A/N – First of all, thank you SO much for reading this story and being so kind in reviews! It really means a lot, because I absolutely love these characters and really want to do them justice. Second of all, I have decided to retitle the story. It started to bother me that "Lyla's Denial" is such a lame title, plus it doesn't really fit with anything other than the first chapter. (Yeah, guess I'm a little OCD like that.) Hope it doesn't cause any confusion. Now back to the storytelling…

Chapter 3:

It's unbearably hot.

Lyla holds the cold bottle of beer against her bare skin, enjoying what little relief it provides. She is sweating, as is everyone around her. There are far too many bodies occupying one confined space for this type of weather. Not that it's anything unusual. Growing up in Texas, extreme heat is par for the course.

Tonight is as extreme as it gets.

With the school year officially at its end, a summer kickoff party was pretty much a necessity. There aren't many joys in a teenager's life quite like the beginning of summer vacation. And Lyla had to admit, despite the temperature, it felt good to cut loose after working so hard the last few weeks. Not to mention that she would've used any available excuse to get away from her family's current drama.

The music is turned up as the living-room-turned-dance-floor becomes even more overcrowded. Bodies grinding. People shouting. The temperature is rising by the second. It's going to her head.

Lyla moves away from the cluster of gyrating teenagers toward the open patio doors. She steps outside, wishing there was a cool breeze to greet her. No such luck, but at least there is room to breathe.

She leans her back against the wooden railing that overlooks the over-occupied pool below. Dozens of her classmates have opted to jump in with no regard to proper bathing attire. On a night like tonight, that doesn't seem like a bad idea. Lyla is strongly considering doing the same.

Her friend, Melissa, walks by carrying a tray of multi-colored jello shots. "Lyla, there you are! You have to take one before they're all gone."

Lyla shakes her head laughing, "No thanks, I know what you put in there. I'd prefer not to burn a hole in my stomach lining tonight."

"Stop exaggerating." Melissa rolls her eyes, pushing one of the tiny cups into Lyla's hand.

Lyla reluctantly accepts the shot, fully intending to find someone else to pawn it off on as soon as possible. Melissa heads down the stairs to the deck below, passing along a jello shot to a large male figure heading in the opposite direction.

It's Tim Riggins.

He makes eye contact with Lyla as he reaches the top of the stairs and a small smile plays across his lips. For a brief moment she is certain that he will proceed into the house, leaving her with only the slightest flicker of acknowledgement. After all, it was his choice to turn them into little more than acquaintances.

He surprises her by holding the gaze and walking over to stand beside her.

"Hey."

She smiles cautiously up at him, wondering why after all the weeks of silence he would choose tonight to end it. "Hey, yourself."

He leans his back against the railing, mimicking her posture, and uses his jello shot to gesture to hers. "Bottoms up, Garrity."

She considers the probably-toxic-jello-shot for a moment before "clinking" it against his and swallowing it down. She had never liked Melissa's jello shots, which are chock-full of cheap vodka and severely lacking in sugar. She scrunches her face in disgust and uses her beer as a chaser.

Tim chuckles, but doesn't react to the foul taste. "She doesn't really make those right, does she?"

"I could have told you that." She replies dryly.

Lyla takes a moment to study Tim who has his eyes trained on the floorboards beneath their feet. She appreciates his casual demeanor, but has never been one to ignore the proverbial elephant in the room. "So… you're talking to me again, Tim? You done hating me now?"

He looks up from underneath the damp hair that has fell over his face. She wishes he would laugh, make a joke and put her at ease. As much as she wants to address the issue, she also wants to avoid an argument.

He chooses to answer her sincerely. "You know I could never hate you. You know that, right?"

His words hit home for her. She supposes that if he didn't hate her for the past, then there was probably nothing that could ever make him hate her. Not for real, anyway.

His eyes return to the floor as he continues, a hint of frustration in his voice. "I was doing what you asked. Respecting your wishes."

She shakes her head, internally chastising herself. She lets out a deep breath choosing her next words carefully. "I guess that is what you would think. But… I didn't want you to disappear, Tim. I thought we could still be friends."

She wants to cringe at the cliché she just uttered. He simply nods along as if this is exactly what he expected her to say, but his answer is heartfelt. "Always."

His compliance on the issue is bittersweet. On the one hand, Lyla is relieved to know that Tim will accept a place in her life regardless of the label. On the other hand…

She plays with the label on her beer bottle, which has started to peel off. "So, if you wanted to go back to church—I mean, that's fine with me."

He clears his throat. "Yeah, well. That wasn't really my thing."

"I understand." She says. "I don't even know if it's my thing anymore."

She is overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness. Could be the heat. Could be the alcohol. Could be Tim's close proximity. Was probably a mixture of all three.

He sees her sway a bit and grip the railing for support. He instinctively reaches out to steady her. "You alright?"

She is very aware of the feeling of his hand firmly gripping her upper arm. She shrugs it off and raises her now lukewarm bottle of beer to her flushed cheek. "It's the heat. I'm fine."

He is studying her, determining whether or not she is as fine as she claims to be. Any questions he may have had about her church comments were lost in the wake of concern. She gives him a slightly embarrassed smile. "OK, so maybe I should have skipped the shot."

"You were always a lightweight, Garrity." He teases.

"That is so not true," she replies, lightly punching him in the shoulder.

"Yeah, you're right. That's really not true at all. I think you could outdrink all the cheerleaders. Probably a good portion of the football team as well…. You could definitely outdrink Saracen."

They are both laughing now.

All is forgiven. All awkwardness is gone. They are, in fact, the very friends they claim to be.

Tim nods over his shoulder, a devilish gleam appearing in his eyes.

"I think I know just what the doctor ordered."

Lyla turns her attention to the pool below, letting a slow smile spread across her lips. She could simply refuse, but that pool has been beckoning to her all evening. She looks back up at Tim, meeting his eyes in a challenge. "I'm in, if you are."

Tim doesn't hesitate. "Oh, I'm in alright." In one fluid movement he closes in, lifting her over his right shoulder, fireman style. He places his empty beer bottle on the wooden railing as he heads down the stairs. "You asked for it, Garrity."

Lyla is laughing too hard to protest. Nor does she have any desire to do so. As Tim stalks closer to the water, she is relieved that she chose not to wear her favorite cowboy boots tonight.

She expects him to forcefully dunk her into the pool, so she is surprised when he places her down right at the edge. His arm is still around her and he is smiling. "I'm not pushing you, Lyla."

A moment passes between them, one comprised of a lot of history… and sparks.

Tim is still smiling as he removes the warm beer bottle from her clenched hand and places it on a nearby ledge. He turns back to her, holding out his hand in silent invitation.

She takes it willingly.

And they jump.

Together.