by Cole McCade
He might run back to Summer.
And he was more afraid of Summer than he was of the washed-out bridge.
Wasn’t that bitter irony.
That soft, sweet puppy of a man...
Terrified Fox beyond all reason.
He closed his eyes, resting his brow to the steering wheel.
Then breathed in deep, slowly pressed his foot down on the gas, and inched forward.
The strength of the current hit him as the Camry edged onto the bridge; the water might look slow, but he could feel it rocking against the car and pushing with a terrible force. Gritting his teeth, he picked up speed, forcing the Camry forward; it was barely more than a hundred yards, just a short hop to the other side, he could make it, he could make it, he just had to remember he was safe inside a two thousand pound vehicle and the water wasn’t touching him and he wouldn’t hyperventilate, black out, lose control...
He had one bad moment as he hit a bump in the concrete on the bridge—and for a moment it felt like the car was about to lift off and float away, pitched over the side and sinking down, down, as water under the wheels left him drifting, skewing. Barely breathing, his lungs caving in, he wrenched the steering wheel, floored the gas, lurched forward. He heard the water sucking up into the engine, heard it coughing, sputtering, but he kept his foot on that gas pedal and made the Camry move, spraying up water to either side of him as he went tumbling in a clumsy skew of tires off the foot of the bridge and onto the highway on the other side.
Right as the engine started choking, grinding, wheezing.
And he barely managed to get free of the waters spilling over the riverbank, hauling the steering wheel to one side, and swerving himself off the road onto the shoulder before the engine died.
Fox just...sat there, staring through the windshield blankly, his heart hammering. For half an instant he thought to check his phone to call for roadside assistance or 911, but of course it was dead. Of course. He let it drop into the cup holder.
Before he let out a broken, raspy “Fuck!” and thudded his forehead against the wheel.
What was he doing?
He could have just...just damned well killed himself, being reckless, acting like some melodramatic asshole because he just...because he just...
Fucking hell.
His eyes were leaking.
And they wouldn’t stop, no matter how he tried, searing past his tight-closed eyelids while he tried to breathe past the adrenaline closing his throat and the rage clotting up inside him.
Rage.
At himself, at...at her.
“Why did you do this to me?” he demanded, gasping out wet, hoarse breaths, clawing his fingers against the wheel. “Why...why is it so hard...why did you get to leave and I had to stay here with this and I can’t even let myself feel anything or I’m terrified I’ll fall apart, and I just... I’m so... I’m so tired of grieving and you left me and now I’m leaving him when I want... I want...”
He didn’t know what he wanted.
That was the worst part.
He didn’t know what he wanted, and he didn’t know how to reach for what he didn’t know.
He just knew he didn’t want to be stuck here on the side of the road in a washed-out car, choking on his own tears after he’d done possibly the most reckless, ill-considered, childish thing of his life.
No...he knew.
He wanted to be back in Omen.
He wanted to be back at Albin Academy.
He wanted to be curled up in bed with Summer, watching the rain fall and listening to him talk about whatever troubles the boys laid at his feet today.
But instead he was alone.
Shaking.
Sobbing.
And only hoping the headlights glowing hot in his rearview mirror from across the river were someone with a truck powerful enough to drag him out of this mess of his own creating, and take him back to Summer.
Take him home.
* * *
Summer couldn’t believe he’d found him.
And there were over a hundred yards of rushing water standing between them, the Mystic completely overrunning its banks and washing out the bridge.
With Fox’s car on the other side, the tail lights glowing red.
He must have stalled out, but...but...
Fuck.
He was right there, and so far out of Summer’s reach.
And if Summer waited, waited until the bridge was passable again, waited until he could cross over to the other side...
Fox would be gone.
Summer just...just knew it.
He stared through the windshield at those tail lights, pressing his lips together, asking himself. Asking himself if he could really risk it. If the Acura would make it through the flooding waters over the bridge without getting swept over the side, or stalling in the middle and leaving him stranded.
He didn’t know what to do, was about to do something so goddamned risky...
When the Camry’s driver’s side door opened, and Fox stepped out into the drenching rain.
He stood there for long, silent moments, and even if he was so far away Summer couldn’t see his expression...
Everything in his body language, miserable and stiff, said he knew.
He recognized Summer’s car.
And he gestured broadly, arms cutting through the rain, his mouth moving, a dark O against his pale face.
Summer couldn’t hear him. And he bolted out of the Acura, stepping out into wind that whistled over him, snapped through his hair, drove the rain into him like needles of ice.
Fox was shouting something.
Shouting across the river, over the storm, and Summer couldn’t quite make out what it was...
But he thought it just might be go back.
No. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. His heart beat sick at the very thought, lurching and colder than the rain sluicing over him could ever be, dark and heavy with dread certainty.
If he turned back now...
He would never know where Fox ran to.
And he knew—
He could call and call and call again, beg, plead, but that phone would never answer, voicemail picking up and then going dead without even a recording, just a click and empty air that might hear him, but Fox never would.
Because Fox was afraid, Summer thought.
Not of dying, not of death, not of anything that might harm his flesh...
...but of anything that could touch a heart that had been shut away so long it had turned as thin and fragile as flower petals shut from the light, translucent and pale and ready to shatter at the slightest touch.
If Fox wanted to run so much, if he really couldn’t stand to let Summer need him, want him, love him...
Summer would let him go.
But not until Fox gave him the chance to at least, first...
Ask.
Ask, beg, plead.
And hope deep down...
That Fox truly wanted to stay at Albin, and stay with him.
There was only one thing for Summer to do.
Hell, the only thing he’d gotten good at when he’d left Omen for Baltimore.
Pushing through the rain, cold sluicing heavily over him, he stripped out of his shirt; it would only weigh him down, and he tossed it by the side of the road as he stepped onto the foot of the bridge, into the first few inches of floodwater.
His stomach constricted, his heart turning over.
He took a deep breath.
And, with Fox’s voice echoing over the storm, calling to him, warding him away, it didn’t matter when that voice was Summer’s siren-song and he couldn’t turn away...
He kicked his shoes off, and dove in.
* * *
Fox was going to kill Summer.
If Summer didn’t kill himself.
What was he doing?
Fox’s heart had nearly jumped out of his chest when he’d recognized Summer’s rental Acura.
Then plummeted as he’d stepped out and tried to warn Summer away from the bridge...
Only for Summer to strip his shirt and shoes off, and go diving right into the water.
Every nightmare Fox had ever had rose up to swamp him, locking his legs in place as ice shot through his veins and in his mind’s eye he saw Summer, beautiful bright Summer, sinking into black water and disappearing forever, no one to hold his hand, to reach for him, no one to save him, no one to—
Stop.
He was breathing in shallow, hyperventilating gasps, but he could still see Summer, and...and...
Summer was still on the bridge.
Holding fast to the railing, forging through with one hand sweeping through the water to drag him along, half-walking, half-swimming but with the railing of the bridge holding him steady to keep the overflow from sweeping him away, powerful movements practiced and sleek and smooth and so very fierce with determination.
Fox tried to find his voice. Tried to cry “Go back!” again before Summer was too far, before it was too late, before he couldn’t turn back—but he could barely manage a croak, standing there in the rain with it dripping down him in waves, frozen in place, his entire body numb as he helplessly watched the man he loved do only the second most reckless thing he had seen in his life.
Please, he begged silently, even if he didn’t know who he was begging at all. He knew Summer was a strong swimmer, had experience, but this was a river in full spate and if Summer was swept away right in front of him, Fox would...would...
...please.
One agonizing second after another... Summer forged on, gasping as harder surges splashed and threatened to swamp over his head, pushing himself up to keep his head above water. But as a particularly hard swell hit, the water slammed into him and lifted him off his feet, jerking his entire body to one side and leaving him holding on fiercely to the bridge rail, while the surge of water tossed him up and down.
And Fox broke.
Mindless, thoughtless, he knew only one thing:
He had to get to Summer before Summer was torn away from him.
And without hesitation, he dove into the icy water on the other side of the bridge, finally finding his voice as he grasped on to the railing.
“Summer!”
Summer’s head jerked up, as he managed to drag his other hand over to tighten his grip on the railing; the surge subsided, his body settling back down through the water to touch down with both feet, and he stared at Fox, before crying out, “Don’t move—Fox, I’m coming!”
He thrashed through the water harder, faster, pushing himself toward Fox, but Fox refused to go back, he had to get to Summer, to see him safe to the other side, even as the water was rising up around him—his thighs, his hips, his waist, his chest, and suddenly he was back in every nightmare, struggling to breathe as the water slapped and frothed around his shoulders, and he couldn’t let go of the railing but he couldn’t move forward either, and he was going to drown, going to—
“Fox.”
One of Summer’s arms wrapped hard around him—and suddenly his heated, wet body pressed against Fox, grounding him, holding him fast with one arm while the other hand stayed tight to the railing, and Fox clutched at him, sucked in several panicky breaths, buried his face in his shoulder.
“Summer, Summer...”
“I’ve got you,” Summer soothed, voice steady despite his panting, walking them forward, their combined weight a bulwark against the water; Fox could barely make his stiff legs move, but somehow he crawled along with Summer, refusing to let go. “It’s all right, Fox. I’m here.”
The waves lashed them, battered them...yet Summer held strong. Strong enough for both of them, Fox realized dimly, as, shaking, they spilled off the bridge onto the other side near his Camry, stumbling out of the water and nearly falling before they caught each other with gripping hands.
Fox wasn’t crying.
He wasn’t.
It was just the rain, he told himself.
Just the rain.
Summer clasped his shoulders, then his face, staring at him. “Fox—Fox, why did you do that? I was coming to you—”
“Why did you do that?” Fox flared, clutching at Summer’s wrists, his chest feeling like it would explode with the rush of fear suddenly built up and bursting out. “I couldn’t let you...what if you’d been...what if you’d...”
Then Summer’s arms were around him again—strong enough to block out the driving rain, warm enough to erase the sucking, icy sensation of waterlogged clothing, while Summer buried his face in Fox’s shoulder.
“I wasn’t. I didn’t,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I’m safe, Fox. I’m here. I’m here with you...if you’ll just...if you’ll just stop running from me.”
“I had to run,” Fox gulped out—and yet somehow his arms moved of their own volition, creeping around Summer, clutching at his back, and suddenly that free-floating feeling was gone, that black drowning sensation, as long as Summer was in his arms. “I can’t... I can’t figure out what I’m doing, I need to just... I’ve been stuck here for so long, stagnating, and if I left I could...”
“Nothing,” Summer said softly. “Leaving Omen didn’t change me, Fox. I didn’t find what I was looking for out there because where you are doesn’t matter. It’s who you are...and you’re not going to find who you are by running. I learned that the hard way. I didn’t find who I wanted to be until I found you...right back in the town I ran away from for all these years.”
Fox lifted his head, stricken, staring at Summer.
He had changed, Fox thought.
Because he was so steady now, so strong, so calm, so certain of himself.
And Fox had changed, too.
Because now he was the one uncertain, fragile, frightened, when before he had tried to make himself so untouchable, so unshakeable.
And he would have to learn to be open to that, to flow with it, to just...reach for something with no certainty that he would ever be able to hold it forever, if he wanted to be with Summer.
“What if I don’t know who I want to be yet?” he whispered. “What if you hate who I become while I try to figure this out?”
“I don’t think that will happen, but there’s only one way to find out.” Summer half-smiled, and still that light of hope burned so bright in him, and Fox didn’t understand how his own thoughtless cruelty hadn’t snuffed it out. “Or you can run, but if you run... I’ll go with you. That’s all I ask. If you have to find yourself somewhere else...let me go with you, so I don’t have to find myself without you.”
“But I...” He shook his head desperately. “I don’t know how to do this, Summer. I don’t know how to live for you.”
“Oh... Fox. You don’t.” Summer’s smile turned so sweet, and he curled a hand against the back of Fox’s neck, drawing him in, their brows resting together, a quiet temple between them creating a warm space free of the rain; a warm space filled with blue eyes that captured and held Fox so deeply. “You live for yourself, and you let me live with you. And it’s hard. I know it’s hard. I know it’s hard, but Fox... Fox, all you have to do is try.” Summer swallowed hard, his voice so thick, so tight, but surely that, too, was just the rain, making wet tracks down his handsome, gentle face. “And if you fail, it’s okay. I’ll fail too. But we’ll fail and fall and help each other back up, and it’ll be okay.” His voice broke on a hitching sound that tore at Fox’s heart. “I just need you to say that you’re willing to try. Try for me.” Tentatively, he brushed rain-slick lips to Fox’s, a feeling like lightning striking. “Try...and stay.”
If only he could make Summer feel the twisting and spiking and shuddering inside him, t
he earthquakes that went through his heart.
If only Summer knew what he was asking.
But...he did, Fox thought as he met those eyes that made him tremble with the fear of this, the fear of the unknown...
...the fear of never knowing what could be.
The fear of losing Summer, which spoke so much louder than the tiny nattering fears of his tired and cracked heart.
Fox darted his tongue over his lips. He’d never been at a loss for words when he chose to speak, and yet this quiet, brave young man who was asking Fox to be brave with him, to risk his heart, managed to somehow leave him fumbling, lost.
“You terrify me, Summer,” he whispered. “And I think...”
Say it, he told himself.
Say those words he’d said to no one in years.
Say those words that could break the chains he’d bound himself in.
He was twisting a knife in his own heart, and begging Summer not to make him bleed.
And, “I think that is why I love you,” he said, a rush, choked and hot and he couldn’t breathe, but he’d said it and now that those words were out he couldn’t stop even when Summer’s eyes widened, even when Summer stared at him with his expression alight. “You break me until I can’t be cold anymore...you make me feel so much, and that frightens me so terribly.” But he couldn’t let go, either, grasping on to Summer with all his strength. “But what frightens me even more is that I trust you. I trust you to take that fear...and make it something better.”
Summer let out one of those soft, sweet laughs of his, those quiet things full of light that seemed as though he couldn’t keep his emotions inside, always letting them out everywhere as if he was putting stars in the heavens, each bright glow made of feelings he couldn’t help but share to illuminate someone else’s way.
“You frighten me too, Fox,” he admitted. “Half of love is fear.” But those strong, warm hands held Fox so close, fingers weaving into the heavy, waterlogged knot of his hair. “The other half is knowing that person cares for you enough to never use that fear against you. You wouldn’t fear me at all if you hadn’t given me the power to hurt your heart.” He smiled shyly. “So all I can do is make sure I never do.”