Chapter 73
Summer's POV
I must have dozed off, lulled by the bus's rhythm and Kieran's shoulder against mine. When I woke, we'd left the highway behind. Maples and oaks pressed close, their leaves brilliant red and gold.
The bus had quieted. Most students were asleep. Even Mia had dozed off across the aisle.
I turned to check on Kieran. He was awake, his physics notebook open, flipping through notes with methodical precision.
Flip. Pause. Flip.
I watched his fingers—long and scarred, nails bitten short. His right hand barely participated, just anchoring the notebook while his left did all the work. Something about the repetition made my chest tighten.
The sound blurred. My eyelids grew heavy again.
---
When I opened my eyes, I wasn't on the bus anymore.
I was standing in a brownstone on Marlborough Street, sunlight slanting through tall windows. The furniture was expensive—leather sofas, antique side tables. Everything looked perfect. Everything felt hollow.
Kieran sat at his desk, wearing a three-piece suit. His hair was shorter, styled. He was reading financial documents, his expression carefully blank.
I recognized the papers. Hayes & Co. debt settlements. My mother's estate files.
"You don't have to do this," I said. My voice sounded older, tired.
He didn't look up. "It's already done."
Every debt wiped clean overnight. Half his assets transferred to my name. At the bottom, a meticulously detailed will written in his own hand.
If I die, it's all yours.
"I can take care of myself," I tried again.
"I know." He finally met my eyes. "But you shouldn't have to."
The words should have been kind. They weren't. They were a transaction.
He gave me everything I'd lost. Private trainers. Tiffany jewelry. A summer house. But never warmth. We ate at opposite ends of the table. Slept back-to-back. Sometimes went days without speaking.
I'd thought he hated me. That marrying me was revenge for high school, for the way I'd looked through him like he didn't exist.
But watching him sign another check with that perfectly trained left hand, I understood something I'd been too self-absorbed to see before.
This was the only way he knew how to love.
---
The scene shifted. Winter now. Snow fell past the windows. Kieran stood by the fireplace, staring into the flames.
"I'm leaving," I said.
He didn't turn. "Where?"
"Anywhere but here."
Silence. Then, so quietly I almost missed it: "I can't let you go."
"You don't get to decide that."
"I know. But I can't."
Something in his voice stopped me—a crack in the careful control.
"Why did you marry me?" I asked.
He turned. His eyes were the same dark gray, but older, more guarded. "Because I couldn't stand the thought of anyone else having you."
"That's not love, Kieran. That's possession."
"I know." He looked away. "I don't know how to do better."
---
I jerked awake, gasping.
The bus. Kieran beside me, still reading.
Flip. Pause. Flip.
My heart hammered. The dream clung to me like a film. I could still see his face by the fireplace. Still hear his voice: I don't know how to do better.
I turned to look at him. Seventeen years old, lean and tired, wearing a black hoodie instead of a three-piece suit. He looked so young. So unguarded.
My chest ached.
He must have felt me staring. "You okay?"
My throat closed. The dream was still too vivid.
"Summer? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Bad dream."
He studied me, then set his pen down. "Want to talk about it?"
I shook my head. How could I explain? How could I tell him I'd just watched a future where he'd loved me in the only broken way he knew how?
"Okay." He didn't push. "We're almost at the park. Maybe twenty more minutes."
I nodded. Outside, the trees had thickened. We were deep in White Mountain National Forest now.
The bus hit a pothole.
I lurched sideways, my fingers closing around Kieran's left arm. Suddenly I was pressed against his shoulder, my cheek brushing his hoodie.
He went rigid. Completely still.
"Sorry," I gasped, but I couldn't let go.
"It's fine." His voice sounded strangled. "The road's rough."
Another bump. My face ended up buried against his shoulder. He smelled like detergent and something faintly woodsy.
My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could feel it.
"Summer." His voice was lower now. "You okay?"
I pulled back slightly but didn't release his arm. "The bus is shaking."
"I know." He paused. "But you're safe."
The words hit me like a punch. You're safe. The same thing he'd said at Walden Pond before he—
I squeezed my eyes shut.
"Hey." His free hand hovered near my shoulder but didn't touch. "You're really pale."
"I'm fine." I loosened my grip, embarrassed. "I got dizzy."
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't argue. A few students were waking up around us.
"We should—" He cleared his throat. "You should probably sit up. Before people start talking."
Right. I straightened quickly, face burning. My fingers slipped from his arm, and I immediately missed the contact.
But then his hand moved to my waist. I froze.
"What are you—"
"Your seatbelt," he said quietly. "You never put it on."
He leaned across me, reaching for the belt. I held my breath, hyperaware of how close he was. His hair brushed my cheek. His shoulder pressed against my chest.
His fingers found the buckle and pulled it across my lap. The back of his hand grazed my side—right where my ribs met my waist.
I flinched, a surprised laugh catching in my throat.
Kieran froze. His ears went bright red.
"Sorry," he muttered, fumbling with the buckle. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine." My voice came out breathless. "I'm just ticklish there."
He didn't respond. His hands moved quickly, clicking the belt into place. But I could see the flush spreading down his neck.
When he sat back, his fingers lingered on my shoulder for just a second. It felt like a question.
"Keep it on," he said softly. "Until we stop."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.