What would happen to Finn when he realized I wasn’t coming back up? How could it be that we would never see each other again? There was so much more to talk about. Things to figure out and fights to have. I wasn’t ready to die yet.

A hand closed around my wrist, yanking me up to the surface. Before I could so much as blink in surprise, my face cleared the water. Finn took a deep gulping breath, then disappeared below the ocean.

“Finn!” I screamed, paddling around in a frantic circle. “Finn!”

Nothing. He was gone.

I took a deep breath and sank under water, but I only just got my head under when someone from behind me yanked me back up. I let out a broken sob and broke free. “No! He’s missing!”

I dove back under the water, but my captor caught my arm again. I swung a fist at him, refusing to be held back when Finn needed help. Refusing to let him die because he’d saved me.

“Jesus, Ginger,” Finn said, shaking me. “I’m right here.” He shook me again. “Carrie, I’m here.”

I stopped fighting and took a deep, ragged breath. He was here. Alive. I burst into tears and threw my arms around his neck. He hugged me tight and kissed my temple, then my cheek. I held my breath, waiting to see if he’d take it further. If he’d kiss me. He seemed to hesitate, his lips hovering near mine. So close I could move just a tiny bit, and we would be touching.

But I held my breath for nothing, because he didn’t move that inch, and neither did I. “Sh. It’s okay. You’re okay. I got you.”

I choked on a sob and hit his shoulder. “I wasn’t worried about me, you idiot.”

“Well, you should have been.” The calming tone he’d been using disappeared and was replaced by the hard, cold tone he’d never used on me before. “Fuck, Carrie. You could’ve died. All because of what?”

“Because of you!” I hit him again, but he didn’t even flinch. “Because you won’t leave me alone! I had to get away.”

He flinched. “Well, from now on, I will. Believe me, I will,” he rasped, his voice breaking on the last word.

He started for the sand. Part of me wanted to continue this fight out here in the ocean, but the other part of me wanted to get him safely to the shore. I had almost lost him. Really lost him. When he’d sunk under the water, I had gone insane with worry. And the way I felt at the mere idea of losing him told me something I should have known already.

I wasn’t over him. I might never be completely over him.

As soon as my feet cleared the hectic rush of the water, he let go of me and dragged his hands down his face. “Jesus.”

“What did you mean out there?” I asked, unable to stop myself. “About leaving me alone?”

He turned to me, his face drawn and ragged looking. “I didn’t know you hated me so much you’d rather die than surf next to me.”

I swallowed hard. That wasn’t it at all. I didn’t hate him. That was the problem. “I can’t surf with you or be your friend. I don’t even want to see you. It hurts too much.”

He paled. “It hurts me too. You have no idea how damn much it hurts because you think this was all a game to me. It wasn’t. And seeing you every day? It kills me.”

I pressed a hand to my heart, the pain he’d sent slicing through it with his words was almost knee buckling. Okay. So maybe he really had cared about me, at one point. But it didn’t change the fact that he’d lied to me. Or the fact that he’d been spying on me for money. For my father. I cared about him too, but nothing could change any of those things…no matter how much I wished it could.

Because I really did.

“Then it’s settled.” My throat was so swollen with pending tears that I could barely speak, let alone breathe. “It’s better if we avoid places we used to hang out. You watch me from a distance as you have been this week, and we don’t come out here anymore. Don’t see each other.”

He cleared his throat. “You won’t see me again. Goodbye.”

Wait. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let him walk away from me. There had to be a way to at least be friends. Or to try. “Finn, I—”

“Don’t. Just don’t.” He shrugged. Actually shrugged, as if he didn’t care at all. “It doesn’t even matter, does it? We didn’t ever stand a chance.”

My throat ached from the tears I held back. The tears I wasn’t sure I could hold back anymore all because I’d gone and fallen for my bodyguard. “Not with all the lies.”

“Right.” He laughed. “It was all a mistake. One huge fucking mistake, but it’s easy to fix. As easy as walking away.” He gave me one last long, hard look, then said, “Goodbye, Carrie.”

“Finn…” I held my hand out, but he’d already turned his back on me.

He walked away, his back stiff and his head held high. The tone in his voice was so…so final. As if he meant what he said, unlike me. And I had a feeling he would be better at sticking to his word than I was too.

I wouldn’t see him again.

Three agonizing weeks later, I sat on a bench, an open technology textbook perched on my knee and a hat pulled low over my head. All part of my incognito spy outfit. That way if she saw me, I wouldn’t be instantly recognizable. It had worked so far. We hadn’t spoken since that day in the water, and she hadn’t looked at me even once.

I’d seen to it.

It was five o’clock, and the soft ocean breeze calmed my otherwise fraught nerves. Soon she would come out. I’d been following her around. Watched her help out at the cancer race. Watched her go to the soup kitchen, even though I stood outside of it now. Watched her give away clothes and food and money—but not once had she done anything fun for herself. She just studied and helped and volunteered.

No fun. No games. Hardly ever any smiles.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think she missed me. But she didn’t.

Carrie came out of the building five minutes earlier than usual, her hair frizzy and her face lowered. Even with her hair sticking up every which way to Sunday, she was the picture of perfection. A breath of fresh air on a hot, smoggy day. I tensed as she walked right past me, but she didn’t even glance my way.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, her steps quickening. Was that a groan I heard? No, I must’ve been imagining things. I stood up, tucking the book into my bag as I shadowed her steps. She walked faster than usual, but had some odd kind of shuffle to her step. Like a supersonic zombie. What was wrong with her?

When she slapped a hand over her mouth and ran for the cover of the bushes that lined either side of the walkway, I got my answer. She was sick. I sprinted after her, my stomach twisting in response to the retching sounds that came from her. Any time someone vomited, I always felt sympathy nausea. Sometimes, that sympathy turned into my own bout of puking my guts up.

So, as a rule, I avoided people who were throwing up, but this was Carrie.

I dropped to my knees at her side, grabbing her hair and holding it back from her face so she wouldn’t get it dirty. She didn’t even bother to look my way or tell me to fuck off. She just kept puking. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, but I tightened my grip on her hair and made sure to breathe through my mouth—not my nose.

Shallow, slow breaths.

“Sh. It’s okay.” With my free hand, I rubbed her back in wide, sweeping circles. “I’ve got you.”

She shuddered, one last gag making its way out of her body before she let her head hang. Not knowing what else to do, I kept rubbing her back and holding her hair. After what seemed like an eternity of sitting by the putrid vomit, she lifted her head. Her blue eyes were hard, but they held a touch of vulnerability to them.

“Go away, Finn,” she mumbled. Swiping a hand across her mouth, she struggled to stand up. “I’m fine.”