48. Summer
Summer
Half the town has come.
But that doesn’t surprise me. Felicity was genuinely and deeply loved by everyone—known for her famous lime soufflé and boundless optimism.
She was a ray of sunshine that found its way to even the most shaded blades of grass. It was impossible not to smile when Flip was in the room. I’m not sure she ever fully understood that about herself—the effect she had on people—which might have been one of the most endearing things about her.
Today’s turnout is a testament to that.
My flight is in four hours. My bags are already in Addie’s car, ready to go. I won’t be attending the wake.
The cemetery sits on a gentle rise above town, looking out over the familiar stretch of coastline.
The path to the gravesite has been lined with white roses.
It’s breathtaking.
I stand slightly back from the main gathering but close enough to be present and hear the service.
Dan is opposite the grave, his palm flat against his chest as if he’s holding his heart inside. My attention shifts to Chase, who stands beside his father in a dark suit.
I’ve only ever seen Chase in a suit once—to senior prom when he was crowned king. His facial hair has grown and purple mars his under eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s slept at all.
Steele is on his other side, his hand resting on Chase’s shoulder, and I’m glad he’s here. Chase needs him today.
Five days have passed since Felicity passed, and it’s taken everything in me not to reach out, not to call or text or show up on their doorstep the way my gut has been screaming at me to do.
I’ve seen Chase, of course, as I was coming and going.
He’s been staying with his father. A couple of times I’ve pulled into my driveway and caught him leaving theirs or looked up from the porch bench to find him crossing the yard, and for a moment the whole world shrinks to just him, moving through the early morning or wading through afternoon light.
Every time our eyes meet, it’s like a scar has been ripped open.
We don’t speak, but we don’t need to. Whenever our gazes lock, something passes between us.
A nod or the faint twitch of our lips. It isn’t heavy, it isn’t charged, it just is.
Like our own silent understanding—close enough to feel but too far to reach.
I don’t think it’s fair to either of us to revisit what we had after ending it.
I’m not sure either of us can bear the emotional weight.
So, I’ve kept myself busy, organizing the house—which I’ve decided to keep—and packing my bags.
I flip my cell over whenever it’s near, so I’m not tempted to check for a message or hit the call button in a moment of weakness.
Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same, I keep telling myself.
Addie loops her arm through mine, and I turn to her with a grateful smile.
The celebrant begins. I don’t take my eyes off Chase. His own are closed tight, the tremble in his hands unmistakable. Steele holds him through it, and the sight turns my gaze misty.
Chase looks like he’s bearing the world on his shoulders. He looks so sad. So defeated.
When he steps forward to speak, the crowd goes completely still.
He has a folded piece of paper in his hands. He glances at it once. Twice. Then he folds it back up and slides it into his jacket pocket.
I turn my head for a second and find Rachel standing at the back of the gathering.
She’s wearing a dark maroon coat, her blond hair pulled off her striking face.
Our eyes meet and hold for a moment, and then the corner of her mouth lifts in the smallest, saddest smile.
I nod back before returning my attention to Chase.
He speaks about his mother and who she was to him. About what she meant to him and his fondest memories. He holds himself together so carefully, only breaking once near the end. It’s a fraction of a catch in his voice, but he finds it in himself to keep going.
Steele’s hand tightens on his elbow.
“You okay?” Addie asks, her voice low.
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
“Do you want to go?”
I shake my head again.
“Okay,” she whispers, clinging to me tighter.
The world is incredibly lucky that Felicity gave us Chase.
Dan doesn’t speak. He’s a shell of himself, and the sight of him fraying at the edges reopens an ache inside me I haven’t felt in years.
The service ends and people begin to move around me, reaching for one another to hold and console, speaking in hushed voices as the crowd makes the slow procession toward the parking lot.
Dan is surrounded by a swarm of townsfolk immediately, and I’m glad for that.
I stay rooted on the spot. I’m not sure I could move even if I wanted to.
As the crowd thins, I watch Chase. He remains graveside long after most people have stepped away from it, his hands shoved into his pockets, his head slightly bowed.
Steele materializes at my and Addie’s side. Addie doesn’t balk. She doesn’t deliver a rehearsed line or reach for something clever.
“Hey,” Steele says finally.
“Hey,” she replies, just as quiet.
Steele turns to me with an expression I’ve only ever seen twice before—once the day I found out Felicity was sick, and again the night of the bonfire when he watched Addie from across the beach. It’s stripped back and genuine.
“You doing okay?” he asks me.
“I should be asking you that.”
He looks at me. “Are you?”
I exhale. “Yeah. I’m okay. Worried about him,” I admit.
He glances at Chase. “He’s getting there. He’s processing.” A brief pause. “You’re leaving today.”
I nod. “In a few hours.”
He nods silently before regarding Addie. “Well, safe travels.”
“Thanks,” Addie replies.
Steele shoots us a tight-lipped smile before rolling his shoulders. He glances at Addie one last time, a look crossing his face that I can’t quite decipher, and then he walks to Chase, placing a hand firmly on his back.
They exchange a few words before Steele claps him on the shoulder and turns to us. He catches my eye and holds it for a second, and what’s in his expression isn’t pity or sympathy or any of the things I might have expected.
It’s encouragement.
Go on, it says. It’s okay.
Then, he tips his chin to Addie one last time before walking away.
Addie watches him go.
“Addie.” My voice is soft.
“Don’t,” she says, feathering a hand over her collarbone. She gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “Go. I’ll meet you back at the car.”
She presses a kiss to my temple and then she’s gone too.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach as I move in Chase’s direction. He turns before I reach him and walks toward me slowly. He stops when there’s just enough space between us.
I close the gap.
God, he’s exhausted.
“Hey,” I say.
His throat muscles work. “Hey.”
Every muscle in his body seems to ease.
“I’m so sorry, Chase.”
He dips his chin. “Thank you for coming.”
I frown. “Of course.”
“When do you leave?”
“This afternoon.”
His gaze falls to the ground before flicking back up. “Good flight?”
“Yeah. Addie organized the jet.” A pause. “Should be fine.”
This isn’t right. We’re two people who have said enormous, irreversible things to each other, standing in the middle of a cemetery making small talk.
Nothing about any of this feels right.
“Chase.” His name tumbles out like a plea.
His nostrils flare, and I can tell he’s trying to hold himself together.
I take a small step forward, unable to stay away any longer. I reach up on my tiptoes and he meets me halfway. My arms wind around his neck as he clutches me close.
The woody scent of his aftershave floods my senses, and I breathe him in, closing my eyes and memorizing this blip.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what happens now.” His voice cracks, splintering my heart.
I could tell him what’s coming. I could map out every emotion he’s about to feel in a neat list and prepare him for each phase.
But that’s not how grief works. Some experiences are meant to be felt, and I hate that for him—more than anything.
I’d take the hurt away if I could—every bit of it—but I can’t.
And even if I could, I’m not sure I should.
“I know,” I whisper into his neck.
“I don’t know how to do any of this without her.”
The admission spears my chest, and I pull him closer. “I know.”
He exhales, long and unsteady, and I feel it move through his whole body. I don’t have the right words. I’m not sure they exist, and I don’t try to find them. I just stay in his arms for as long as he needs and commit every detail, every sensation to the part of me that keeps things safe.
After a long moment, he pulls back to look at me.
My palms slide from his neck to his chest, resting there.
He covers my hand with his, holding it over his heartbeat.
You feel that, yes?
“I meant what I said,” he murmurs. “Every word of it.”
I tense my jaw as tears slip down my cheeks. “I know you did.”
“It doesn’t have an expiration date. I need you to know that. It doesn’t change because of distance or time or—” He chokes up. “It’ll keep being true.”
My chin trembles as I lift a hand to cradle his face. He leans into my touch.
“You should probably go,” he rasps.
I swallow the broken sound that tries to escape me. “Chase—”
“Go, Hayes. I’ll be all right.”
Dropping my hand feels unnatural, like forcing apart two magnets.
“Be seeing you,” I say.
“Look after yourself.” His voice is rough at the edges.
“You too,” I whisper.
I stare into his pools of jade long enough to hope my own convey everything I still can’t quite say aloud. The thing that has stirred in my chest since midnight on the piano bench and hasn’t stilled since.
Then, I turn and walk away through the sea of white roses without looking back.
The path blurs through my tears, and I choke on a sob I’ve been suppressing since I arrived.
Each step is like dragging my heart somewhere it refuses to go.
But I know if I stop, if I turn around and let myself look back even once, I won’t leave.
And I have to leave.
I keep telling myself this is an act of love. That asking him to wait for me is one of the cruelest things. He already did that once, and it cost him. Something inside him soured and turned bitter.
I won’t be the reason it happens again.
So I keep moving.
I don’t entirely know who I am outside of the music and the version of Summer Hayes that exists for other people’s consumption.
I’m not sure who I am or what’s left of me.
I’ve been so focused on forward motion for so long that I never considered questioning whether the direction was right or whether this life I’ve built is the one I want.
I fell into performing because I was running from something else.
What does not performing even look like for me?
Do I ever get to have it?
Who am I?
Somewhere at the end of this new album and tour, I’ll figure out who I am when nobody’s watching.
All we ever did was find each other at our lowest points. A sanctuary in the middle of a storm. And there’s love in that, I know there is. But I’m not sure it’s the whole picture. I’m not sure either of us has ever known the other outside of pain.
Chase has given so much of himself to other people for so long. His mother, this town, me. I wonder what he’ll discover when he finally turns that same care inward. When there’s no one left to tend to but himself and he can see where the current takes him.
I think that’s something he deserves to find out.
I want more than that for us. I want us to be more than that for each other.
So maybe this is what has to happen first. Maybe we both have to go and become the people we’re supposed to be.
Separately. In our own time. On our own terms. Perhaps then—if destiny deems it so—we will find our way back to each other as something whole.
I have to believe a version of that exists.
I have to believe we get to be happy.
But first, I think we have to go and figure out what happy looks like when we’re standing in it alone.
I clutch at my sternum as I walk.
It’s all for you. It has always been all for you.
I press my fingers to the spot, like I can carry the ghost of him with me.
All the way to the car.
All the way to the airport.
All the way to New York.