Summer People

by Brittanee Nicole

“Fisher?” Wilder’s voice brings me back to the moment. And the brewery. “I’m seriously worried about your teeth.” “My teeth?” My best friend throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, you’re grinding them to dust.”

“I made a deal with Rip—every time someone dies, I get their mug. I’m moving up in life, man.”

pilot. Despite what he thinks, I don’t need his help. So I stomp down to the basement, ignoring the corners where spiders are sure to lurk, and do what I’ve seen Fisher do five times this week. The knowledge that I solved the problem myself makes the warm shower I take a half hour later feel that much more luxurious.

that can't be good

“People on the mainland are a bit ridiculous.” Head tilted, she purses her lips. “But there’s a lot more to do there too.” “We’ve got goats,” Fisher says, his lips twitching.

“You feed the birds every day.” She throws her hands up with a huff. “I know, and yet instead of leaving when they’re satisfied, they keep begging for more.” My eye twitches. Is she fucking with me? By the way she frowns and shrugs helplessly, I don’t think so. Crossing my arms, I rock back on my heels. “I don’t think you understand birds.” “That’s definitely true.”

“Why are you always carrying me?” she huffs. “Because someone needs to take care of you.” And I’ll be damned if it’s anyone but me.

I try to be nice, and they gang up on me.

To my utter surprise, Amazon delivers all the way out here, twelve miles from shore.

oh you sweet summer child

“I’m not driving that pink-mobile.” “You did earlier,” she points out. “That was different. Libby needed a lesson.” That response is met with matching eye rolls. Instead of replying, Libby just heads inside calling “I’ll get the keys” over her shoulder. “I said no,” I bark through the screen door. “I’ll move the blanket and stuff from the truck.” Sutton hops off the porch and darts for her dad’s truck. “But I said no,” I call again. Ten minutes later, I pull up to the stretch of grass the town calls a park and drop the girls off. “You go park Putt-Putt. We’ll find the perfect spot.”

Though he found his second wind when the music started. The man seriously had me dancing nearly half the night. Every time someone suggested he take a break and asked to dance with me—mainly Wilder—Fisher’s eyes narrowed, and I swear little darts shot straight out of his pupils. He must really like dancing.

“Crushes? You think I have a crush on you?” He licks his lips and his jaw ticks. “Twelve year olds have crushes, they want to hold hands and go to the movies. I don’t want to just hold your hand. I want my hand wrapped around your throat while I devour you. The thought of anything happening to you makes me physically ill and the need to touch you whenever you’re in the vicinity has my knuckles white from fisting them at my sides. So no, this isn’t a fucking crush.”

“Fucking hell, woman. Come here.” He cuffs my neck and pulls me all the way to his mouth. And finally, freaking finally, Fisher kisses me.

“Please,” I beg, the word a shattered piece of me. He cups my cheek, and I turn my head into his hand, kissing his palm. “Please, Fisher.” “For you, the answer is always yes.”

Chin lifted, I drink him in, getting lost in the dark pools he’s got fixed on me. “You don’t even know what I want.” His lips twitch, and then his smile unfurls. “Doesn’t matter. The answer is always going to be yes.”

Sutton crosses her arm and gives me a look I can only imagine I’ll see a lot more of when she’s a teenager, and shit, is it terrifying.

“And why would anyone do that?” “For your attention.” I bat my eyes, hands clasped in my lap. Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “Would you do that for my attention?” A smile plays at my lips as I lean closer. “I don’t need to. I’ve already got it, don’t I?” He reaches across the console and slides his hand into mine. “Every bit of it, Princess. Every damn bit of it.”

“So are we still going with that spider story, or are you ready to admit you’re dating now?” Sutton says from the back.

“Please don’t make me sleep over there,” Sutton murmurs from the back seat. I tense at her words, and my hackles rise at the discomfort in her tone. As a child, I uttered those words on more than one occasion, yet no one listened. And I had a good reason. The thought makes me sick. Fisher purses his lips like he’s mulling over what she just said. I’m gearing up to go to battle for Sutton, when he says, “Whatever you want, sweet pea.” He meets her gaze in the mirror. She gives him a nod, and he returns the gesture. That’s that. That conversation—that simple moment where he acknowledged her request, respecting her wishes, and didn’t even push her to explain why—has me reeling.

“We should take the boat out. It looks so sad over there, stuck in the grass. Boats need water to be happy.”

Holy hell. Who goes bra shopping and comes home with a freaking boat?

I pull up Spotify and navigate to the Summer People playlist. It’s full of songs that remind me of my time here.

“You needed me,” I whisper into her wet hair. “And if you need me, I always come.”

“So…what the fuck are you still doing here?” I rear back like I’ve been punched in the gut. Once I’ve caught my breath, I drop my head into my hands. “Sutton.” “Is very portable,” he jokes. “She’s what? Sixty pounds? Easy enough to pick up and move anywhere.”

After all, it’s entities like the production company that allow men to continue to do these things. They provide the cover-ups. The money. And they’ll gladly destroy anyone who speaks out against them. They can try to destroy me. I couldn’t give a fuck. Hell, they already did. They used gossip rags to convince the world that I’d had a mental breakdown. They killed off my character and blamed my mind. What they didn’t count on was that I no longer care about that career.

The big moments aren’t what I remember about her. It’s the little ones. The smiling through the pain. The way she always showed up for me. I want to show up for Sutton. And I intend to do it with a smile on my face.