Page 51 of The Ripple Effect

“You could do that tome,” he says, his eyes fixed to mine so firmly it feels permanent. “Why does power only count if you take it from someone? Why doesn’t it count if someone gives it to you? Shares it with you?” He gets to his feet, rivulets sluicing off his water-darkened hair. A sharp shiver grips my spine at the way his T-shirt clings to his shoulders, his chest, the curve of his belly over—

I stop the downward slide of my gaze.

“It doesn’t count because if they give it, they could take it back. Theywilltake it back, if I don’t bring what they want to the table.”

“And what if I like what you bring to the table? What if we’re stronger together?”

He’s standing so close, his head tilted down, mine tilted up. I’m hot and cold, desperate to both cool off and steal his heat. I want to drag him to the tent, skip evening chores, and earn every sly comment at breakfast tomorrow—and I want to stay here and push this moment as far as it can go, until he’s looked at every ugly thing about me and not turned away.

“All right. If we’re stronger together, thenyoupushmein the water. It’s only fair.”

He takes a half step backward, face blanching. “No, thanks.”

“Why not?”

He shakes his head. “People get scared when I’m forceful. I’d rather find ways to be kind, even when others aren’t.”

I frown. “So when you’re most generous, that’s when you’re most furious?”

His eyes darken. “Not always.” The yogic breath again, and suddenly I see it: he’s angry too. He hides it so well, I didn’t see it.Nobodysees it. I accused him of having a fake personality, but it wasn’t the weird stuff that was fake.

It was Lyle admitting to every emotion but one, afraid to be angry.

And me denying every emotion but one, angry because I’m afraid.

We need a place where we can be brave, and we need that place to be with each other.

I grab his hand and put it on my body. His thumb brushes the tender skin of my neck, fingers meeting the strap of my sports bra.

“What are you doing?” His breath turns unsteady, his eyes shadowed like the river at dusk—quiet green water not without its secrets and perils.

“Push me in. Believe I won’t run when you’re angry.” I tug his hand over my shoulder, the heel of his palm tucking in below my deltoids. “Trust me to be as strong as you say I am.”

He hesitates.

“Don’t pretend you’re fine, Lyle. You’re furious! You deserve to say it out loud.”

“I’m furious,” he says softly, as if testing the feel of the words in his mouth.

“Hehatedthat idea.”

“He hatedallmy ideas. He ignored me until my research went viral, then tried to stop me from graduating. I want to shatter his goddamn boat with my bare hands. And maybe I…” He takes his hand back, looking at the broad palm, the fingers cocked with angry intention. “Maybe I could. Maybe Iwould. Maybe it’d be exactly like when I was seventeen.”

“Or maybe,” I say, my voice vibrating with urgency, “that was half a lifetime ago. Maybe you’re older, and you can trust yourself to handle it. Trustmeto handle it.”

Our eyes meet, his face full of hope and fear, his lips pinned between his teeth.

I nod.

I’m sure he’s going to push me, but his arms sweep me up instead. And then we’re spinning and falling, together.

His back hits the river first. Displaced water rushes at me from all sides. I come up coughing, chest tight with cold. “What the hell? This was supposed to be only me.”

“No. This was supposed to beus, together.”

I blink gritty-feeling drops out of my eyes, the water blurring my vision. When he saystogether, it doesn’t sound like this is strictly business.

It doesn’t feel like it, either.

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