Somebody Else's Sky (Something in the Way 2)

Whatever she had to say, it wasn’t going to be good. “Goddamn it, Tiffany.”

“Fine.” She studied my face again like it was a math equation. “I think I, like, love you.”

6

Manning

My alone time with Tiffany had just begun, but the damn clock ticked on behind my head. I couldn’t just relax in this fucking place.

“I think I, like, love you.”

I sat, staring dumbly at her, as it sank in. It was the last thing I’d expected her to say. We’d been technically dating over a year. For any other couple, the “I love yous” would’ve been dealt already. “You think what?”

She fidgeted in the silence that followed, looking around the room. She didn’t seem happy about it, just uncomfortable. This was the Tiffany I’d come to know the past year. Her natural response when she was nervous or embarrassed was to lash out, but sometimes, with me, her youth and insecurity surfaced.

“I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even know I did until just now . . .”

“Now?” I asked. Couldn’t she see I was different now? That the reasons to leave had only grown? My early release had been revoked, and I’d seen and done things I didn’t know what to do with. I’d snapped.

She put her elbows on the table and cried again. “You don’t have to say it back,” she said, sniffling. “I just . . .” She peeked through her fingers at me. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and it hurts me. I want to kill that piece of shit Ludwig for—”

“Not the place to make death threats.” I reached out and took her hand. “This is a prison. They might lock you up.”

She offered me a watery little smile. “I’m angry.”

Over the past thirteen months, I’d been plenty angry, but having someone get angry for me, cry for me, express emotions I couldn’t . . . it made my frustration with the system feel justified. “Me too.”

As if that’d flicked on a switch in her, she sat up straighter and inhaled. “Is there anything we can do about him? File a grievance, or maybe even a lawsuit—”

“It’s done. I fucked up, and I paid the price. I’m lucky to be out. Some guys stay in solitary for years, lose their minds. I just want to leave it.”

She nodded and pulled my hand to her chest, and my knuckles brushed the mound of her tits.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I know you’re strong, but are you?”

“I’m horny.”

She half-laughed, half-shuddered, as if she was still forcing back tears. “Seriously? You spent over two months in a room by yourself and that’s what you have to say?”

“What else would I say?”

“I wish we could . . . just a few minutes alone.”

“What, in some trailer with a guard outside the door?”

She shrugged. “I would, if it were allowed.”

“Yeah?” I squirmed in my seat. I wanted to hear her say it. I’d been in my head too much, gone untouched longer than a man should. I needed to know she wasn’t scared to want me. “If what were allowed?”

She blushed a little, a slow smile spreading on her face. “Whatever. You know.” She bit her bottom lip. “A conjugal visit.”

I’d taught her that word her second time here. After what I’d been through, just hearing the word conjugal made me half-hard.

“What happened with that guard?” she asked. My erection died, which was for the best. “Why’d you get into it when you knew you’d lose?”

I didn’t know how to put it into words, and I wasn’t going to risk reliving those moments while I was outside a cage. In solitary, with nothing to do, I couldn’t avoid eventually going down that path, but at least I’d taken it out on the walls instead of a person. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You should,” she pressed.

I squeezed her hand, then released it to lean onto my forearms. “The only thing that’ll help me right now is hearing about you.”

She sighed a little. “Well, I came to tell you good news. I found an apartment.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“It’s a two-bedroom in Costa Mesa.”

I raised my eyebrows. Costa Mesa was still Newport Beach and not so far from the water. “How can you afford that?”

“It was Dad’s idea. He wanted me to stay close to them and work. It’s less than fifteen minutes from Nordstrom.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“I thought about what you said, getting the roommate or moving inland, but I just . . . it’s not me. I can’t not be at the beach.”

“So he’s going to help you out,” I concluded.

“He’s co-signing the lease and he’ll pay part of the rent.” She rushed her words out. “Well, most of it, so I can, like, eat. I’m not sure why he’s doing it. I guess maybe he just wants me out of the house. But I’m not going to say no.” After a breath, she asked, “Are you disappointed? That I’m not doing it on my own?”