“Thanks,” he gasps.
“C-can’t let my favorite quarterback drown,” I sputter through numb lips. “Who else would I steal fries from?”
Volunteers swarm us with towels and thermal blankets. Someone shoves a cup of hot chocolate into my hands, and I nearly cry at the warmth seeping through the paper cup.
Gerard has wrapped himself in approximately seven blankets and is still shivering violently. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced,” he announces. “And I once tried to do a split and pulled my groin.”
“How long did it take to heal?” Nathan asks, huddled next to him.
“Ten days,” Gerard says as solemnly as he can when his teeth are clacking together.
Oliver appears, a blanket draped over his shoulders, steam rising from his skin. “Everyone accounted for? Nobody died?”
“Kyle’s still in the water,” someone reports.
We all turn to look. Sure enough, our menacing goalie is standing exactly where we left him, waist-deep, arms crossed, glaring at the ocean like he’s trying to intimidate it into warming up.
“KYLE!” Oliver bellows. “GET OUT OF THERE!”
“I’M CONTEMPLATING MY LIFE CHOICES!”
“CONTEMPLATE THEM ON LAND!”
With the world’s heaviest sigh, Kyle finally trudges toward shore.
Jackson and I find a spot near my truck, where Ryan and Elliot have set up a makeshift warming station. Alex is handing out hand warmers like they’re candy.
“That was insane,” Jackson says, teeth still chattering. He’s wrapped in a blanket, but his hair is dripping onto his shoulders, and his lips have a distinctly blue tinge. “I can’t believe we did that.”
“I can’t believe I still have all my extremities,” I reply, checking my fingers before guzzling down my hot chocolate.
“Your penis okay?”
I choke on the scalding drink. “What?”
Before he can repeat himself, Ryan appears with additional blankets. “The human body can survive in water that temperature for approximately fifteen minutes before hypothermia sets in,” he informs us. “You were in there for three. Congratulations on not dying.”
“Thanks, Ry-guy. Real comforting.”
Gerard bounds over, somehow already recovered. The man is a furnace, I tell you. “That wasamazing! We should do this every year!”
“Absolutely not,” Kyle growls, finally joining the group. He’s dripping wet and radiating murderous energy. “If anyone suggests this again, I’m transferring schools.”
“But it was for charity!” Gerard protests.
“The children can have my money. They cannot have my will to live.”
The beach is slowly returning to normal. Athletes are getting dressed, volunteers are packing up, and the sorority girls are congratulating everyone on their bravery. The ocean continues its assault on the shore, completely indifferent to the trauma it just inflicted.
Jackson shifts closer to me, our blanket-wrapped shoulders touching. “Hey, Drew?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for doing this with me. It was way more fun with you here.”
The warmth that spreads through my chest has nothing to do with the hot chocolate. “Anytime, Jacky. Someone has to make sure you don’t Leonardo DiCaprio yourself.”
He laughs, and the sound wraps around me like another blanket. I let myself enjoy it—the closeness, the easy comfort between us, the way he still looks beautiful even as an ice sculpture.
