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
