I trail a step behind, watching the sway of her hips in those tiny fucking shorts, the hem riding higher with every step. Her shirt’s slipping off one shoulder, hanging loose enough to tease the curve of her tits. No bra. Nothing but temptation painted in every goddamn inch of her.

Nate walks beside her, his jaw flexing the way it always does when he’s fighting the urge to lose control.

I understand that pull.

I carry the same tension, coiling tighter with every step toward her room. Every heartbeat slams harder in my chest.

She’s not walking, she’s fucking leading us to our knees. To her bed, where nothing else exists but skin and sweat and every filthy, perfect way we’ve learned to worship her.

And fuck me if I’m not ready to burn for it.

“You know,” I say, as we step into her room, “we could still eat the pizza while we fuck. Bite between thrusts. Feed each other while I’m balls deep in you. Multitasking at its filthiest.”

Quinn laughs, breath catching halfway through, and Nate groans beside me.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” I say, grinning. “But now I’m yours. Both of yours. So buckle the fuck up. I snore, hog the sheets, and come with a warning label.”

The door clicks shut behind us, and for the first time, it feels as if something has truly ended.

Not in the way heartbreak does.

Not in the way grief eats through you.

This is quieter. Deeper. It’s the end of every lie I’ve ever told myself just to survive.

All of it. The chaos, the shame, the years I spent trying to outrun the version of me my father built with his hurtful words. They all start to fall away. That power over me is gone.

For the first time in my life, I let myself want. I open myself to everything, the ache, the beauty, the weight of being loved this much without having to earn a single fucking second.

With Quinn holding my hand and Nate right beside me, something in my chest settles. It clicks into place.

I used to think I was made wrong. That I was too much or never enough. That I was cursed. That anyone I loved would unravel. That I dragged the wreckage behind me, bleeding worthlessness into their lives, poisoning everything I touched.

But standing here now, with them, I finally understand I’m more than the mistake my father convinced me I was.

More than the shame he fed me. More than the curse he swore I’d carry until I destroyed everything I touched.

He never loved me. He didn’t have the capacity.

All he ever managed was making me think I was born already broken, before I even had a chance to be anything else.

But I’m not him. I’ve learned how to love.

Quinn tugs us toward the bed. We follow. Of course we fucking do. This is the moment we stop running. The moment everything that’s been bruised and broken inside us finally breathes.

Three hearts.

One fire.

No boundaries.

No shame.

No rules, only the ones we carve with shaking hands, open mouths, and bodies finally learning what it means to belong.

This is where we begin.

Messy. Loud. Beautiful in a way I never believed could belong to someone like me. And it’s ours. Every filthy, fucked-up second of it.

For the first time, I don’t feel lost.

I feel found.