Page 23 of Summer’s Echo

Summer didn’t respond right away, but a quiet ease settled over her face, and for the first time that night, chaos was replaced with curiosity—a glimmer of hope for what might come next.

She stretched out on my bed, resting her head on her arm, and a deep sigh escaped her lips.

I watched her quietly, taking in the familiar curve of her face and the way her lips naturally puckered when she was sleepy.

The even rhythm of her breathing, soft and unhurried, seemed to settle something restless inside me.

There were times I thought I’d never see her again—thought she was lost to me for good.

But now, here she was, just an arm’s length away, her presence grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

Summer burrowed deeper into the pillow, surrendering to her exhaustion.

A soft exhale escaped her, the last traces of tension fading from her pretty face before her eyelids fluttered closed.

A moment of peace and serenity settled over her.

I felt a sense of relief watching her finally rest, but in the silence, the questions I’d buried for so long started to rise.

What could come next for us? Would this fragile moment of connection be enough to bridge the years between us?

Or would we fall back into the gaps life had carved?

For now, I didn’t have the answers, and while I wanted to stop myself from hoping, I couldn’t.

Summer

October 2019

I stirred awake as Echo gently caressed my foot, the weight of sleep heavy in my limbs. He was standing at the end of the bed, looking like slumber was in his near future, too.

“Sun. Baby girl, come on, let’s get you in bed,” he murmured, his voice dripping with fatigue.

I stretched, blinking to bring my surroundings into focus, confusion fogging my brain. “I am in the bed, right?” I said groggily, because I honestly didn’t know. It felt like I was floating in the clouds.

“You’re fully dressed and laying on top of the comforter,” he said, a hint of exasperation hardening his tone.

“Come on. I’m sleepy.” The gruffness in his voice reminded me how cranky he would get when he was tired.

Reluctantly, I slowly lifted upright, stretching through a squeal as I stood next to the bed watching him pull back the comforter.

“How long was I out?” I mumbled, sliding off my socks before leaning my head against the wall. Every part of me felt clunky and weighed down by the whirlwind of the day. Being a runaway bride was nothing short of draining.

“Not long,” he replied, pausing mid-motion, concern apparent on his handsome face. “You, okay?” he asked, crossing the room. His worried eyes searched mine as he reached out, pressing the back of his hand gently against my forehead.

“I’m not sick, E. I guess the day is finally getting to me. I can barely stay awake,” I murmured, leaning into him and resting my head in the center of his chest. For a moment, it felt like the turmoil of the day had momentarily quieted.

“I got you, Sun,” he said, his voice a low rumble against my ear.

Echo dipped his face into my hair, allowing me to rest in the comfort of his embrace.

For a few long minutes, we stood there, the quiet between us more restorative than any words.

Then, delicately, he lifted my chin, his fingers brushing against my skin as he eased the sweatshirt over my head, revealing the fitted white tank top beneath.

The sparkling Bride script shimmered under the dim light, a cruel reminder of the day’s reality.

I was nobody’s bride. He must have noticed my brief moment of unease because without hesitation, he tossed the sweatshirt into the closet, tucking it out of sight.

I felt his eyes on me, lingering—not just looking, but truly seeing.

Mapping the way the thin fabric clung to me, tracing my curves as if committing my soft places to memory.

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I felt the undeniable tightness of my nipples against the cool cotton material.

Oh God, this was not the time for my breasts to reveal all my secrets.

I prayed he wouldn’t notice, but his subtle, yet deep breaths told me otherwise.

Still, he didn’t say a word as my headlights beamed in his face.

He stepped away, grabbing a t-shirt for me then moved back in front of me with an unreadable expression.

“Thank you, E,” I whispered.

Echo didn’t say anything, and it was probably for the best. The magnetic energy that always defined us was never in grand gestures or significant, defining moments.

It was the little things. Like the way he kissed the top of my head, swiped a knuckle down my cheek, or offered a private smile only visible to me.

Or like right now, the way he just simply took care of me.

“Jogging pants staying on or off?” he asked, an unintentional tease playing in his tone.

I softly pushed him back. “Are you trying to get me naked, Echo Honor Abara?”

He shook his head. “Don’t play with me, Sun. It’s not like I haven’t seen you before.” He lifted a knowing brow. “I just know you’ll be burning up in the middle of the night. So, on or off?”

“Off,” I whispered, damn near coyly.

Without hesitation, he slid them off, folding the pants and placing them neatly over the chair.

I didn’t make a move immediately, just watched him.

His movements were careful and deliberate as he gathered our trash, brushed his teeth, and changed into basketball shorts and a t-shirt.

Damn. Echo looked good. He never lacked confidence or a commanding presence, but time and maturity had carved a physique etched with broad shoulders, a solid chest, strong jawline, and sharpened features that made him strikingly handsome.

But the curve of his smile and dark, attentive eyes offered a glimpse of the boy I used to know.

The adorable boy who’d grown into a fully grown, ridiculously fine man had me feeling all kinds of mental and physical sensitives I would not dare admit out loud.

My god, my pussy had no business reacting this way, but it was.

Just hours ago, I had beenmoments awayfrom marrying one man, and now, my body was betraying me for another.

Not just any man.The one who used to be my best friend.

The one who knew mebefore the pressure of expectations and the noise of life pulled us apart.

And yet, here I was,heart pounding, pulse racing, not for the man I almost vowed forever to, but for the one I had never truly let go of.

My mama would’ve said, “Now that’s just hoe shit, Summer Sierra. ”

But no matter how much I tried to deny it, I couldn’t ignore the tender spark that always surged when Echo was around.

Even after all these years, we were still so lovingly hazardous to one another.

I immediately felt it at Brooke’s wedding, and I felt it now…

more intensely than ever, with the pulsing throb in my center refusing to let me forget.

Echo had this way of just making everything feel safe, even when my world was crumbling.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in just my tank top and panties, I reached for my phone, trying to refocus.

A notification lit the screen—another voice message from Deshawn.

For a second, I stalled because I was certain that by now, he’d talked to my family and likely knew that I was with Echo.

“I talked to your dad. He told me that you called.” Deshawn’s voice crackled through the message, then came a bitter snicker.

“But you couldn’t call me. That’s fucked up, Summer.

I’m sitting her wracking my brain, trying to figure out what the fuck happened.

I thought we were good. I thought that the past few weeks were just nerves.

But this shit…” His voice broke, and I could hear anger and pain resonating through the phone.

“This shit is unforgivable, Summer.” The line didn’t cut off immediately.

Instead, heavy breathing filled the silence for an extended heartbeat until the message finally ended.

He was right. This was an absolutely unforgivable offense.

And while I wanted his forgiveness, it wouldn’t changethe life I was chasing, the one I refused to compromise.

I was no longer interested in a relationship built onconditions, timelines, and rules—love that came withexpectations instead of exhilaration.

What I wanted wassimpler, yet somehow more complicated at the same time. I just wanted to feel…butterflies .

My tears seemed to have a mind of their own, refusing to stop, no matter how many times I swiped them away.

Giving up, I climbed into the bed, desperate to find my peace from earlier.

I peered over at Echo lying on his back, one arm lifted as if instinctively knowing what I wanted. Shit, what I needed: him.

I nestled right in as if I was always supposed to be there.

Am I supposed to be here? My thoughts were a mangled mess, but his arm tightened around me, holding me like I was something precious, something fragile.

The heat of his body radiated against mine, the balanced beat of his heart calming my broken soul.

Even in our slumber, I could feel his presence—his protective hold and steady breathing.

When I shifted slightly, his hands moved instinctively, pulling me closer to stroke the curve of my face.

He wouldn’t allow sleep to fully claim him until I was settled.

The moment felt perfect—almost too perfect—but I knew it couldn’t last. Tomorrow, I’d have to let go—of Deshawn, of Echo, of the dream of escaping the mess I’d made.

And even though I already knew which one would be harder to lose, I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to face it.