Move the Stars (Something in the Way 3)

I didn’t answer, just started dressing. She’d figure it out soon enough.

Roger was apparently someone Lake had met in class, and they ran lines together all the time. He made a big thing about me coming out of Lake’s room, both of us looking and probably smelling like we’d just fucked. I lasted with Lake’s friends about four seconds until excusing myself to the fire escape for a cigarette. I wanted to meet them, but not while I was this agitated over the little bit of time we had left.

Val followed me outside, climbing out the window. “Can I bum one?”

Years earlier, I’d told her no, but I didn’t want to be the adult here anymore. We were all equals now. I gave her one.

She lit it quickly, took two furious drags, and finally let it rip. “You have some nerve. You’re a fucking asshole. I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

Val had obviously been holding in her feelings about me. Over her shoulder, Lake was watching us. I wasn’t sure if she could see me, but I leaned over and closed the window most of the way so she wouldn’t hear. “This might surprise you,” I told Val, “but I appreciate what you’re doing. I’m glad Lake has had someone here looking out for her.”

“She’s had two someones. Me and Corbin. We picked her up off the ground after you trampled her, and it’s been four years of getting her to be human again. Now you come in here and fuck it all up with that smug expression on your face. You got her fired from her job?”

“Not on purpose. She—”

“Fuck you.”

I scrubbed my jaw, hoping I didn’t look smug at that moment. “I’m not leaving this time.”

“Lake probably believes you, too. Well, guess who’s going to be cleaning up your mess when you don’t come back?”

I smoked down my cigarette, watching her. I was not used to taking this kind of shit. Not at all. If this wasn’t Lake’s best friend, if it wasn’t Val’s way of protecting Lake, I’d have walked away already. Instead I said, “I’m coming back, and you and I will have to be in each other’s lives.”

“I can’t even believe I’m having this conversation with you. Poor Tiffany. I don’t even like her, but poor fucking Tiffany. You screwed Lake over, now you’re going to do the same to her sister.”

“Who’s better for Lake than me?” I asked, my voice louder than I meant it. “Who’s going to take better care of her? Love her more than I do?” I flicked ash over the railing, my face hot. “You don’t know the half of it. Lake’s all that means anything to me. I can tell you without a doubt in my mind that nobody will love, protect, or care for her like I can. I’m the man for her. The only man.”

The night went quiet as we stared at each other. I’d never said anything like that in my life, and it hit me for the first time that it was true. Always in the back of my mind was the fact that I didn’t deserve Lake. But nobody was worthy of her virginity, of her love, so why the fuck not me? I would appreciate it more than anyone else.

“When are you leaving?” she asked.

“I have to go, but I’ll be back.”

“When?”

Now, she was the one who wore the smug expression. She had me, or she thought she did, but she didn’t know that nothing could keep me away very long. “I fly back tomorrow.”

“When will you be back in New York?”

“I’m not sure yet. I—”

“Yeah, thought so. My money’s on never.” Val stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette, gave me the finger, and stumbled back into the living room.

Lake came over quickly, peering out at me, lit from behind like an angel. “What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing, Birdy.”

“What happened? Val looks upset.”

I squatted down to Lake’s level and took her chin between my thumb and knuckle. “All you need to know is that I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “Except to my hotel. Get your bag. We’re leaving.”

15

Lake

The mid-December night was alive with holiday cheer. Manning had wanted to take a cab to the hotel, but I’d insisted we walk. I loved to see the bell-ringing Santa Clauses, steam billowing from manholes—and hot chocolate cups—and the lit Christmas trees and menorahs in people’s windows. Or maybe I just needed time to come to terms with where we were going. Having Manning in my apartment had felt like a dream, but going to a hotel with him evoked the same uneasiness I’d gotten when he’d offered to help me with my rent, as if I was his mistress.

Manning kept his eyes forward. With our elbows linked, the tension in his body was evident. New York wasn’t like Orange County. We passed loud-mouthed street performers, tripped on uneven pavement, and avoided brushing against beady-eyed men. There was something to see everywhere we looked, and though I found it exciting, I wasn’t sure Manning did. To him, more things could go wrong here.