Chapter 114
Summer's POV
An hour later, I stood in my room doing a final check of my carry-on. My phone sat on the bed, and I kept glancing at it between folding sweaters and checking that I had enough socks, hoping for a message that didn't come.
My phone buzzed. My heart jumped—but it was just Mia.
"Safe travels, superstar. Kill it in NYC. And text me EVERYTHING about you-know-who when you get settled. ❤️"
I smiled despite the knot in my stomach. "Will do. Miss you already."
No message from Kieran. The silence felt heavier with each passing minute, and even though I could still feel the warmth of that afternoon's rain-soaked promises—his voice saying he wanted the same city, the same future, his hands holding mine like an anchor—part of me couldn't help but wonder if beautiful words spoken in the heat of the moment could survive the cold reality of distance, if what felt so certain yesterday would fade under the weight of two weeks apart and everything that could go wrong in between.
"Summer!" Mom called from downstairs. "The car's here!"
I grabbed my carry-on and took one last look around my room—the piano in the corner, the photos on my bulletin board, the window that looked out over our perfectly manicured lawn—and felt a strange sense of dislocation, like I was already becoming someone different, someone who didn't quite fit in this space anymore.
The black town car idled in the driveway, the driver already loading my suitcase into the trunk. Mom stood by the open rear door, her arms crossed against the evening chill, watching me descend the front steps with an expression that was trying very hard to be encouraging rather than worried.
The drive to Logan took forty minutes through rush hour traffic. Mom kept up a steady stream of conversation, reminding me to text when I landed, to call every night, to not work too hard, to remember to eat properly and get enough sleep. I nodded at all the right moments, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying every conversation with Kieran, every touch, every look that had felt like a secret language only we understood.
The city lights blurred past the car window as we merged onto the highway. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching Boston slide away behind us—the familiar skyline, the buildings I'd known my whole life, everything that felt safe and known. Ahead, somewhere in the gathering darkness, Logan Airport waited, and beyond that, New York, and beyond that, two weeks of uncertainty.
My phone buzzed just as we took the airport exit. My heart stuttered—and this time, when I looked at the screen, I saw his name.
Kieran: Safe flight.
Two words. Simple, almost impersonal. But I stared at them until my vision blurred, until the car slowed for the departures lane and Mom touched my arm gently, because I could read everything he wasn't saying in those two words—the worry, the care, the reluctant affection he'd never quite learned how to express out loud.
I typed back with shaking fingers: Thank you. I'll text when I land.
The response came almost immediately: Okay.
The car pulled up to the terminal. The driver got out to unload my luggage while Mom and I sat for a moment in the back seat, neither of us quite ready to say goodbye.
"Come here," Mom said finally, pulling me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe. "Go prove them all wrong," she whispered against my hair, and I heard the tremor in her voice, the emotion she was trying to keep locked down. "Show them exactly who Summer Hayes is."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, feeling tears prick at the corners of my eyes because this was it, this was really happening—I was leaving, stepping into the unknown, and I had no idea what I'd find on the other side.
"I love you, Mom," I managed, my voice cracking.
"I love you too, baby." She pulled back, cupping my face in her hands, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "Now go. Before I change my mind and drag you home."
I grabbed my carry-on and stepped out of the car, the cold December air hitting me like a slap. The driver had already set my suitcase on the curb. I took the handle, forcing myself not to look back at Mom still sitting in the car, knowing that if I did I'd see her crying and lose my nerve completely.
The automatic doors slid open, swallowing me into the fluorescent brightness of the terminal. I let the crowd carry me forward, toward the check-in counters, toward security, toward the gate, toward New York and everything it represented.
The security line inched forward slowly. I put my phone in the bin, my shoes, my jacket, and walked through the metal detector into the sterile zone beyond, where there was no going back, where the only direction was forward.
I found my gate and settled into one of the hard plastic chairs, my carry-on at my feet, my phone in my hands. The departure board showed my flight on time—boarding in forty-five minutes. Around me, other travelers rushed past, dragging luggage, clutching coffee cups, absorbed in their own journeys.
I pulled out my phone and opened my messages with Kieran, staring at those two words—Safe flight—and felt something warm and painful expand in my ribcage. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, wanting to say something more, something that would bridge the distance already growing between us, but not knowing what words could possibly be enough.
Finally, I typed: I'll miss you.
I hit send before I could second-guess myself, then immediately wanted to take it back, to unsend it, because what if it was too much, what if I was pushing too hard, what if he wasn't ready to hear it?
But it was too late. The message showed as delivered, then read.
The typing indicator appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched those three dots pulse on the screen, waiting for his response, barely breathing.
Finally: I'll miss you too.