Emma
By the time the night air settled deeper into my skin, my teeth were chattering so hard I thought they might crack. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, but it was no use — I was soaked through, and every gust of wind sliced into me with cold.
Tommy must have noticed, because his arms tightened around me. His voice was soft but firm. "Emma, you can't stay out here like this. You'll freeze."
"I'm fine," I mumbled, though my shaking body betrayed me.
"You're not," he said, meeting my eyes in the dim light. "Let me take you home."
I wanted to argue — the thought of walking back into that house made my stomach twist — but another shiver ripped through me so violently I couldn't speak. All I could do was nod.
He helped me up, draping the blanket over my shoulders and steadying me when my knees wobbled. The walk back felt longer than ever, each step heavy, my mind still spinning from the lake, from the yelling, from the way it had felt to be held so gently in the woods. By the time my house came into view, I was dreaming of nothing more than a steaming hot bath and silence.
But silence was the last thing I got.
The moment we stepped through the door, Mum was on me like a storm. Her eyes were wild, her cheeks flushed, and her words came fast and sharp.
"What on earth were you thinking, Emma? Jumping into the lake like that? You could've drowned! And then running off into the woods — disappearing, with no explanation —" Her gaze flicked to Tommy like he was some kind of contagion. "— and with him of all people. The Whitmore boy."
I shrank back, water still dripping from my clothes, wishing I could vanish. "Mum, please, I just —"
But she didn't let me finish. She never did.
I clenched my fists at my sides, my body aching for warmth, for quiet, for anything other than her sharp voice cutting into me. The humiliation of it — yelling in front of Tommy, after everything tonight — made my eyes burn.
Then the front door opened again, and Dad walked in. He froze when he saw me, saw Tommy, saw Mum mid-rant. His face hardened.
"That's enough," he said, his voice low and final.
"But —" Mum started.
"I said enough," Dad repeated, stepping further into the room. His eyes softened when they landed on me. "She saved a boy's life tonight. Leave it."
The room fell into a heavy silence. Mum pressed her lips together, angry but quiet, retreating to the kitchen with a mutter I didn't catch.
Dad turned to Tommy, giving him a nod of respect I hadn't expected. "Thank you for walking her home."
Tommy shook his head. "She's the one who did the saving, sir."
I wanted to say something, anything, but the weight of the night pressed too heavy on me. I just managed a small smile in Tommy's direction.
He gave me a look that made my chest ache — warm, lingering, like he didn't want to leave — then nodded once more and slipped out the door.
As it closed behind him, I felt the exhaustion crash over me. All I wanted was hot water, quiet, and the chance to let my mind wander back to the only part of tonight that had felt right: his arms around me in the woods.
Tommy
By the time I walked back through our front door, the firelight from the bonfire was nothing more than a dull glow against the windows. My clothes smelled faintly of smoke, my hair still damp from the mist off the lake. I didn't even make it past the entryway before Mother's voice cut through the air.
"Where have you been?"
She was standing in the sitting room, arms folded tight across her chest, lips pressed so thin they barely looked real. Behind her, I could hear Alex splashing in the bath upstairs, and Jack whistling low, clearly enjoying the fallout he'd caused earlier with his teasing.
"I went for a walk," I said quickly.
Mother's eyes narrowed. "A walk. After your brother nearly drowned? While guests were still leaving? Do you have any idea how thoughtless that looks?"
I bit back the words I wanted to say — that maybe if any of them knew how to swim, Alex wouldn't have been in danger at all, and Emma wouldn't have had to save him. But saying her name would've only made things worse. So I just shrugged.
"It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't," she snapped. "You cannot afford to be careless, Thomas. People watch this family. They expect more."
Her words slid over me like cold water, ones I'd heard in one form or another my entire life. But tonight, instead of settling in, they bristled. My jaw clenched, my fists tightening at my sides.
Father appeared in the doorway to his study, his expression unreadable. He didn't raise his voice — he never needed to. His presence alone was enough to quiet the house.
"That's enough," he told Mother.
Her head whipped toward him. "He disappeared for hours —"
"Leave him," Father said, firmer this time. His eyes turned to me, sharp and assessing, like he could see straight through me. "You'll do better tomorrow, won't you, Thomas?"
"Yes, sir," I answered automatically.
He gave a curt nod, then disappeared back into his study without another word. The heavy door shut behind him, leaving only silence and the faint hum of Alex's chatter upstairs.
Mother stared at me for a long moment, disappointment etched across her face. Then she shook her head, muttering something about wasted potential, and swept up the stairs.
I stood there in the quiet entryway, my pulse still racing. I should've felt guilty. Ashamed. Instead, all I could think about was Emma — her trembling hands, her wet hair plastered to her cheeks, the way she'd looked at me when I'd wrapped the blanket around her.
For once, I didn't care about the lectures, or the expectations, or the way Father's eyes seemed to weigh every choice I made. I cared only about her. And that terrified me more than anything.