Move the Stars (Something in the Way 3)

I looked away. He didn’t have to finish. Had I known when I’d made the decision years ago that leaving suddenly would frustrate Manning? Of course I had. At USC, he could place me. Imagine me doing all the things everyone wanted for me. When he wasn’t keeping tabs on me through my parents, he would’ve seen me on a semi-regular basis. Los Angeles wasn’t much of a step beyond Orange County—which was how he’d wanted it. And I relished that I’d been able to take that away from him.

“It makes you what?” I prompted, knowing he wouldn’t finish his sentence. If Manning couldn’t tell me what I’d wanted to hear back then, he certainly wouldn’t now that he was a married man. “Are you happy I left?” I asked. “Does having me gone bring joy to your life?”

His nostrils flared as I provoked him. “You know it drives me fucking insane, Lake.”

My breath caught. Manning didn’t swear in front of me, not ever. It was exactly what I wanted to hear—that after all these years, I was still making him crazy—but his confession brought neither relief nor satisfaction. The truth was, it scared me that I wanted him to suffer, because it meant I wanted him to care. I’d come too far to let him unravel me. He was too much, his black hair trimmed, jaw smooth, face bronzed even though the suit made it seem as though he didn’t work in the sun anymore. I couldn’t tell if he was slightly leaner or slightly taller, but he was as handsome as ever.

I shouldn’t have been thinking any of that about him, the man who’d broken my heart—my sister’s husband. “Well, you’ve seen me.” I stuck my shoes under my arm to get the key from my purse. “So, bye.”

I turned and let myself into my building, trying not to let him see how I fumbled with the lock. Once inside, I let the door shut behind me and hurried up the stairs. I lived on the fifth floor of a pre-war walk-up with intricately carved banisters and crown moldings. Even with Manning’s eye for architecture, I knew all he’d see were the dusty corners, sagging doorjambs, and loose steps. My boots pounded the old, creaky wood. It didn’t matter how many times I’d made this hike, I was still out of breath by the time I reached my floor. The effort shook me and my confidence. I leaned my forehead against the door of my apartment as Manning grew bigger in my mind. For years, I’d imagined how it would feel to see him again, and now that I had, I realized I hadn’t gotten a single thing I’d wanted out of it. No apology, no begging or pleading. It was already over. Not even ten minutes. How could I want to give him any more of my time? He’d had more than he deserved already.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the footsteps until they reached the landing of my apartment. With a deep inhale to steel myself, I looked back at Manning. I should’ve known a locked door wouldn’t stop him from coming up here. I should’ve known when it came to me and my safety, he’d push until he got what he wanted. Back then, I’d thought I’d known how to stand up to him. I’d begged him on a breezy beach one night not to marry her. I’d told him I’d wanted him in the truck, no matter the cost. I’d asked him to choose me. He’d always done what he’d wanted, though.

Manning wasn’t out of breath, just a little stuffy in his suit.

“You look like you have somewhere to be,” I said.

“I came from a breakfast meeting.”

“At eleven on a Sunday?” I jammed my key in the lock, jiggled until it gave, and lifted the door by its handle to get it to open.

“Is it broken?” he asked.

“No, just old.”

“It’s broken. Get the landlord to replace it.”

“It’s not broken,” I said, closing the door on him too hard. My heart raced, desperate for a little more time. A few more words, a few more moments to get to know the man in the hall who looked a bit older, a bit more tired, and still everything I dreamed of on a regular basis. I forced myself to lock the door and step away so I wouldn’t change my mind. He had no right. None. I shouldn’t have even given him the last few minutes.

The handle turned, and with a loud snap, the door creaked opened. Manning filled the doorway. “See?” he said. “Broken.”

I frowned. “Well, now it is.”

We stared at each other, the air between us growing thick. Manning took over the shadowed hallway of my tiny apartment. If I wanted to leave, I’d have to go through him. Touch him. Smell him. Let the foreign wool of his expensive-looking suit scrape against me as I squeezed by him. I recognized the warmth pooling in his chocolate eyes. He looked me over, too, but the restraint he usually had wasn’t there. “It’s freezing in here,” he said. “Don’t you have a heater?”