11. Summer
Summer
Ipedal fast, leaning into the handlebars, smiling as the sea breeze whips loose strands of hair around my face.
I sigh in contentment as the wind beats against my bare legs, the backpack on my shoulders stuffed with my diner work uniform—traded out the moment my shift ended for the sundress and cardigan I’d packed this morning.
I cut right onto a long, tree-lined road and straighten my spine.
The dappling of cypress leaves creates a forest-green canopy, shielding my skin from the sun.
I balance my weight evenly and release the handlebars, holding my arms out wide as I keep pumping my legs.
When I close my eyes, I can feel the cool steel of my guitar strings plucking against my fingertips.
I’ve just finished work and, in a rare turn of events, I’m eager to get home.
I’m itching to write a new song.
My father is camping with Uncle Phil this weekend. Somewhere central, I think. Who knows. He could be snorting cocaine off a hooker’s ass for three days for all I care—as long as he’s not here.
Seventy-two blissful hours without him. I can play as much music as I want.
I’ve managed to avoid him all week, slipping out before sunrise and returning after dark.
I let Candice know I want to pick up more shifts now that I’ve graduated. Every dollar counts. I’ve been working doubles all week. Until today, when Candice snatched my notepad and pen off me and told me to Go be eighteen.
A small car honks its horn as it swerves around my bike. I take hold of the rubber grips to steer again.
My eyes trail left as I turn onto my street—as they always do—and spot Steele from a distance, jogging down Chase’s front steps onto the footpath.
I haven’t spoken to Chase since that morning, and I wonder if he’s had any sleep.
I catch myself glancing at my sleeves again and chew the corner of my lip.
Aside from dodging my dad, I’ve been avoiding Chase too.
He messaged me after I left, but I didn’t reply.
I tell myself I don’t know why, but I do.
It’s because I want to see him. So badly.
And that terrifies me because he’s leaving and I can’t risk becoming more dependent on him than I already am.
I know that what we have won’t last forever.
It can’t. The second he meets someone smart enough to hang on to him, everything changes.
It’s why I don’t let people in … not all the way.
It’s easier when people only see pieces of me. The fragments I choose. Because if they saw all of it—where I come from, how I live, what my life looks like—they’d run. Or worse, they’d stay out of pity. I’m not sure which hurts more.
I think he was about to kiss me after the party. Selfishly, I was going to let him. Which is stupid and irresponsible.
I’ve never acted on how I feel because I don’t want to drag him down with me. His heart might be my favorite thing about him, but it’s too big.
He’s too loyal. That’s why I never wanted him to find out about my father.
If we started dating, there’s no way he’d leave for college and abandon me here, and I couldn’t live with myself if I was the reason he stayed.
Following him to UCLA isn’t an option—what the hell would I even do in Los Angeles?
Work shitty jobs in between open mic nights and mooch off him while he’s earning millions in the NFL? He deserves so much more than that.
Chase could have anyone he wanted. When he gets to college and meets new girls who have their ducks in a row, he’ll be glad he left.
We’re better off as friends, and I’m better off at a distance. The way it should be.
I need to stick to the plan—detach now so it can’t hurt more than it already does.
I meet Steele’s gaze as he jogs down Chase’s porch steps, veering onto the footpath toward me. I swallow a lump.
I’ve known Steele Hewitt my whole life. Well, known of him.
He was on the football team and voted junior homecoming king.
He never had any issues fitting in or making friends.
His dad is some hot-shot property developer, so he comes from a wealthy, picture-perfect family.
He drives a brand-new car, has been on family vacations to Europe, and lives in the kind of house that belongs in ELLE Décor. He exists in a totally different orbit.
I’d never hold it against him, but people like him look straight through people like me.
We have zero in common. Wherever Steele goes, everyone gravitates toward him.
I get it. He’s a jock, he’s funny, and he’s conventionally good-looking, I guess.
Outside his connection to Addie and Chase, he’s never had any reason to notice me.
I send Steele a tight-lipped smile from afar as I approach my house.
“Summer!” he calls out. I jerk to a stop, dropping my foot to the pavement to steady myself.
He cuts through Chase’s front yard, rushing toward me.
Please don’t ask me about Addie. Please don’t ask me about Addie.
“Hey,” he says, coming to stand before me.
“Hey,” I say, waiting.
He scratches the back of his neck. Are his eyes … wet?
“Uh …,” he starts.
My brows draw together as I search the street for his car. “Steele? Why are you walking?”
“I caught a lift to the beach with Chase.” He blows out a breath. “Has he messaged you yet?”
“What? No. I haven’t checked my phone. I just finished work … why?”
He nods, glancing down at his sneakers.
“Is this … is this about Addie?” I prod. Because she’s ready to castrate you.
“What? No, it’s—” He blinks rapidly.
I falter.
“Steele, is everything okay?”
He shakes his head. This time, when his eyes lift to mine, I recognize a familiar pain reflected in them. A heaviness that matches my heart. “It’s Felicity.”
His tone drains the warmth from the sun on my skin, leaving me drenched in cold.
“Where is he?” I grind out.
“It’s bad, Summer. I tried to help, but I don’t think anything I said made it—”
“Where, Steele?” I urge.
“Inside.”
“Will you be okay?” I ask.
Hesitantly, he jerks his chin in a nod, and I drop my bike to the ground. I break into a sprint. I don’t bother knocking when I reach his door, tearing it open and letting myself in. I fling my backpack off and it falls to the ground with a dull thud.
“Chase!” I call, popping my head into the kitchen and living room. “Chase!”
Nothing.
I take the stairs two at a time. When I burst into his room, I find him curled against his headboard, legs hugged to his chest. My skin warms, but the feeling is quickly snuffed out when he lifts his head and doesn’t react.
“Hey,” I say, my voice gentle. “I bumped into Steele as he was leaving.”
He looked almost as broken as you, I think.
His head drops to his hands.
“Chase,” I say, perching on the edge of the mattress. “Hey. Look at me.”
He drags a hand down his face, his skin ashen and eyes red-rimmed.
I swivel my body so I’m cross-legged in front of him and place both hands over his. “What happened?”
A long pause before he speaks. “It’s my mom.”
My pulse kicks up, but I don’t rush him, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles as I wait.
His chin trembles and his voice is a broken whisper. “She has cancer.”
Cancer. The word impales me.
My hand flies to my mouth. “Oh, Chase,” I whisper.
A gut-wrenching sob jolts his body and I crawl forward, wrapping my arms around him. He buries his face in my neck as his whole body shakes.
An image of my mom flashes in my mind. I recall her pale, skeletal body in that hospital bed.
The smell of disinfectant so strong, I can still taste it.
The monotonous beep of her heart monitor.
No matter how hard I tried to escape it, that sound has followed me everywhere for years.
In my dreams. In my music. In the silence.
Extinguishing any hope of finding peace.
Wherever I go, the grief always finds me.
My fingers weave through his hair as I tighten my hold on him. I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.
I don’t know how long we stay this way. Long enough for his breathing to slow and the tremors to subside. Long enough for the daylight to dip and the air to bite at our exposed skin.
Chase pulls away, wiping his face with his T-shirt. He sits slumped. Defeated. Something cracks in my chest.
“She’s in the hospital. She collapsed at the bakery … Dad told me to stay here, that the doctors have everything under control and I’m not to worry,” he says.
“I’m so sorry,” I croak.
I swallow to smother the sound forcing its way up my throat.
“The doctor said we caught it early. That’s something, right? It has to be something. We still have time,” he rasps, peering up at me through wet lashes.
“Yeah,” I say, my tone hushed. “That’s something.”
“She’s not going to get better,” he says quietly. “The best we can do is hope that it doesn’t worsen quickly.”
I reach forward, pressing my palm to his cheek. “What do you need?”
“My dad is staying with her overnight while she’s being monitored. They’re running more tests,” he says.
I nod, processing. “My father’s away all weekend. Camping.”
He inhales, then whispers, “Will you stay?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Always.”
We lie together for hours, talking until nightfall.
He tells me about Felicity’s low-grade tumor.
It’s slow-growing and manageable, but there is no cure.
They can buy time—years, even—with a combination of radiation, immunotherapy, and regular MRIs to track growth. But Felicity will need help forever.
My heart breaks for him.
I wish I could tell him that it’ll be okay. She’ll push through this, she’s strong. But I can’t. All I heard when my mom got sick were empty promises that shattered me once she was gone.
Stay positive. She can get through this.
Just give the treatment another chance.
I’ll pray for her.
Or my personal favorite: Everything happens for a reason.
Bullshit.
There’s no reason. There’s no greater plan. There are just misery and loss and people who don’t know what to say, so they say the worst possible thing. No combination of letters and syllables will make Felicity better. But that’s not what Chase needs to hear.
All I can do is let him know he doesn’t have to face this alone.
Only when it hits 3:00 a.m. and the tension drains from his body do I slip my phone from my pocket, pull up my playlist, and select a track.
Lead guitar chords float through the room and I drop the phone between us, lifting a hand to comb my fingers through his hair.
“Champagne Supernova,” he says softly.
“Yeah,” I whisper.
He hums. “I love this song.”
I smile. “Me too.”
Finally, his eyes close.