Page 39 of Summer’s Echo

Then, without looking away from the game, OJ said, “Baby girl is hurting.” The words were calm, but they hit like a punch. “What happened yesterday was a clear sign that she hasn’t been happy.”

Mr. Knight sighed, shaking his head. “Just settling.”

A slow breath pushed through my nose as I nodded, knowing that was true.

OJ finally turned toward me, not attempting to hide the sharp lines in his face.

“I know y’all’s history is complicated, but if you’re here to add more to her plate, this conversation is about to go real different.

” His words hung between us, the tension thickening.

“That’s not why I’m here at all,” I said, my voice even with sincerity.

“I came to St. Louis knowing my heart would be broken. I came to see her get married, to support my friend.” I shook my head.

“I ain’t on no bullshit when it comes to Summer.

” I glanced at Mr. Knight, catching myself. “Excuse me, sir. No disrespect.”

Mr. Knight offered an understanding nod. “None taken,” he simply stated.

OJ didn’t blink. “Summer is vulnerable right now. Don’t confuse this situation by letting her run to you just because she doesn’t know where else to go.”

I leaned forward slightly, my elbows resting on my knees. “Summer and I haven’t really known each other as adults. But the Summer I remember? She doesn’t run unless she knows exactly where she wants to land.”

They didn’t know what I knew. While they saw yesterday as a hasty decision, I knew it wasn’t. Yeah, Summer was hurting, but she wasn’t lost. She wasn’t looking for a distraction. What they didn’t realize was that we had finally stopped lying to ourselves.

OJ was still watching me, still measuring my words. “Again…your past is complicated. I don’t think she ever recovered from that.” A beat of silence stretched between us. Peeling back the layers of our past meant exposing wounds. Some still healing, some still raw.

“I don’t believe either of us will ever recover alone,” I said, my voice firm but calm.

“We have to face it—the good, the bad, the ugly. All of it.” I shrugged.

“It’s really as simple as that.” Then I met both of their gazes, my voice dropping lower.

“But real talk, man to man?” I let the words settle. “I’m not losing her again.”

OJ continued to watch me carefully, searching for cracks in my resolve. Mr. Knight examined me, too, but something in his face shifted, softened—just slightly. Finally, he spoke. “Echo, can I ask you a question?”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“How did you know where she was?” he asked, lifting a curious brow.

“Because I know my Sunshine, Mr. Knight.” I let the words sink in before adding, “Even after all these years, I’ll always find her when she needs me.”

A moment passed. Then, synchronous nods from both men spoke volumes without them saying a single word. “You have my blessing, but tread lightly.” I returned the respectful nod, silently acknowledging that their message was received loud and clear.

“Hey,” a serene voice called from the doorway.

I turned, but the other eyes in the room stayed on me, measuring my reaction to her.

I smiled because damn , there she was. A crown of curls framed her face, a little wild from sleep.

The redness in her eyes from crying had faded after getting some much-needed rest. She was wrapped in an oversized hoodie—my hoodie—and leggings; tall, fluffy socks swallowed her feet. She looked so damn pretty.

“Hey,” I said, standing to greet her.

Mr. Knight shifted in his seat then stood. “It’s getting chilly out here. Junior, let’s finish watching the game downstairs.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple before stepping away, her brother following suit—but not without playfully nudging the side of her head. They loved her. They just wanted her to be okay, which meant we had something in common.

Once they were gone, my attention was back on her. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Tired, but I’m okay.”

“Come here.” I didn’t stammer because it wasn’t a request.

She didn’t unfold her arms from around her body as she plowed into me, curling into my embrace.

She needed this hug just as much as I did.

The potency of it was riddled with unspoken turmoil, remorse, and love.

But above all that, the weight of what came next hung the heaviest in the room.

I guided her to the couch, careful not to overstep or push, letting her move at her own pace.

“You wanna talk about it?”

She wrapped her arms tight around her knees, staring into nothingness. “I’m such a fucked-up person,” she said, voice hollow. “How could I do that to someone I claimed to love?”

I didn’t answer right away. She wasn’t looking for an answer—just a space to say the things clawing at her insides.

I ran my hand slowly down her arm, grounding her.

“You did what you needed to do, Sun. For you. For your sanity.” I exhaled, rubbing my thumb against the inside of her wrist. “I know it was hard, and I know he was angry—hell, I don’t blame him—but do you regret it? ”

She rubbed her forehead, thinking. A long pause passed before she said, “I regret the way I did it, but I don’t regret what I said.”

I nodded, but I wanted to hear her say it. “And what was that?”

She lifted her head, finally meeting my eyes. “That I wasn’t in love with him. That I was forcing something that was never really there.” She swallowed, her voice soft but sure. “That I want butterflies.” She uttered the last words breathlessly.

Something in me shifted. A warm, undeniable realization spread through me, my body tensing with memory.

She didn’t have to say my name. She didn’t have to confess what I already knew, what I could feel humming in the space between us, because I knew.

I was butterflies. Heat rising to my face caused me to blush like a damn lovesick fool, but I didn’t care.

Our eyes locked, cloaked in the same wordless knowing.

Gently, I reached for her legs, uncurling them from her body and draping them over mine. I traced slow circles on her knee. “So…where do we go from here?” I lifted a brow, voice teasing, but I wasn’t playing.

Summer sighed, voice strained, like she hated what she was about to say. “E…” I knew what was coming. I felt it. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next.”

And just like that, frustration coiled in my gut because, What the fuck, Summer? That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear.