Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between(52)

They’re not far apart now, maybe half the length of a football field, and in the light of the moon, she can see him stop every few strokes to wave at her, bobbing up and down like some sort of damaged buoy.

This time, when he calls out her name, she can finally hear him.

“Hi,” she yells back, and he spins around to point at something behind him.

“Did you see?”

“I can’t see anything!”

“I did it,” he says breathlessly, splashing over to her. “I actually did it.”

When he’s near enough, Clare reaches out and loops her arms around him, and she can feel his muscles go limp. But he holds on to her waist, and they stay there like that for a long time, both of them too winded to talk as they cling to each other, their legs still moving frantically beneath the surface.

“I love you,” she says softly, and he leans back to look at her. There’s a drop of water hanging from his nose, and his lips look bluish, even in the dark.

“What was that?” he asks with a grin. “I think I might have a little water in my ear. Did you say you dove me?”

She shakes her head, gripping him a little harder. “I love you,” she says again, and as she does, a wave catches them, sending them floating up for a second before dipping them back down again, and it feels like a roller coaster, like a bump in the road, the kind that sends your heart up into your throat, the kind that sets you flying.

Aidan kisses her then, and it’s cold and wet and shivery, but there’s also a heat to it that warms her from the inside out. “I love you, too.”

She can feel him shaking all over now, and she realizes she’s doing the same.

“We should get you back,” she tells him, but he only tightens his hold on her.

“Not yet,” he says quietly. “Just a few more seconds.”

Clare doesn’t argue.

She’s not ready to let go yet, either.

The Gallaghers’ House (Again)

4:48 AM

Even as they tiptoe up the stairs to Aidan’s bedroom, he’s busy reliving the events of the night.

“It was like one of those ring-toss games at a carnival,” he whispers, his face still all lit up. He stops to demonstrate—with a flick of his wrist—the way he’d managed to throw the inner tube over the top of Rusty’s skinny frame after only three tries, as Clare gives him a little nudge to keep him moving forward.

This is possibly the worst place in the world to be recounting the tale: standing on the Gallaghers’ front staircase with his parents asleep just yards away. Their clothes are dripping on the ugly gray carpet of the steps, and Clare’s teeth are still chattering; in the water, the moment the adrenaline had faded into relief, she’d started to shiver and hadn’t stopped since. Everything about her—from her nose to her toes—feels brittle and numb, so when Aidan turns around, she prods him forward again.

“Sweatshirt,” she reminds him.

“Right, sorry,” he says, walking up a few more steps before stopping once more. “It was pretty cool, though, right?”

Clare nods. “Very, very cool.”

In his room, Aidan digs through a pile of clothes at the foot of his bed.

“Harvard or UCLA?” he asks, holding up two oversize hoodies.

“The big question,” she says, then reaches for the blue one with UCLA printed in huge letters across the front.

Aidan smiles. “Good choice.”

“I agree,” Clare says, peeling off her wet dress and practically diving into the fleecy sweatshirt, which comes down nearly to her knees. “Got anything else for me?”

He tosses her a pair of gray sweatpants. And then, for good measure, some woolen mittens, too.

“I know you’re joking,” she says, tugging them on, “but I’m totally wearing them.”

When they’ve both changed, Aidan studies her with amusement. She’s swimming in his sweatshirt, and though she’s rolled up the sweatpants several times, they still drag at the bottom. She claps her mittened hands together with a quiet thump.

“Perfect,” she says. “Now what?”

He considers this for a moment. “Hot chocolate, I think.”

“Brilliant,” she says, and as he walks over to the door, he grabs the hood of her sweatshirt and rucks it up over her head.

“Now it’s perfect,” he says with a grin.

Downstairs, they pull the canister of cocoa and a couple of mugs from the cupboard, then heat up the milk. They do their best to be quiet, skidding around in their socks, being sure to close each cabinet with exaggerated care. When the hot chocolate is ready, they sit at the kitchen table with their hands cupped around it, reveling in the warmth before taking a sip.

“I can’t believe we did that,” Aidan says after a little while.

“You did it,” Clare points out.

“Well, sure,” he says, puffing up with pride again. “I mean, if we’re being really technical about it, I guess I did save the unofficial town mascot, who has been flailing out there for years without anyone else to rescue him.”

Clare hides her smile with her mug. “So modest.”

“But you came after me,” he says, leaning forward on the table. “You forgot all about the rules for a minute. You didn’t think for a second about what an idiotic thing it is to do, jumping into the lake in the middle of the night. You just did it.”