Summer's Echo

by Robbi Renee

Genres: Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

One summer bound them. One secret divided them. One reunion could change everything.

As teenagers, Summer Knight and Echo Abara spent one unforgettable summer as camp counselors. Beneath sun-soaked days and starry nights, their bond deepened from easy friendship into something more—an unspoken love neither dared confess. Life pulled them in different directions, yet their souls remained tethered by time, distance, and a shared secret.

Neither has forgotten their connection—nor the secret they swore to keep. When a reunion brings them back together, their lives collide once more, stirring long-buried emotions and unanswered questions. Summer and Echo must confront not only their unvoiced feelings but also the burden of their shared secret—one that could shatter everything they believed about their friendship and the summer that shaped them.

Will they find the courage to embrace what's always been between them? Or will the truth they've guarded destroy their second chance?

Publisher: Black Odyssey Media

Print pages: 288

Sample

Chapter One

Summer

October 2019

My childhood church, Holy Trinity, carried whispers of memories in its aged, sacred walls. The countless Sundays I’d spent singing in the choir, watching my grandmother serve on the usher board and my mother work as the church secretary filled my heart with so much joy today. The stained-glass windows etched with biblical scenes casted a colorful pattern of light throughout the sanctuary. Today, it was classic yet romantically decorated for the wedding of my dreams. Guests would be greeted with a grand floral arch, large arrangements of roses, and pictures of the bride and groom scattered throughout the vestibule. Vividly brilliant ruby-red and blush roses beautifully arranged in towering brass vases and ten-arm candelabras framing the altar exuded the perfect ember for an early evening wedding. The stunning ten-foot columns cascading with greenery and sparkling string lights was the focal point where the bride and groom would stand in just a few hours.

My fiancé, Deshawn, and two hundred of our closest family and friends had packed the cathedral waiting for me to saunter down the matching sapphire aisle runner adorned with our initials, S&D, written in a fancy script. The nerves, anticipation, and months of planning to become Mrs. Deshawn Micah Towns were finally over. The wedding was absolutely beautiful. Or at least I contemplated that it was, since I—the bride—wasn’t in attendance. That October day was perfect for a fall wedding, but just not perfect enough for me to marry Deshawn.

My eyes were clouded with tears as I drove down the familiar winding road then pulled my SUV into the mostly empty parking lot of Camp Summit Quest. Sliding the gear into park, I shook my head, dropping it to the steering wheel, stunned by the fact that my wedding was supposed to start in exactly ten minutes, and I was nowhere to be found.

Gazing down at the gorgeous handmade wedding invitation, I read the words: You are cordially invited to the wedding ceremony of Summer Sierra Knight and Deshawn Micah Towns on October 26, 2019, at 5 o’clock in the evening. Yet here I was, sitting in my truck in a place I had frequented from the time I was ten years old until I was a teenager, pondering, Summer, what the hell are you doing, girl?

I peered in the rearview mirror and was disappointed in the reflection staring back at me. Puffy, red eyes slightly concealed by dark-rimmed glasses. Shoulder-length, wavy sewn-in hair I’d stressed over for months before the wedding was pulled into a messy bun. I looked exactly like what I was going through.

The white sweatshirt with Bride bedazzled across the front and matching joggers clung to my curves—a far cry from the Casablanca Bridal gown I’d said yes to a few months ago. The white A-line silhouette wedding gown embellished with delicately beaded lace appliques and Swarovski crystals should be draped over my body right now. The dress was stunning…perfect even. I giggled to myself, considering the oohs and aahs I’d anticipated from my wedding guests at the first sight of me walking down the aisle. I would’ve been a beguiling bride, but…

“Not today. Maybe one day, but not today,” I whispered, my throat tight as the afternoon sun glared through the car window. The constant blaring of my cell phone heightened my misery. Mama, Raqi, Trinity, Brooke. Everybody was calling me, worried, searching for the runaway bride.

Early this morning, the sun had poured through my bedroom window, brightening every corner, but I was already awake to greet it. I couldn’t sleep… Actually, sleep had eluded me for weeks, leaving me restless and lost in my thoughts. My phone had buzzed constantly on the nightstand, each text message delivering well wishes for the big day. I’d let out a quiet sigh, wishing I shared in the merriment. Melancholy was the best way to describe my mood.

Trying to cling to normalcy, I’d brewed my coffee and read my daily devotion just as I always did. I was on autopilot, dressing and packing my bag with calculated movements. Walking to my car, I’d waved at my neighbor across the street just like any other day. I halted when she’d happily muttered, “See you in a few hours, the future Mrs. Towns.” I’d flashed her a closed-mouth fake smile.

Sliding into my car, nervous anxiety clawed at my core, sharp and relentless. I was supposed to be nervous, right? Because it wasn’t just any other day—it was my wedding day. I pulled out of my driveway and stopped at the red light heading out of my subdivision. My phone chimed again with a special tone—Deshawn’s tone.

Shawn: Good morning, babe. You up? Is that attitude any better?

I’d stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard, the frustration from last night still lingering like a dull ache behind my ribs. Instead of actually listening when I’d told him how I was feeling—my worries, my fears, the uncertainty sitting like a stone in my chest, he’d dismissed it all as me just having an attitude. Like I was being dramatic. Like my feelings didn’t matter. I rolled my eyes and tapped out the bare minimum response.

Me:

That was petty of me, but right now, I didn’t care. A few seconds later, his reply popped up.

Shawn: Good. I’ll see you soon.

No I love you. No Are you okay? Not even a hint of concern about why I might have felt off in the first place. Not even, I can’t wait to see you at the altar. Just Good. Our wedding was in just a few hours. This should’ve been the time where I felt excited, giddy, and in love, but instead, all I felt was a growing knot in my stomach. And I couldn’t tell if it was just pre-wedding nerves…or something deeper.

I stared blankly, replaying our simple exchange in my mind, stuck in the moment until the sharp honk of a horn behind me jolted me back to reality. I blinked, shaking off the haze, and pressed the gas, making a left out of my neighborhood onto the main street. The plan was simple: Head across town for my early morning wedding day hair appointment, stick to my schedule, keep the day moving forward. That was the plan. But somewhere along the way, my SUV veered in the opposite direction. I wasn’t even sure when I made the choice—or if it was ever really a choice at all.

The voice of Koryn Hawthorne spilled through the speakers, her soulful melody a quiet guide as I drove directionless in thought but instinctively following a road I knew by heart. Her words about falling, about grace, about God loving us even when we stumbled cut straight through me. My hands tightened on the wheel as tears pooled in my eyes. The lyrics didn’t just touch me. They pierced with fear and a peculiar sense of freedom. And I wasn’t sure which one scared me more.

My phone rang, shattering the moment and bringing me back to reality. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was three-ten—ten minutes past when I was supposed to arrive at the church. A wave of nausea rolled through me as a storm of nerves raged in my gut. Every second that passed was another reminder of what I was about to do—or not do. I couldn’t get dolled up for him, couldn’t fake the joy or force the smiles. I couldn’t walk down that aisle pretending that our relationship was something that it was not. A hallow pain stretched through me as I whispered the truth aloud to no one but myself.

“I can’t marry him.”

Ignoring the constant phone calls, I stepped out of my SUV, checking the surroundings. I seamlessly navigated through the overgrown brush to get to my favorite spot at Camp Summit Quest. The pathway was hidden, tucked just beyond a curtain of overgrown oak trees. Most people would pass it by without a second glance, but not me. It had been my sanctuary every summer as a kid—a place where I could let my imagination run free. But today, it was my escape. My solace from the noise of the world, the pressure of expectations. It was deep into the campgrounds, not frequented by many on a cool fall day.  The old hollowed tree near the end of the path came into view. It hadn’t changed much—moss covered and weathered but still sturdy, and the keeper of so many of my secrets. It offered the ideal place to think, to breathe, to mourn what I’d left behind. Who was I kidding? This was a place for me to hide.

I treaded through the tangled brush until I reached the hidden hilltop—a secret haven overlooking a man-made creek. With every step, my heart sagged a little more, burdened by the thoughts I carried. I inhaled deeply, and without meaning to, the corners of my mouth curved into something resembling a smile. The air up here always smelled like clean, fresh linen and sweet blossoms, lightening my burden, if only for a moment. I dusted off the stump, taking in my surroundings, gazing at the old tree as if it might remember me after all these years. It held pieces of my younger self, sacred stories that disappeared with the whisper of the wind.

A subtle breeze threaded through the trees, causing dry, brittle leaves to crackle. My eyes darted around as if someone could find me in the quiet cocoon of the park. Only one person in my life knew this spot was my secret hideaway, and he lived a thousand miles away, so there was no real threat of being found. I got what I wanted; to be alone with this excruciating pang in my chest. The kind of pain, I imagined, that only came from making a choice I knew would change everything.

5:32 p.m.

The resounding ringing from the phone startled me. My heart plummeted to my feet at the sight of his name on the screen. “Shit. Shawn,” I whispered, releasing the phone from my grasp as if it was suddenly boiling hot. Waiting for the call to go to voicemail, I immediately pressed the message icon to see if he’d left one.

He did. “Baby, where are you? Are you okay? What the fuck, Summer? How could you do this to me?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the stillness, the words catching in my throat. “I’m so sorry.” I kept repeating the words over and over, like I was rehearsing for the inevitable conversation with my fiancé. Deshawn and I had so much to talk about, and we would—soon. But not now. Not today.

“I can’t marry him,” I cried, sharing my secrets again with the wind. My voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper. The words felt like a boulder weighing heavy on my chest every time I said them, as if saying them aloud made the situation more real. Images of the day I’d left behind at the church flooded my mind—my family and friends, the elegantly decorated reception hall, my stunning bridesmaids, and most vivid of all, my loving parents.

“My parents,” I yelped, the realization riddling me like bullets. “Teresa Knight is going to kill me.” The thought of my parents’ reaction—my mother’s disappointment—brought a fresh wave of thunderous sobs. The tears spilled freely, blurring my vision, clouding my lenses just enough for the beauty around me to dissolve into nothing.

“They are going to be so upset,” I mumbled through hiccupping breaths, attempting to quell the tears. All of the time and money they’d spent—gone, just like that. Frustration bubbled up inside me, and I yanked the glasses from my face, tossing them onto a small pile of leaves. What the hell was I even doing here? Alone. On my damn wedding day.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I fussed at only myself.

My brown eyes throbbed, swollen and red from crying. Without my glasses, everything was a blurry mess—a perfect reflection of my own fucked-up emotions. I buried my face in my hands, the burden of my choices pressing down on me with unbearable intensity. The tears didn’t stop, and the pain in my chest felt endless, but beneath the sorrow and guilt, I knew that I’d made the right decision. As if sent by the heavens, a divine kaleidoscope-colored creature—a butterfly—fluttered down and landed softly beside me. It lingered there, delicate and unassuming, as if sensing I needed a friend. I let a faint smile slip through, grateful for its quiet companionship.

My gaze shifted to my phone, its screen glowing with another call from Deshawn. His name flashed a few more times, and with deep sighs, I declined the call…again, and then again.  The silence settled around me, brooding but oddly comforting as if the butterfly’s graceful stillness had absorbed some of my pain.

6:07 p.m.

I shook my head, the thought nagging at me: The happy couple should’ve been man and wife by now. A painful tightness settled in my lungs as I pictured Deshawn standing at the altar in his custom-fit white-and-black striped tuxedo jacket, looking every bit as striking as I knew he would. There was no denying it: Deshawn Towns was fine.

The first time I’d laid eyes on him at a day party in Atlanta during SpelHouse homecoming, I’d literally drooled, mouth hanging open like a fool. His rugged jawline, framed by a slight shadow stubble, added to his allure when he’d flashed me that devastating smile. He was beautiful in a way that made my pulse quicken. Thick and brown-sugar sweet, Deshawn stood six feet tall with broad shoulders and a commanding build wrapped in flawless dark chocolate skin. Delicious, rock-hard, slightly bowed legs pleasantly filled every pair of pants like they were made just for his body. His bold, deep-set, slanted eyes, a shade so deep they nearly mirrored the color of his skin, seemed to hold the best-kept secrets. His low-cut, wavy Caesar always looked fresh from the barbershop. And what can I say about his lips? Soft, full, with an easy curve that triggered my senses into overdrive. But his arms were my favorite. Goodness gracious, those damn arms were sculpted pieces of art. The intricately designed half-sleeve tattoo accentuated the crushingly powerful perfection. That muthafucker was sexy as hell with an air of mystery that had hooked me from the start.

The relationship felt like a whirlwind at first. After that first night in Atlanta, Shawn seamlessly became a fixture in my life. Weekly phone calls quickly turned into daily check-ins, and casual lunch meetings during the week became quiet weekend dinners. He wasn’t much of a romantic, but I found comfort in the simplicity of being around him. On unpredictable, high-stress days, I discovered a deep craving for the steadiness he provided—the basics felt like a refuge. There were no dramatic highs or lows, no surprises, just easy predictability. For Shawn, romance was working dinners in his office or reorganizing his Excel budget spreadsheet while encouraging me to do the same.

After a long-time corporate career as an advertising executive, I’d recently become an entrepreneur, starting my own creative design firm, and Deshawn was an attorney in the general counsel’s office of a large company. When we were not gallivanting to galas or striving to be a power couple professionally, we enjoyed traveling and exploring our mutual love for food and wine. He’d never been married, no children, loved his mama, and did I say fine as hell? The kind of man most women dreamed about. On paper, he was perfect—we were picture perfect. But no matter how flawless he seemed, he wasn’t my dream. He was never my dream. And that was something I couldn’t continue to sweep under the rug.

I let out a harsh exhale through puffy lips, tears burning hot against my skin. My mind swarmed with relentless and overwhelming memories of the man I’d nearly vowed my life to, each one a tangled mix of joy and pain. The good, the bad—each moment played out in my mind like a never-ending reel, refusing to let me find an iota of peace.

“Heffa, you didn’t show up for your wedding… Ain’t no peace for you for the foreseeable future,” I muttered to myself, my voice thick with frustration and self-loathing. But as I sat there, raw and shaken, the question burned inside me: Had I just walked away from my future or saved myself from the inevitable? The truth hurt, but it was my truth—my cross to bear.

7:13 p.m.

Daylight savings was upon us, and the days were slipping away faster than I could catch them. It was already starting to get dark earlier, and the park was no exception. The overhead lamps scattered along the walking trails and parking lot flickered to life, casting a soft glow over the green expanse. The cool breeze brushed against my skin, sharper now than before—chillier than I was prepared for because I had no plan. I had no place to go. My parents would welcome me home, but I wasn’t ready for their questions and disappointing stares. I’m sure my condo was the first place everyone had looked, and Deshawn’s apartment—basically my apartment since I stayed there so much lately—was definitely not an option.

“I could probably go to Hailee’s,” I thought aloud. But even as the words left my lips, I knew that would be a no, too. Hailee Burns, one of my best friends since middle school, would just call our other friends, Brooke Thompson and Trinity Clay, if they weren’t already at her house—and soon, all three of my best friends would be crowded around me, filling my cup like they always did. They wouldn’t judge me, I knew that much, but I wasn’t in the mood for their reassurances or advice. I needed silence, space to just…think…breathe. I owed everyone an explanation. My family. My friends. And most importantly, Deshawn. But at this moment, the only truth I knew for sure was the one that had been circling my mind like a mantra: I can’t marry him.

With a final burst of fiery orange, the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the inky sky. My gaze swept across the picturesque scene, watching nightfall cover the rolling greens like a blanket. The darkness swallowed the distance like the lingering anguish eating me alive. The bushes shook unexpectedly, a quick and frantic rustle that sent a jolt through me. Clutching my chest, my heart raced as I spun around, bracing for the worst. But when I looked, nothing was there. I let out a shaky sigh of relief, forcing myself to reposition and refocus on my current dilemma: Where on earth was I going to go tonight? Checking my phone again, I scrolled through a list of nearby hotels. My fingers trembled from exhaustion and the autumn chill. The heaviness of my decision depleted me. I was drained, both mentally and physically. Sleep was what I needed right now. Tomorrow would be the reckoning, demanding much more from me than I could fathom tonight.

The rustling started again, faint initially, but I ignored it this time, assuming it was just the cool wind stirring the leaves like before. Tired, my body slumped forward, the tension in my shoulders pulling me down as I pressed my palms into my forehead. The sound grew nearer. I pinched the crease between my eyes to quell the merciless pounding beating like a drum.

“Sunshine.”

Surprisingly, I didn’t startle at the familiar sound behind me. I didn’t need to turn around to recognize that voice—the smooth baritone timbre that lived in my dreams, pleasantly haunting me with its unmistakable familiarity.

“What’s good, baby girl? Are you okay?” the voice uttered, hitting me like a wave, crashing over my senses with a combination of recognition and relief. The air was cool, but a warmth coursed through my veins. It was as if time stood still for a moment. My breath caught in my throat, and my eyelids fluttered shut. He lived there. I could see his smile when I closed my eyes. Was this real? Was he here, or was my exhausted mind playing tricks on me?

“E, what are you doing here?”

My expression felt composed, but my breastbone rose and fell in rapid succession, shallow breaths betraying the calm I tried to maintain. The years between us slowly unraveled in my head. With each labored, ragged breath, the memories tumbled over the next like a song stuck on repeat. I was frozen at the mere whisper of my name. The name he gave me. The name reserved only for him. I was never Summer to him, but instead his Sunshine, his Sun, and him? He was mine—Summer’s Echo.

Chapter Two

Echo

October 2019

I stared at Summer, taking in the sight of her red tear-stained eyes, puffy cheeks, and swollen lips. It broke something inside me. But then, there was that smile—the faint curve at the corner of her mouth. That familiar, bittersweet smile sent a chill down my spine, awakening memories I desperately wanted to bury, but they resurrected every time I saw her face—shit, heard the mention of her name. She was here, in the flesh. After years of minimal contact, punctuated by social media stalking and distant updates through friends, I saw her again for the first time last year at a mutual friend’s wedding reception. Her boyfriend—now fiancé—had been glued to her side, a quiet confirmation that the closeness we once shared had long since faded. But here we were. Time had passed, lives had changed, but for just a second, this felt like an old, familiar rhythm. But in reality, nothing was the same. So yeah, Summer’s question was valid. What the hell was I doing here?

When I boarded a red-eye flight to St. Louis last night, I couldn’t believe I was going through with this. Attending Summer Knight’s wedding was exactly what I swore I wouldn’t—shit, I couldn’t—do. The thought of witnessing her promise forever to another man…take another man’s last name felt like a slow death. And yet, this morning, I stood in my childhood bedroom knotting a tie and rehearsing how I’d sit in the church and pretend like my world wasn’t ripping at the seams.

“This is bullshit. Why am I torturing myself?” I’d mumbled, tugging the tie tighter than necessary. Since I was seventeen years old, she’d been mine. My best friend, my confidant, my homie. But life—and the life-altering mistake that changed everything had reshaped us—twisted our paths in ways I never saw coming. The distance between us had grown jagged and unyielding, so vast that now she was about to become somebody else’s wife.

“You look nice,” my sister, Sadie, had whispered from the doorway. I smiled, extending my arms to receive her hug. When I’d arrived last night, the house was quiet. My parents were in Chicago visiting a sick relative, and I didn’t realize Sadie was home. She was the youngest of the Abara family, still living at home while attending college.

“My Sadie. How are you, baby sister?” I’d crooned, excited to see her after almost six months. I lived in Los Angeles, so my trips home were few and far between because my siblings preferred to visit me in the City of Angels.

“I’m good. Surprised to see you here,” she’d said, stepping into my open arms. “I thought you weren’t coming.” She’d raised her eyebrows in question, though her expression showed no genuine shock.

I’d shrugged, forcing a chuckle. “I guess I enjoy torturing myself.”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she’d said softly. “Seeing her take this step may push you to do the same—to find your one true love.”

I stood almost a foot taller than my sister, so I’d peered down at her still wrapped in my arms as she gazed up at me. My dark brown eyes locked on her pretty hazel ones, mirroring our mother’s. My stare was heavy and filled with angst, but I’d smiled then kissed the top of her head. “I already found my one true love,” I’d said, my voice steady and laced with quiet conviction. “One summer in 2004.”

Echo

That One Summer in 2004

I wanted to make a good first impression at Camp Summit Quest, so I made sure my jean shorts were ironed to perfection and my yellow Polo shirt was crisp. My hair was freshly tapered under the Chicago Bears hat, and I was ready—at least on the outside. Two months ago, my father had announced that he’d accepted a professorship at Washington University in St. Louis. I wasn’t just upset—I was pissed. We’d moved three times since I’d started sixth grade, and Chicago was the first place I’d actually called home. I’d been there since freshman year of high school, and the thought of moving the summer before my senior year? Ridiculous.

We’d been in St. Louis for nearly a month, and I was already missing everything about the Windy City—my school, my neighborhood, and most of all, my friends. When we’d first moved to Chicago, I’d told myself I wouldn’t bother making new friends since I figured we’d move again in a year anyway. But after a year, my dad got promoted, my parents bought a house, and for once, I thought we’d finally settle down.

Our old neighborhood was packed with younger kids, so my siblings made friends in no time. It wasn’t until I discovered the neighborhood basketball court that I found my people. That’s where I met my best friend, Marlo Hill. He and a bunch of other guys were always talking about this sleepaway camp called Camp Wildwood Adventures. I thought it sounded a bit childish at first—what teenager still goes to camp? To my surprise, a lot of them did. So, for the past three summers, I’. . .