Nicholas stared. “Uh, no. I like Dante and all, but it’s been one day.”
Harvard couldn’t help thinking Aiden would’ve made a sarcastic remark at this point.
As Aiden wasn’t there, Harvard said mildly, “Seems like we all miss our friends.”
The sentence had slipped out without Harvard thinking to apply it to himself, but once he said it he was struck silent, thinking about how much he missed his friend.
At afternoon training, Harvard couldn’t even take pride in how much better Nicholas was doing, or even how much he himself was learning. Aiden wasn’t there, and what should have been a shining experience was ashes without him.
As the sun slid down and dyed the white mountains the color of flame, Harvard didn’t have the heart to spend time with Arune and his new friends or even with his team. He walked into his room and started when he found Aiden already there. Aiden had his hair in a messy bun and was wearing his own Kings Row hoodie with jeans. He was as dressed down as Aiden ever got.
Far more alarmingly, his bags were packed, fencing equipment in one bag, open suitcase showing clothes folded within.
“Hey, Harvard,” Aiden said quietly. “Can we talk?”
“Oh! Yeah, of course.”
He went over to Aiden immediately, without even thinking. Then panic at the thought of getting close hit Harvard like a bird hitting a windowpane. Harvard slammed to a halt and chewed on his lip. Aiden patted the bed beside him. Harvard sat with care on the very edge of Aiden’s bed.
Aiden watched him sit, his mouth twisting. “Right. I wanted to say—sorry, for last night.”
Which part of it? Harvard would have asked… if things had been normal between them. He made it a policy not to let Aiden get away with everything, but things were a long way from normal.
“No big deal,” said Harvard, and watched Aiden’s mouth twist again.
What was he supposed to say? Oh, it’s fine that you kissed another boy to punish me for interfering in your life. Even though it was mean and made me suspect you’re aware I have feelings for you that you don’t return?
No. No way. If Aiden knew, Harvard didn’t want to know.
“You were right,” Aiden continued. “You said if I didn’t stop acting out, there would be real consequences. I’m out of Camp Menton, and I’m out of Kings Row. You probably don’t care, since you’re done believing in me and all, but I thought you should know.”
For a moment, the wash of horror and loss was so profound, Harvard couldn’t see. But then his vision cleared, and he saw Aiden’s face. Once again, he had the strongest, strangest impression that Aiden was suffering.
He couldn’t make it harder for Aiden to go.
He could give Aiden this much truth, at least.
“Hey,” offered Harvard. “I’m so sorry for what I said.”
“For what?” Aiden sounded lost.
“I was mad about the way you’ve been acting lately. I didn’t mean it. I could never stop believing in you, Aiden. I wouldn’t know how. Even if you do leave Kings Row, you’ll still be my best friend.”
Aiden didn’t even seem pleased to hear it. He only nodded, as if he were accepting a truth he was well aware of, wayward locks of hair tumbling down into his eyes. He blinked and looked through the casement window at the darkness over the lemon trees.
“Even if I do leave Kings Row,” Aiden said, “I’ll still be your best friend. If that’s what you want me to be.”
“What do you want, Aiden?” asked Harvard, and saw Aiden startle slightly. “Do you want to leave Kings Row?”
“I think it might be for the best,” said Aiden. “Even if it hurts right now. Like when I had my growth spurt, and I used to get those pains in my legs. Maybe me going will be like growing up.”
So Aiden did want to go. Aiden thought it would be for the best.
Harvard said, “I only want the best for you.”
Aiden burst out, “My father has a yacht in Menton harbor. I’m staying until camp’s over and am holding an after-party on the yacht. Come. If—if you want.”
The memory of yesterday, of watching Aiden kiss someone else with slow, thorough abandon up against a tree, came flooding back. Harvard wasn’t signing up for that again. He really might lose his mind and do something unforgivable.
“Doesn’t really sound like my scene,” said Harvard. “I hope you have fun.”
The strange smile on Aiden’s face made Harvard feel sick. “I’m sure I will.”
And Harvard knew what that meant, but he had no right to be bothered by Aiden messing around with guys. He’d never had the right. It didn’t matter how much he hated the very thought. It would have been massively unfair to Aiden to show that Harvard minded.
“So—we’re okay,” continued Aiden, still in that soft, worn voice. “I didn’t want to leave Kings Row… without us being okay.”
“We’re okay,” said Harvard. “We’re whatever you want.”
Aiden’s mouth twisted for a single sharp moment, then he curled his lips into a smile and scoffed slightly. “Sure.”
“I mean it,” said Harvard. “Come here.”
He’d never been great with words, no matter what Nicholas thought. He wasn’t witty like Aiden or wise like Coach. He’d always reached out, taken comforting hold of his teammates’ shoulders, hugged his mom or his dad so each of them could be sure of the other’s warmth. He’d thrown an arm around Aiden’s shoulders, close and protective and above all else affectionate, a thousand times. Once he had hold of Aiden, the world seemed a better and brighter place. Holding Aiden had been one of his favorite things.
But everything was different now.
He put an arm around Aiden, drew in his body, and instantly realized what a mistake he’d made. What used to feel warm and safe now felt like a lightning strike along Harvard’s spine rather than in the sky. Aiden’s eyes met his own, startled, eyes gone wide and lashes flickering, almost as though he was afraid. They were both leaning into each other already, and both turned their heads slightly, and their lips met. Almost by accident.
The kiss was gentle as light on water, and it felt like light itself turned solid, radiance becoming something Harvard could touch.
Nearly as soon as it began, Harvard jerked back. “Sorry!”
It was his fault. He was the one who had screwed up their friendship, and who couldn’t seem to make it right. And now he was running out of chances.
“I—no, I’m sorry,” muttered Aiden, to whom kisses meant nothing, who might have just been offering out of pity what Harvard so obviously and pathetically wanted. Harvard didn’t want to hear it.
“You know what?” Harvard said. “Nobody needs to be sorry. Nothing happened.”
Aiden offered Harvard a strained smile. “Right. Nothing.”
The two separated and silently got ready for bed. Harvard tried to put the kiss out of his mind, but it swam to the front of his brain as he lay in the dark. Nothing happened, he repeated to himself once again. Harvard couldn’t sleep, because he kept thinking about what hadn’t happened.
He’d never been the one who had trouble sleeping before.