Page 27 of Summer’s Echo

Echo

Summer finally fell back to sleep, her breathing soft, but laden.

I stared at her, any hope of comfort escaping me.

The room was still covered in darkness, except for the sliver of light casting from the sun.

It illuminated her pretty face, highlighting my favorite features, but the weariness in her body was undeniable.

Exhaustion had left her disoriented; muddling her words and thoughts after we kissed.

She said she wanted me, but it wasn’t the right time.

I released a bitter laugh because it never seemed to be the right time for me and Summer.

She said she had her reasons for calling off her wedding, but she didn’t share them with me.

After living fifteen years in a fog of confusion when it came to Summer Knight, I needed answers.

“Summer. Wake up,” I said, my voice indicating the early hour.

She glanced around the room, slowly focusing on her surroundings. “What time is it?” she murmured.

“A little after seven. Wake up. I need to talk to you,” I replied, leaving no room for argument.

Her features clouded with thought, her blank expression momentarily darkening as she searched for the right words. Her face shifted into a knowing scowl, the kind that told me she realized her time for vague answers and conflicting behavior had run out. It was time for her to come clean.

She sat up slowly, reaching to grab a bottle of water from the nightstand before leaning against the headboard. She tossed the water back with a few gulps. “What’s up, E?”

I snickered, though shit wasn’t funny. “Talk, Summer. Now. And I’m not playing.” Her scowl deepened, and I didn’t give a damn. I continued to stare unflinching because I didn’t care about her irritation; I cared about the truth.

“I met Deshawn at homecoming a few years ago,” she began.

“He was handsome and sweet and smart. He checked every box on my ‘list’.” She lifted her hands, making air quotes when she said list, before continuing.

“It was a whirlwind. I went from dating myself for almost two years after a nasty break-up to suddenly traveling with a man who loved food, wine, and culture just as much as I did. He was climbing the corporate ladder, just like I thought I wanted to, but…” Her words faltered.

She slightly shook her head. “When the honeymoon phase ended, and the dust settled, it became obvious we didn’t have much in common beyond traveling, food, and wine.

My heart never skipped a beat when I was with him… There were no butterflies.”

“So why agree to marry him?” I asked, keeping my tone even as I leaned slightly closer.

She shrugged, her teeth catching the corner of her bottom lip as tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Because I want a husband. I want a family. And being in love wasn’t at the top of that list I mentioned,” she admitted, swiping quickly at the tears spilling onto her cheeks.

“I thought that giddy, delightful, bubbly feeling would come with time. But life moved so fast, and one day, I looked up, and I was engaged. I was planning a wedding, but I was caught up in the frills of it all, not the love.”

“Hmm,” I said, joining her against the headboard, giving her space but staying close enough for her to know I was there.

“I thought about ending it. God, I wanted to end it so many times, but then I woke up, and it was my wedding day. And I felt sick to my stomach.” She paused, her voice trembling as she stared down at her hands.

“I thought about going to Shawn, telling him everything. I thought maybe we could tell everyone together. Or Trin and Brooke—they’d help me.

But nothing felt right yesterday morning. Nothing except going to our spot.”

Her words lingered in the room like a confession, raw and unpolished.

I didn’t say anything right away, allowing the heft of it all to settle.

When I finally looked at her, I saw the vulnerability in her eyes—the fear, the relief, the guilt—all beautifully woven together in a way only Summer could carry.

“When did things change?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, but the need to know hammered like rain pelting the pavement.

“Some months ago,” she admitted. “But I guess, if I’m being honest, I always knew that I shouldn’t have accepted his proposal.” Her gaze dropped to her lap.

Her admission hit me harder than I expected, and my interest piqued at the timing.

Some months ago? Could it have been five months ago at Brooke and Seth’s wedding?

Something shifted on that patio. I felt it then, and I had a gut feeling now…

Summer called off her wedding for the same reasons I broke up with Kourtni.

Because deep down, we both knew we were supposed to be together.

“Did you have dreams about what your wedding would be like?” I asked.

She nodded, her expression pensive. “Of course. I think every girl dreams about her wedding day.”

“And what did you see?”

Summer leaned her head back against the headboard, closing her eyes as she let the vision wash over her.

“An outdoor wedding, right as the sun is setting, surrounded by large trees and colorful roses. Maybe seventy-five guests—only the closet family and friends. Great food, lots of wine, and good music.”

“And who do you see, Summer?” I asked, my tenor soft yet probing.

Her mouth parted, confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

“Who’s standing there, waiting to receive you as his wife?” I clarified.

Her eyes widened, like I’d reached into the most intimate, private corners of her mind and unveiled something she’d been hiding, even from herself.

I trailed my eyes over her face, down the slope of her neck, watching as her breaths grew shallow and labored.

The truth—her reality—hovered on her lips, but she fought to let it out.

“Close your eyes,” I urged, “and tell me who you see.”

Her voice broke when it finally came, a shaky exhale slipped from her lips. “I didn’t see Shawn’s face,” she whispered, her words trembling under the enormity of her confession.

I nodded knowingly, though she couldn’t see me since her eyes were still shut tightly as if that would protect her from what she’d already divulged. “Who, Sunshine?” I pressed gently, leaning in closer, my heart pounding as I waited for her to say it. To name what we both already knew.

Summer shot up from the bed, her movements frantic as she shook her head vigorously. “No. No. I can’t do this,” she cried, pacing the short length of the room like a caged bird trying to escape.

I stood quickly, closing the gap between us in a few strides. “You can’t do what? Tell me the truth? Tellyourselfthe truth,” I demanded, stepping into her space.

Her face was a battlefield of emotions—anger and reassurance colliding like opposing storms. Angered by the truth, yet there was a quiet solace in it, too, as if acknowledging it might finally set her free. But she remained hushed.

My patience snapped, a mix of angst and fierce admiration for this woman seething through me.

I nudged her back against the wall, my taller frame towering over her as I pinned her with my stare.

“Say it,” I growled through gritted teeth, my hands braced against the wall on either side of her.

“Whose face did you see?” The eerie silence stretched loud, scoring the music of the moment.

My face was so close that I could feel her shaky breaths against my skin.

I could’ve easily sucked her tongue into my mouth with no effort.

Her lips trembled, her eyes piercing mine as several long, agonizing heartbeats thudded before she finally broke.

“You,” she cried, her voice cracking and body limp. “Echo, I saw you.”

Relief—shit, redemption—surged through me because I was gaining back what I’d lost. I released a heavy breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, a tide of emotions washing over me. “It’s always been you, Summer,” I murmured, my forehead pressed to hers. “Always.”

Summer

Post-Graduation, Summer 2005

This year, my birthday felt lonelier than ever.

And it was my eighteenth—if any year deserved to be celebrated, it was this one.

I should’ve been kicking it with my friends, soaking up the milestone with laughter and fun.

Instead, I was at camp, surrounded by the sounds of nature but feeling miles away from the people I cared about most.

As usual, I celebrated with my family at my family’s annual Memorial Day celebration before I left, and my friends who would normally be at camp with me even threw me a party, complete with cake and hugs that lingered too long.

But on the actual day? It was just another rotation of busy camp activities, and I couldn’t shake the emptiness gnawing at my chest.

I hadn’t planned on returning to camp this summer—at least, not until I found out my scholarship wouldn’t cover all of my housing at Spelman.

I had other options, full-ride offers that would’ve made things easier.

But they weren’t Spelman, so I made the choice.

The money I’d earn here, along with the scholarship funded by the founding family of Camp Quest, would secure my future at the school of my dreams. And for that, I was willing to spend one more summer in a place that had shaped so much of who I was.

Since I was no longer a high school counselor, I held the position of assistant director, which included counselor responsibilities, among other things—coordinating schedules, training new counselors, and managing the chaos.

It was great for my résumé, and I always loved it here, but this summer, something was missing—or maybe someone.