Six Summers to Fall

by C.W. Farnsworth

Time only heals if you acknowledge its passing. Grief has no finite measure.

I’m twenty-seven years old. Long past the point where my family should dictate my life choices. And I know their comments come from a place of love—it’s just heavily disguised by judgment and dismay.

Time around him was memorable—only because of my stupid crush on him. A stupid crush that never fully faded, apparently, because I feel his smile everywhere.

Right as I’m draining the rest of my drink, he speaks. “I’ll go to the wedding with you.”

Up until last night, I hadn’t seen Harper Williams in ten years. Her love life—anything about her life—is none of my damn business. So what if I thought she was hot in high school and she’s gorgeous now? It doesn’t matter that she intrigued me then and fascinates me now.

All my favorite memories of this place—sneaking beers and lazy days on the lake and s’mores and stupid dares—include her.

Something tightens in my chest when our eyes connect. There’s lust, yeah. Harper is gorgeous. Always has been. Freddy Owens bragged about his date with her for weeks while I resisted the urge to punch him in the face and tell him to stay the hell away from her.

I got the strong sense last night and this morning that Harper doesn’t have a whole lot of people in her corner. And I have the unexpected urge to stand there.

“Nothing…happened between us last night, right?” I grin. “You’d remember if it had.”

“I’m dating his future sister-in-law, Harper.” I don’t consider myself a great liar. But there’s no false note in my voice. It’s easy to lie about something you want to be the truth, I guess.

My track record with men is admittedly terrible, but I don’t consider that a character flaw. Just high standards.

“Just shut up and ski, Sunshine.” I raise a brow. “Sunshine?” “Yeah. It’s a reference to your cheerful optimism.”

Impossibly, Harper’s smile brightens. And I somehow just know, the way I know my name and that Dr. Pepper is superior to other sodas and the right second to shoot the puck, that Harper Williams beaming at me while sitting in a canoe is a sight I’ll never forget.

I’m attracted to Harper. I was when we were younger, and it hasn’t changed since. When I offered to come to this wedding as her date/fake boyfriend, I didn’t think this part through. The sleeping in bed together, sharing a small room part.

“Yes, Drew! Fuck me harder, Drew!” The pillow gets whipped off my face and flung onto the bedspread. “What the fuck are you doing?” I hiss. “Yeah, baby. Right there. Oh, yes!” Holy fuck. “Harper!” “I’m reminding them how thin the walls are,” Harper whispers. “Relax, Halifax. I’m making you look good.”

“We could do that for real.” I choke a little on my last bite of muffin. “Do what?” I strive for indifference and land somewhere close, I think. “Have sex.”

“It’s a tragedy, Harper. And tragedies never make any sense. They’re just weights we have to live with.”

“Are you going to kiss me?” I put it right out there, certain we’re both thinking it. “Depends,” he answers. “Depends on what?” “Is it part of this fake date to the wedding thing, or is it just us?” He doesn’t wait for a response, probably because the answer is written all over my face. There’s no one to see this. Whatever we say here—whatever we do—is a secret between us. Drew’s mouth lands on mine, his lips commanding and seeking as his tongue slides inside my mouth.

But I’m thinking everything about that kiss. Because it felt extraordinary, not normal. It felt like a beginning. Like a world-wrecker. Like a final first kiss. And I’ve never, ever thought that before.

I knew we had chemistry. Up until we kissed, I never realized how combustible it was.

But there are moments like this, where I feel like I missed out on something important. That continuing to prioritize hockey over everything else in my life has had a cost higher than any eight-figure salary.

He somehow manages to pierce past the ordinary and the mundane, hitting exactly what I need to hear like an arrow finding the precise center of a target.

“You knew that.” I shake my head. “I didn’t know that. If I had, I would have…” “You would have what?” Drew takes a step this time. The distance between us has shrunk down to inches. “I would have done this,” I whisper. And then I kiss him. It’s a match tossed on gasoline. Water hitting a live wire. Lightning splitting the sky in half.

“I didn’t want to have my wedding here when Theo first suggested it. And then, the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a way to include Dad. That’s why I’m getting married here, not because it was convenient or because I didn’t care about the history here. Did you ever even consider that?”

Drew is steady. Safe. Qualities I used to think were boring but suddenly consider fascinating.

More than anyone else I’ve encountered in my life, Drew seems to get me. Improbably. On paper, we have little in common. He has two loving parents; I rarely speak to my mother or sister without it devolving into an argument. He’s a famous athlete; I take meeting notes and fetch coffee. He’s easygoing; I’m grumpy. But right now, we just feel like Drew and Harper. We make sense.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he tells me, like the gentleman I don’t want him to be. “I want to do everything,” I reply.

We kiss and kiss. Desperate, slow, and everything in between. I can’t remember the last time I kissed someone like this. There might not have been a last time. It’s languid and unhurried. Searching and focused. Usually, kissing is just a cursory step on the way to more satisfying contact. But that’s all Drew and I do—we kiss. Tongues tangling. Hands wandering. Time slowing.

“She wants to go bang her hot boyfriend, Claire,” Savannah announces. Loudly. “Let her go do it at a reasonable hour.”

I’m not sure if this will be more than a onetime thing. I don’t think Harper is looking for a relationship, and I’m not in a great position to offer her one.

“I can see your tits through your shirt.” The left corner of her mouth hikes up. “Didn’t think you’d be a dirty talker, Halifax. Too respectful and restrained.”

I can’t explain why everything feels different. I just know that it does. That as desperate as I am to pull the rest of her clothes off and push inside of her, I’m also eager to savor everything about this moment.

Something tightens in my chest as she pulses against my hand, urging me on, and I realize it’s for me. That she’s reacting like this for me. And just like that, my restraint thins to nothing. I’m a little wild. A lot reckless.

I’m pretty sure Harper sees herself as a cloud. Drifting and moody and sometimes stormy. But to me, she’s sunshine. Bright, golden, and consuming.

Every time I’ve called her Sunshine, I think Harper has taken it the wrong way. I think she thinks I’m using it ironically rather than how I mean it—like light personified. Hard to ignore or look away from. And baby slips out naturally, like my aversion to it up until now has simply been because I wanted to wait and only use it with her.

If I’ve ruined all other men for her, it will be my proudest accomplishment.

More sex isn’t all I crave from her, though. I also want this. Listening to her hum in the bathroom. Talking to her. Being around her. Soaking up her presence that, no matter what she says, feels like my personal brand of sunshine. I allow myself to consider the possibility that maybe this isn’t a normal thing at all. That this isn’t good chemistry or teenage fantasies or an escape from reality. That maybe it’s a Harper thing. That maybe it won’t wane after I leave. That she’s going to complicate my life in a way I’ve never experienced before, and I don’t even care. That pretending around Harper is this easy because I’m falling for her for real.

“If you wanted me agreeable, you should have woken me up with your tongue.”

Drew replies, putting his hat on backward. Fuck me. I have no idea why it’s hotter than having the brim facing ahead, but it is.

My heart rate quickens as she smiles. It’s a small one. Secretive and knowing. Meant for me, not the rest of the audience.

I’m startled by how clearly I could see us headed in that direction. How the path from here to there could unfold so differently than it did in the past. How sacrifices I resented in the past would look more like opportunities I’d leap at, where Harper is concerned.

When I’m on the ice, it feels like I’m wearing blinders and earplugs. I’m not looking into the crowd or listening to the chirping. I’m focused on one goal—winning—and tune out anything resembling a distraction. For the first time, I feel that way off the ice. I’m aware of the commotion around me—the laughter and the music and the flashes of phones—but I’m entirely focused on Harper.

in a matter of days, she’s managed to mean more to me than any other woman ever has.

And I like Seattle. I like the city, and I like the team. But it’s far away from the people I love.

convenience isn’t a requirement when it comes to love.”

“You’re not excited for the start of the season.” “Of course I am.” “Tell that to your face, son.” I roll my eyes. “I just…I met someone.” It doesn’t feel like enough. Just a meeting or just someone. I more than met her, and Harper isn’t just someone.

“Is it serious?” It shouldn’t be. Who falls in love in a week? Fools. But I think of Harper’s laugh. Her eyes. Her teasing. And there’s a good chance I’m a fool. “Yeah, it’s serious.”

“No excuses, Harper. You lit up around him. I noticed. Theo noticed. Mom noticed. Simon noticed. Everyone noticed. That’s rare. And special. And real.” “He’s Drew Halifax, Ames. There’s a post of him that got ten million likes. His ex sounds like a supermodel. He lives in Seattle. I’m not—we would never work out.” Amelia smiles instead of nodding in agreement. “You’re Harper Williams. He’d be lucky for a shot with you. And I think he knows that, which is why you should fight for him.”

Hearing Harper’s voice is like soothing a chronic ache. I didn’t realize how much I wanted to hear it—how much going without it affected me—until I’m listening to it again and the dull ache of its absence finally eases.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad your date sucked.” “Good. It was your fault.”