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

Taken care of—by me? I barely made enough to put a roof over my own head. With my juice, I went into the living room and shifted the blinds aside to look out the window. Lake sat on the curb of the parking lot, her knees bent up to her chin. Still, at seventeen, her legs were too long for her body. And still, she was perfect. Tiffany was right—Lake had a crush on me, but that would pass. I couldn’t take care of her. I brought nothing to the table for a girl who was on her way up.

Who was I to think I deserved perfection? That I even deserved perfection’s older sister? If Tiffany was talking about the next step, then she was offering me everything a person could want out of life—to love and be loved. A home, a family, and a life I didn’t think I deserved or would ever get.

She did better with me around. She’d gotten her shit semi-together. If I walked away now, she might get off track again and continue to put off school. I’d have to find a new place with no money, no credit, and no car. Living by the beach wasn’t an option, it was too expensive, but I couldn’t leave county lines, so what did that mean? Roommates?

I waited there until Charles pulled up to take Lake home. Once they were gone, I found Tiffany in the ensuite, taking a shower. Leaning my ass on the bathroom counter, I spoke over the sound of the showerhead. “I’m not even sure I want to get married. To anyone.”

The only sound for a few seconds was water beating against the tub floor. “Well, if not, that’s probably something I should know. It’s something I want.”

“Is it, or is it just what you think you should want?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about this,” she said. “Is it so hard to believe I want to find a good man? To take care of him, and let him take care of me? When it happens doesn’t matter, does it?” She opened the shower curtain and stuck just her head out for a kiss. Automatically, I gave it to her. “Do you know what it’d mean to me to call you my husband? Can’t you just picture it—everyone in our lives watching me marry the most handsome, wonderful man I’ve ever known?”

Stripped down and soaking wet, Tiffany looked up at me. It was the second time she’d said she felt taken care of, and not only that, but she thought I was a good man. A wonderful man. I hadn’t realized how much it would affect me to hear her say that. A strange feeling rose in my chest. “You really feel taken care of?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“By me?”

She laughed. “I know our little place isn’t much, and my dad still helps with the rent, but it’s the first thing that’s ever felt like . . . mine. And I wouldn’t have it without you.”

When was the last time I’d done anything good or right for anyone? It had to have been Madison, those nights I’d taken her to the front lawn to distract her from our parents’ blow-out fights. Even when my aunt took me in at fifteen, I couldn’t be the support system she’d needed after losing her niece, and I’d always felt bad about that. But here I was, adding to Tiffany’s life instead of detracting.

“Besides,” Tiffany said before closing the curtain, “money isn’t the only way to take care of a person.”

I knew that, but I hadn’t thought she would. The night of Madison’s death, I’d learned valuable lessons about the importance of family. Not only had I lost my sister, the person I’d loved most in the world, but I’d been betrayed by my parents, too. I might’ve expected it from my dad, but when the officers had asked my mom if I was the one who’d hurt my sister and she’d nodded, I knew I’d never get over that. A good family shouldn’t be taken for granted, and I knew that because I didn’t have one.

Except maybe I did.

17

Manning

Gary sat next to me on the bed of his truck, his legs swinging. He pointed to the ocean and shook his head. “Look at that. You don’t take the first inside wave as a set approaches. You just don’t.”

The guy we were meeting hadn’t shown yet, so we’d backed into a small alley by the pier between beachfront condos and shops. It was a three-minute loading zone, and we’d be unloading—just as soon as the guy got here. In the meantime, Sublime’s 40oz To Freedom played on the car stereo while we watched the ocean.

I followed a surfer down the line with my eyes until he jumped off his board. My gaze kept going and landed on Lake. She and her friends spilled out of a surf shop onto the sidewalk, giggling. She wore a purple scrap of fabric around her torso like an oversized bandana. Two bathing suit straps tied around her neck. She took a pair of sunglasses out of a shopping bag and modeled them for her friends. When she took them off, her hair caught on the arms, but the strands were such fine, spun gold that they just fell back into place.