Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Sully’s is packed for a Monday night, but Logan managed to push together a couple of high-tops for the group. The table’s crowded with empty glasses and baskets that once held fries—which Helm single-handedly demolished.
Somehow, Summer ends up across from me, wedged between Mia and Hannah. She’s nodding at something Ada said, and I’m trying not to stare. Trying and failing.
“Earth to King.” Helm waves a hand in front of my face.
Fox, at Mia’s side, watches me with one eyebrow raised.
I turn to Helm. “What?”
“I asked if you wanted another round.”
“Sure. Yeah.”
He signals to the server, then gives me one of his shit-eating grins. “You’re being obvious, man.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Right.” He claps my shoulder.
I take a drink and try to focus on the conversation.
Try not to notice how easily Summer fits in.
Hannah’s talking about the wedding like she’s already on the guest list. Natalie’s asking if she wants to visit her in whatever city she’s working next.
Fox and Mia are trying to convince her to stay in Chicago after the album is recorded.
She shakes her head, but is that hesitation? Or am I just seeing what I want to see?
I like that my friends are welcoming her. That they’re trying to make her part of our slightly dysfunctional found family.
She looks like she belongs here. With my friends. In my life.
That should feel good.
It does feel good.
Which is exactly the problem.
Because she’s leaving.
Helm drops the drinks hard enough to rattle the bottles and snap me out of my daze.
“What kind of music do you make?” Natalie asks. “Like, gonna-key-your-car country or swept-off-your-feet country?”
Summer laughs. “Is that the official classification system?”
Natalie shrugs. “It should be.”
“Maybe a mix? We’ve only finished one song.”
“Oh, what’s it called?” Natalie sips what looks like a vodka tonic.
Summer’s gaze darts to me before it returns to Natalie. “Promise Me Tomorrow.”
“You should play a show here,” Hannah adds. “I know it’s nothing like the Nashville music scene, but there’s got to be some open mic nights or something. Could be fun.”
“Good idea, Sunshine.” Logan pulls her back against him, kissing her shoulder before whispering in her ear.
“I wanna be there,” Natalie whines. “Do it when I’m in town.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Summer smiles, then takes a sip of her Budweiser.
Her throat works as she swallows. My gaze flicks back up, and she’s watching me, still grinning, but this one feels just for me.
I love the way she looks at me, her face so expressive, or maybe I’ve just picked up on all her tells. It’s like we’re talking without needing to exchange words.
Then Mia and Fox pull her into their debate about something I don’t catch. The conversation flows, and Summer’s in the middle of it, laughing and gesturing with her hands in that way she does when she’s excited.
She catches my eye as she stands, says something to Ada as she passes her, then makes her way to me. At my side, she nudges her shoulder into my arm.
“Remember the last time we were here?” Her voice is low.
I turn toward her, angling my back to the table to give us some privacy.
How could I ever forget? I raise a brow, opting for safer ground. “Is this you challenging me to a Scrabble rematch?”
She leans further into my space. “Challenging you to a rematch implies you won last time.”
“You had beginner’s luck.”
“Sore loser.” She coughs the words into her hand.
I chuckle.
She steps just a little closer. “Hey, is everything okay?”
“Of course,” comes out automatically. “Why?”
“You just seem a bit out of it. Like you’re thinkin’ too much.” Her hand brushes my arm.
The touch is light, barely there, but I feel it everywhere.
Maybe that reading-her thing goes both ways. I thought I was doing a better job of keeping it off my face. The guys know me—years together will do that. But Summer sees through me; she has since the beginning.
Helm clears his throat loud enough to break whatever bubble we’ve created.
For once, I’m not annoyed by his interruption.
“You gonna introduce me, or what?” he asks.
“You’ve met.”
“Not really.” He sticks out his hand to Summer.
She goes to shake it, but Helm catches her fingers before she can pull back and lifts them to his mouth. He kisses her knuckles, a smug expression on his face.
He’s fucking with me. He has to be. I roll my eyes, but my grip tightens around the neck of my bottle.
“Easton,” he says, releasing her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
She tucks her hand into her front pocket. Mine fights the urge to pull it out and erase where Helm’s lips just were.
“Go grab a round, Rook,” I tell him, even though my beer’s still full.
“I got the last—”
I give him a look. One he correctly interprets as it wasn’t a request and heads to the bar, muttering under his breath.
“I see he’s still a shameless flirt,” Summer observes, watching him go. Then her attention settles back on me.
And fuck, I like her eyes on me.
“Ignore him,” I say. “That’s just how he is.”
Summer pulls her phone out of her back pocket. She glances at the screen, frowns slightly, then flips it face-down on the table behind me.
“Sorry, what were we—”
It buzzes again.
“You should get it,” I tell her.
“It’s fine, I’ll call Kendra—”
Another buzz.
Summer huffs a laugh, cheeks flushing. “Okay. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.”
She grabs her phone and her jacket with an apologetic smile before heading toward the exit.
I watch her leave, pushing through the door into the cold, shoulders hunched against the wind, phone already pressed to her ear.
I still can’t look away when Volk mutters, “You’re fucked, King,” from beside me. When I turn, he’s holding out a fresh beer.
“What?”
He doesn’t elaborate. Just takes a slow drink.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, but who am I kidding?
“Yes, you do.”
Fox leans across the table. “What are we talking about?”
“Nothing,” I blurt, and thankfully, Volk stays quiet, turning his attention to the game on the TV above the bar.
You’re fucked.
He’s right. I know he’s right.
Every minute I spend with Summer, every smile, every laugh, every moment like this, where she seamlessly becomes part of my world—it’s all just making it harder.
Because in 140 days, she’ll be gone.
And I won’t ask her to stay.
I drain the rest of my beer and signal the server for water.
Through the window, Summer paces, one arm wrapped around herself. Even from here, I can tell something’s happening. The way she’s moving. The energy in her posture.
Good news or bad news, I can’t tell.
But seeing her out there feels like looking at the future. Her chasing her dreams. Me watching from a distance.
Volk is right.
I’m fucked.