Page 8 of Seven Lost Summers (Broken Oasis #3)

Theo

Age: Eighteen

I

sink

into

the

shadows,

jaw tight, a scowl carved deep across my face. Eyes locked on the new girl. Something about her crawls under my skin in the worst way.

I don’t need distractions. I don’t want them. But she’s got this pull I can’t shake, dragging my focus without even trying. The whole thing pisses me the fuck off more than I want to admit.

And of course, I’m not the only one.

Nate’s already eyeing her. The bastard can’t help himself. That messy blonde hair, the smug grin—nothing less than a cheat code. A single glance and they’re handing over their hearts, their numbers, their goddamn dignity. And he takes everything every time. No shame. No strings

But I’m not him.

I don’t fuck just to kill time or forget the noise. I don’t fuck at all. Not because I don’t want to. Hell, sometimes the wanting burns so bad it hurts. But wanting and doing are two different things.

Something in me breaks down every time the moment gets close.

A switch flips. A wall slams down so hard the shock tears through my whole body.

Nate’s got it easy. No demons clawing at his ribs. No memories slicing through him when hands start to wander, when mouths press too close. No weight pressing on his chest, ready to blow the second he lets someone in.

He’s the fucking heartthrob of the school. The golden boy. That smirk alone could start a riot. With one snap of his fingers they’re lining up, desperate to be the next one to sink to their knees and make him forget everything but the moment.

And me?

I’m the guy in the corner. I fight to breathe. I try not to fall apart every time someone steps too close.

With my eyes still on her, I lean back; the joint already burning down in my fingers. I pull in a deep hit, trying to chase the chaos out of my chest, but watching her just fans the goddamn flames instead.

Normally, I don’t see people. I tune out without trying. But something about this new chick makes my head snap up like I caught a shot of lightning straight to the brain.

Her black hair’s wild, untamed, catching light as though soaked in midnight. She stands across the field, all edge and a fuck-you attitude. Not giving a shit if someone looks at her the wrong way.

And that’s the goddamn problem.

She’s not supposed to mean shit.

Not supposed to make my pulse jack like I’m already fucking hooked, or my fingers twitch, jerking off some reckless-ass idea I know I’ll regret. But fuck me sideways, something in her pulls at me.

I lift the joint to my lips and drag hard. My fingers squeeze that fucker, the last tether keeping me from losing my shit. I keep the smoke low and hidden.

Getting caught again would be more than a dumbass mistake. Not now. Wes and Rose have already had to pick up my broken, fucked-up pieces more times than I can count. I owe them better than this endless spiral I keep crashing into.

Nate drops onto the bench next to me, all swagger and zero fucks given.

His boots drag against the ground as he leans back, sprawling out as though he owns the fucking universe and everyone else is background scenery.

He catches my gaze, and that sharp, cocky grin slides across his lips, smug as hell, convinced he already knows what’s up.

“Who you got your eye on?” He asks, voice lazy but dripping with way too much confidence.

Without waiting for an answer, he reaches over, snatches my joint, and pulls a slow, deliberate drag like it’s his goddamn right. He holds the smoke deep in his lungs then blows it out.

Nate couldn’t give a rat’s ass about rules. Consequences? That shit’s for everyone else to sweat over. He’s been suspended twice this year already, and if they kicked his ass out tomorrow, he’d probably throw a goddamn party on the way out.

Me? I don’t have that reckless fire burning in me. But, fuck, some days, I wish I did.

“If it’s her?” Nate jerks his chin toward the new girl. “Goodluck, man. She doesn’t look like the type who plays nice.”

I roll my eyes and snatch the joint back.

“Since when the fuck do I give a shit about nice?”

Nate smirks with that cocky, infuriating grin of his—the kind that makes every girl here lose her damn mind and every guy want to take a swing at him.

He’s untouchable and he knows it. Not because he looks like a saint, though he’d sell that lie in a second if the chance worked to his advantage. His shield is Wes.

Wes isn’t just a name. He’s a fucking legend.

Ex-biker, ex-trouble, a man people whisper about but never face. Most guys would rather chew glass than cross him. But they’ve never seen the man who fixes broken furniture or who taught me how to throw a punch so I wouldn’t get my ass kicked again.

He’s a beast wrapped in steel with a heart bigger than this whole town. Nobody else would believe it because to them Wes isn’t a person. He’s a reputation. A shadow that follows me. No one in their right mind fucks with his kids.

I keep my eyes locked on her like some fucking obsessed idiot, tracking every step as she cuts through the crowd of kids milling around outside.

Her long black hair sways with every move, that perfect ass wrapped tight in jeans like they were made for her.

Voices bounce off the brick walls and concrete paths as she heads toward the big doors.

Why her?

Why the hell is she the one who gets under my skin, fucks with my head when no one else ever has?

I don’t waste my time on chicks. I don’t have that fuck-it-all drive Nate’s got, banging anything with a pulse just for kicks.

But, fuck, there’s something about her. Something that’s jammed itself deep in my ribs, fucking with my head, twisting every damn thought.

And I don’t have the patience to untangle that shit.

I flick the joint to the ground, grinding the ember under my boot, the only damn thing I can control right now. I yank the hoodie up over my head, push to my feet, and jam my hands deep in my pockets, trying to choke down the itch crawling under my skin before the urge fucking devours me.

“Where are you going?” Nate’s voice cuts through, amused as hell.

“To check out the new chick,” I mutter, trying to convince myself it’s no big deal. “See what she’s up to.”

Nate chuckles. That asshole knows exactly what’s up.

I don’t slow down, don’t break my stride. He slips in beside me, moving fast like he’s ready for whatever shit’s coming next.

Every girl we pass can’t help themselves.

Their eyes lock on him, wildfire blazing through, impossible to ignore, and they’re nothing more than sparks caught in the heat.

Nate drinks the attention in like oxygen.

He flashes that lazy grin promising every kind of chaos and trouble they’re dying for.

He moves through the crowd as though the whole place were built for him.

Confidence rolls off him in waves—effortless, unshakable, the way things have always been.

He owns every inch of this shit without even thinking twice.

But me… I’m the shadow in the corner. Hoodie pulled low, head bowed like I’m trying to disappear.

Their eyes don’t latch onto me with hunger the way they do with him, but every glance still scrapes across my skin.

The whispers follow me, smoke twisting around a dying flame.

I fucking hate the attention. Hate that they’re always watching, always judging.

I don’t want that spotlight. Because if anyone stares too closely, too hard, they’ll see the cracks beneath the surface.

The pieces barely hold me together. The mess I’m desperate to keep hidden.

They’ll see how fucking broken I really am, and I’ll be damned if anyone gets close enough to learn that.

We step into the long corridor.

The place is nearly empty, with only a few cheerleaders scattered by the lockers. Lydia stands in the center, flicking her hair as though she’s rehearsed the move a thousand times in front of a mirror. Something she’s sure will make every guy here drop to his knees.

She turns at the sound of our footsteps, eyes locking on Nate like a fucking spotlight.

Everyone knows she’s had a thing for him for years. Nate has already had her twice. First in the backseat of his car, second at some lame party last month.

I witnessed the first time, sitting in the passenger seat like an invisible ghost. Heard Nate work his charm and smooth-talk her into spreading her legs, only to laugh afterward, reducing her to another notch on his belt. Another story for him to brag about.

Nate, that cocky bastard, talked her into giving me a blowjob as though it were some fucked-up favor.

I should have told him to fuckoff, shut that shit down the second it started, but I didn’t.

I let the whole thing happen. The way Lydia’s eyes cut into me like I was some diseased freak, made my stomach twist into knots.

I sat frozen, numb, as if I wasn’t living in my own skin.

Watched her mouth move, doing its job, but I felt nothing.

I fucking hated the whole thing. How my skin crawled under her touch, dragging all the old shit to the surface, trying to choke me with the past. I couldn’t fucking breathe.

Nate knows better now. He doesn’t pull that shit anymore because I can’t stand the pressure pressing down on me.

Lydia’s eyes are desperate and full of hope as she steps in our way. She acts like he’s some goddamn savior instead of another guy who’ll fuck her and toss her aside like yesterday’s trash.

Nate grins, that arrogant, unapologetic smirk nailed to his face. I catch the look. He’s already scheming, figuring out how to keep her hooked enough to get off on the control.

But when her eyes catch mine, everything flips.

Her face twists with disgust. I’m still the bitter taste stuck in her mouth that won’t go away.

“Hey, Lydia,” Nate says, his voice smooth as silk, lazy like he’s about to wreck her whole fucking day. “You see where the new girl went?”