Page 161 of Deep End

LUKAS:Yes?

SCARLETT:Congrats on winning your last race in the US.

LUKAS:Thank you, Scarlett.

CHAPTER 62

CAMPUS IS OVERTAKEN BY ATHLETES.

For a couple of days, the diving well—mydiving well—is off-limits to us locals, as divers from other DI schools familiarize themselves with it. It’s a monkey paw situation: I wassoenvious of the swimmers for their tapering holidays, but I find that idleness doesn’t suit me much. I still show up at Avery, for dryland and some light PT.

It’s where I learn that Lukas is back. I see him in one of the offices, talking to the athletics big shots who only show up when we win something, and my heart flutters in my throat. The happiest hummingbird to ever fly.

Later. I’ll text him later. I force myself to leave, remind myself that he’s busy, but while heading to the dining hall, I hear running steps behind me. A hand closes around my upper arm, and he’s there.

I’m bursting, with . . .

It has to be love. It’s expansive and all-consuming and full and joyous. Hungry. Thick. At once heavy and light. Everywhere and golden. It’shimandmeand the myriad of little strings that tangle us together.

I grin, and my happy smile seems to disorient him. He reaches up, brushes my cheek with his thumb, says my name so low, even I can’t hear it. Then he pulls back with a slight frown.

“When did you get back?”

“This morning.” A step closer, towering over me. “We need to talk.”

I frown. “Is she okay? I thought she was with Coach Sima.”

“Who?”

“Pen.”

“This is not about Pen.” His hand is still around my arm. “It’s about you having a concussion and not telling me.”

“How do you know?”

His eyebrow lifts.

“It wasn’t a big deal. I was cleared the following day. And you were splashing around the East Coast. Winning shit. Übermensching.”

“You need to tell me these things.”

“What things?”

“Everything. You need to . . .” He inhales. Looks away, then back to me. “I want to know this stuff.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s aboutyou.”

Another spill of heat. My stomach is made of butterflies. “I’m fine,” I reassure. Grasp his hand lightly, a silent apology, a promise thatI’m safe, and he sighs deeply. Looks down at me.

“We do need to talk, Scarlett.”

We do. Still. “It’s just a bad time. She needs us more than . . .” More than what? More than I need him? More than he needs me? Is it even for me to say?

No, judging from the way his jaw shifts back and forth. He bends down to kiss me, short, hard, like he means to leave an imprint. Little does he know, it’s already there.

“As soon as this is solved,” he warns.

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