Page 36 of Summer’s Echo

I stared blankly at the muted gray sky as I rode in the passenger seat of Echo’s rental car.

The rich reds, burnt oranges, and deep yellows of the trees should’ve appeared vibrant, but today, they were dull, empty—just like my mood.

The Abaras’ house was only about twenty minutes from my parents’ home, yet time dragged, stretching unbearably, as if we were driving to Mars.

My stomach twisted when we pulled up in front of the familiar brick ranch-style house.

Everything looked normal, but I knew better. Behind those walls, chaos waited.

My heart stalled at the sight of the sleek black Mercedes-Benz coupe parked ahead of us. Deshawn. Raqi failed to mention that detail, I thought, swallowing hard. Echo reached for the door handle, but I grabbed his arm before he could step out.

“You should go,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.

He looked at me like I’d just grown ten heads. “Summer,” he said, his tone patient but firm, “I’m not trying to make things harder for you. I’m walking you to that door, and I won’t leave until I know you’re okay.”

I exhaled slowly, watching as he climbed out of the car and rounded to my side.

When he opened my door, he hesitated, reaching slightly for my hand before pulling back at the last second.

I was grateful—his restraint was an act of respect…

understanding. Before we could reach the first step of the porch, the front door swung open.

My father stepped out, his expression tangled with emotions I couldn’t unravel, but the strongest was relief.

“Daddy,” I choked, stepping forward, tears blurring my vision, “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t need to speak words. He just wrapped me in his arms, rocking us side to side, pressing kisses into my hair the way he had when I was a little girl.

“Shh,” he soothed, his voice thick with emotion. “ Shh, baby. It’s okay.”

“Summer.” My mother’s voice trembled, raw and aching, pulling me from my father.

Our eyes met, hers flooded with worry and a hint of knowing. I couldn’t speak. I just fell into her embrace. Somewhere behind me, I heard my father’s hushed voice ask Echo, “Is she alright?”

“No,” Echo answered honestly, “but I think she will be.”

Mama ushered me into the house. I didn’t lift my head, even when two more sets of arms wrapped around me—my sisters.

And then, a quiet voice, one that never carried unnecessary softness said, “We love you, baby girl.” My brother .

The safety of their arms steadied me, and after what felt like forever, I finally pulled back to meet my mother’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” I whispered, my voice thick, “but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t marry him.” Silence stretched for a beat then struck like a lightning bolt, shattering the moment.

“Why not?”

The voice wasn’t Mama’s. The load it carried was heavy and restrained, sending a cold shiver down my spine.

I swallowed hard, my eyes shifting over my mother’s shoulder.

Deshawn stood at the entrance of the kitchen, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his dark eyes locked onto mine.

Dressed in a black Nike tracksuit, his posture was tense, his expression unreadable—but beneath the hardened lines of his face, anger simmered, coiling tight. He deserved an explanation.

I inhaled sharply. “Shawn,” I started, keeping my voice even, “let’s go out back.”

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “No, Summer. What is going on?” His gaze traveled past me, landing on Echo. He stiffened. “Why are you with him?”

Behind me, Echo’s voice was fixed. “Sun.” I didn’t turn around.

I couldn’t. He stepped forward, close enough that I could feel him, but not so close that it would push this into something worse.

A warm hand settled lightly on my shoulder.

“I’ll be back with your car,” he said, voice calm, laced with something I couldn’t quite name.

Deshawn’s patience snapped. “What the hell is going on?” he repeated, his voice rising, his body tensing as he took a sudden step forward, his finger pointing aggressively toward Echo. “I’ll ask again: Why is he here?”

Before he could get any closer, my brother moved, stepping in his path.

“Deshawn.” My father’s voice was firm, a quiet command. “Step outside.” His next words were for Echo. “And you should go.”

My attention bounced between the four men in the room, each imposing in their own way, but the common thread was me.

They all loved me. I silently begged Echo to leave, to trust that we’d talk later.

He gave a small nod, acknowledging my unspoken plea.

I kept my back straight and chin high when I turned to face the fire —Deshawn— because that’s just what Echo had instilled in me.

Bravery. But when I heard the front door click shut behind me, a bit of that moxie wavered. Here we go.

A sharp inhale cut through the room. Deshawn’s stare abandoned the door and locked onto me, his face unexpressive, but his eyes—penetrating and pained—those gave him away.

Without a word, he turned on his heels and strode through the kitchen, heading toward the four-season sunroom attached to the back of my parents’ home.

I paused before following. The space had been a retirement gift to my parents from me and my siblings—a sanctuary meant to bring them peace.

Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the backyard, allowing natural light to spill in, seamlessly connecting the indoors and the beauty of the chilled autumn afternoon outside.

On any other day, it would’ve felt open, airy, free.

But right now, as I stepped in, the walls were closing in on me.

The space was too small. The air too thick. The looming hurt in the room too much.

Deshawn stood by the window, arms crossed tautly over his chest, his back impossibly straight.

He didn’t move, didn’t turn, but the tension rolling off him was suffocating.

I sank onto the plush ivory couch, perched on the edge like a bird ready to fly away at any second.

Guilt and anxiety pressed down so heavily, I swore I might topple over.

No turning back now. This was really happening.

Shaking his head, Deshawn turned to face me, though his stance remained rigid. “You said we’d talk,” he said, voice flat, “so talk. The floor is yours.”

I swallowed hard. “I know I owe you the truth, and—”

“Oh, you owe me a hell of a lot more than that, Summer,” he interrupted, jaw clenched so tight I swore I heard his teeth grind. “You fucking humiliated me.” His voice was raw and cutting, slicing through the space between us.

“People were running around, worried about your ass, thinking you were in an accident or some shit, and you were…” He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “God only knows where.”

I stayed quiet, letting him get this out. If the roles were reversed, I’d probably have been upside his head by now.

“I was waiting for you. In my tuxedo. Ready to say ‘I do’, and you humiliate me like I ain’t shit. Like we ain’t been shit.” His bitter laugh was eerie. “And you chose to do this in front of my family, my friends, my business partners—” He shook his head. “The damn mayor was there, Summer.”

If I weren’t the guilty party, I might’ve cocked my head in confusion. What the hell did the mayor have to do with anything? But I didn’t interrupt. I just swallowed hard, nodding as I let him vent.

“I know,” I said, “and I’m so sorry, Shawn. I never meant to hurt you.”

His eyes snapped to mine, burning with disbelief.

“Then why, Summer?” His voice was quieter now, but the anger hadn’t faded, it had only sharpened.

“You said out there that you couldn’t marry me.

Why?” Slowly, he stepped closer. The room shrank to the size of a chickpea.

His voice dropped lower; each word weighted with barely restrained fury.

“And I swear to God, if you say cold feet or that you need more time or any other Hallmark bullshit, I might lose it.”

For the first time, I felt something I had never felt with Deshawn before: fear.

Not for my safety, but for the flood of unrestrained emotions cracking through his exterior.

The heartbreak, the betrayal was palpable.

This was a side of him I’d never seen, an imbalanced side…

a rageful side. I promised to be honest. To tell him the whole truth. So here it was.

“I’m not scared of marriage.” I paused, calming my breath.

“I’m afraid of marrying you.” The words left my lips like an exhale, like a truth I had been holding in so long my lungs had grown tired of carrying it.

And yet, despite the guilt suffocating me, I couldn’t ignore the relief settling deep in my bones.

Deshawn, on the other hand…his expression was a collision of devastation and downright outrage. “Wow.” He breathed as if I had knocked the wind out of him. He ran a hand over his face before sinking into the chair beside the couch, close but still keeping a deliberate distance.

“Is that supposed to make it all better?”

I shook my head. “No,” I admitted, “but it’s my truth.” His attention shifted to the ceiling, to the floor, anywhere but on me. I pressed on before my courage failed. “I kept telling myself that love would come.”

At that, his head lifted slightly. “So, you don’t love me, Summer.” His voice was quieter now, ragged. “Since when?”

“I love you, Deshawn. I do.” I swallowed against the lump in my throat.

“But I’d be lying if I said I was in love with you.

As much as I wanted to be…” I exhaled shakily.

“I thought I was just overthinking things again, that if I leaned into the life we were building…the butterflies would come.” My voice trailed off, as if the wind had carried my last words away.

But I couldn’t stop now. “The truth is…” I delayed, then forced the words out. “I never felt it the way I should have. Not the way you deserve.”