Tommy
I spotted her before she saw me. She was curled up on the ground, knees tucked tight to her chest, shoulders shaking in the half-dark. My throat tightened at the sight — Emma, who had just leapt into the lake without a second thought to save Alex, sitting alone like she was the one who'd done something wrong.
I held the towel and blanket tighter under my arm, my footsteps careful as I moved closer. Twigs cracked beneath my shoes, and her head jerked up, eyes red and glistening in the faint light that broke through the trees.
"Emma," I said softly, crouching a few feet away.
She turned her face from me, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Go back, Tommy. They'll be looking for you."
"Let them look," I replied, lowering myself onto the ground beside her. The earth was damp and cool, seeping through the knees of my trousers. I spread the blanket across her shoulders before she could protest. "You're freezing."
"I'm fine," she muttered, her voice breaking on the word.
"No, you're not." I pressed the towel gently into her hands. "Here. Dry off, at least."
For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, slowly, she took it, clutching the fabric like it was the only solid thing left to hold onto.
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint crackle of the bonfire far away and the whisper of the lake behind the trees. I wanted to say a hundred things — that she'd been brave, that she'd saved Alex's life, that none of the words our mothers had thrown at her mattered. But the lump in my throat made everything stick.
"I don't understand them," I finally said, my voice low. "You just pulled my brother out of the water. You should've been thanked. You should've been—" I shook my head. "Not treated like that."
Her shoulders hitched, and she gave a small, bitter laugh. "That's how it always is. Doesn't matter what I do."
I reached out without thinking, my hand hovering for a second before I laid it gently against her arm through the blanket. She flinched — not away from me, exactly, just from the weight of it all — and I felt her tremble beneath my touch.
"You matter, Emma," I said, more fiercely than I meant to. "To me. To Alex. To anyone who saw what you did tonight. Don't let them make you believe otherwise."
She finally looked at me then, eyes wide and glistening, lips parted as if she wanted to argue but couldn't find the words.
The sight of her like that — raw, vulnerable, but so strong underneath — made my chest ache.
I swallowed, forcing my voice steady. "I had to find you. I couldn't just let you sit out here alone."
Her breath hitched, and for the first time since the lake, I saw the faintest flicker of a smile ghost across her face. Fragile, but real.
Her smile faltered as quickly as it came, and her chin dipped back toward her knees. I couldn't stand seeing her curl in on herself like that, as though she had to make herself smaller to take up less space in the world.
Without thinking too much about it, I slid closer. The blanket slipped as I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, pulling her carefully against my chest.
She stiffened at first. I held my breath, afraid she'd shove me away. But then, slowly, her body softened, her head resting just beneath my collarbone. The dampness of her hair seeped through my shirt, cool against my skin.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice muffled. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just— he was drowning. I couldn't—"
"Shh." I tightened my arms around her, wishing I could shield her from every cruel word thrown her way. "You didn't cause trouble, Emma. You saved him. Alex is alive because of you. That's all that matters."
She drew in a shaky breath, and I felt it against me, the rise and fall of her chest matching mine. My heart was hammering, too fast, but I forced myself to stay steady for her.
"Sometimes," I went on quietly, "my parents… they care more about appearances than about people. But I don't. Not with you."
Her fingers twisted into the fabric of my shirt, holding on like she wasn't sure she deserved to.
I lowered my head, close enough that I could feel the warmth of her breath against my throat. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you," I murmured. "Brave. Strong. Real."
She tilted her face up then, her eyes wet but searching, as though she was trying to decide if I meant it. I gave her the smallest, nervous smile I could manage — not polished, not practiced, just me.
Her lips parted like she might say something, but instead she let out a soft sigh and leaned back against me.
I held her tighter, pressing my cheek gently against the top of her head. The woods were quiet around us, the distant crackle of the bonfire a faint reminder of the world we'd both left behind.
And in that silence, with her in my arms, I thought — if I could keep her here forever, away from everyone else's judgment, I would.
I felt her breathing even out against me, the sharp edges of her sobs softening with each rise and fall of her chest. The blanket hung loose around us now, but my arms stayed firm, keeping her tucked safe against me.
Her hair was damp and tangled, catching on the buttons of my shirt, but I didn't care. I pressed my cheek lightly to the top of her head and just held her, letting the steady beat of my heart say everything words couldn't.
Every now and then, her fingers would curl tighter into my shirt, like she was testing whether I'd let go. I didn't. I wouldn't.
The woods were still around us, only the faintest rustle of leaves and the far-off hum of the bonfire breaking the quiet. For the first time all night, I felt like the chaos — the shouting, the anger, the expectations — couldn't touch us here.
"Emma," I whispered, not to make her talk, just to remind her I was here. That she wasn't alone.
She didn't answer, not with words. Instead, she let out a small, shuddering sigh and sank deeper against me. It was enough.
I tightened my arms a little more, wrapping her in warmth, in the promise that I'd stay as long as she needed.
And there, in the hush of the woods, I realised it wasn't about what I said, or what I could fix. It was about being the one person who didn't let go.
So I didn't.