There wasn’t anything special about Manning’s hotel room—an oversized, stark white bed that hadn’t been slept in for four nights. A luggage stand with his open, organized suitcase next to a closet where he’d hung a garment bag. A desk with a logoed notepad and pen, which sat next to a phone with a flashing red light. “You have messages,” I said.

“I know.” As if remembering his cell phone, he took it out, wiping it on his pants. “Fucking thing got wet.”

He set it on the media console, and it lit up with missed calls from Tiffany. I took off my coat. The melting snow on my pants and in my hair suddenly felt less whimsical and more cold and sticky. “You were right,” I said, looking away from the blinking red light. “I don’t like it here.”

Manning turned me by my shoulders, hugging me to his torso. “I know it’s hard, but I need you to be strong, Lake. We can’t get through this if we aren’t in it a hundred percent.”

I glanced up quickly. By the way my stomach dropped thinking Manning might have doubts, there wasn’t a percent high enough to convey how badly I wanted this. “I’m in,” I promised.

He thumbed the apple of my cheek, then kissed it. “You know why that shade of blue is my favorite? Why I’ve loved it since a warm summer day in 1993? I don’t really have to tell you it’s your eyes. My Lake. You are my favorite color.”

I hugged him back, but I couldn’t help thinking how my eyes were simply a shade darker than my sister’s. Mine were a lake, still and shallow, but hers were the color of the endless, manic ocean.

“You’re shivering,” he said. “Get in the shower. I’ll join you after I check the messages.”

The red light continued to blink at me. It felt personal, like a judgment—as if Manning listening to his messages before showering was equivalent to choosing Tiffany over me.

I went into the bathroom and turned the water on hot, standing under it with my eyes closed. How many times had Tiffany tried to reach Manning over the past few days? Had they spoken when I wasn’t around? He hadn’t mentioned it, but I hadn’t asked, either. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

When I turned, Manning was on the other side of the glass, wrestling his wet clothing off. He had dark circles under his eyes like the night I found him at the sink after a nightmare. He slept soundly with me, or so I’d thought. But maybe he didn’t sleep at all. All week, I’d been able to ignore the fact that Manning had another life, but had he? Of course not. It would’ve been impossible for me to expect him not to think of her at all, my sister, the woman with whom he’d spent day in and day out since I’d last seen him.

“Were the messages from Tiffany?” I asked when he opened the door and stepped in.

“Yeah.”

I swallowed. For my own sanity, I wanted to keep on ignoring what I was doing to Tiffany, but not only was it unfair to her, it was unfair to Manning, too. “What did they say?”

“You want to know?” He ducked to stand under the shower stream. He was so big that he took all the water, and I just stood there dripping.

“I guess.”

“Nothing at all,” he said. “She’s worried because she hasn’t been able to reach me. She wants me to call her.”

“When was the last time you spoke to her?”

“When I arrived,” he admitted quietly. “But not since.”

Tiffany was worried, and she had every right to be. Because of me, her own sister. I’d had her husband for days, and I had to face the truth—she probably knew what was happening here. “How can I do this to her?” I asked. “How can I have already done what I have—and still be doing it?”

The hotel’s bar of soap looked even more miniature in his big hand as he began washing himself. “It’s too late to ask that,” he said, moving to let me have the water back. “It’s already done.”

“Are you going to return her call?”

“I don’t know if I can.” He shook his head. “She sounded tense. If I call her back, and she asks if you’re here, I can’t lie to her. But I won’t end my marriage over the phone.”

I twisted my flea market ring as cold, hard reality wedged itself into what should’ve been a relaxing, steamy shower. “Do you think she knows?”

“She has to. She’s been pouting ever since she found out I might come to New York. She knew years ago that she was hurting you, and she knows now to be worried that I’m here.” He lathered his chest. “I know Tiffany better than anyone, and I’m certain she made a deal with herself a long time ago to ignore my attraction to you. Like me, she thought it could stay hidden.”

“I tried to tell you it couldn’t,” I said, my voice thick. I couldn’t avoid this anymore. Manning and Tiffany had a life together, and it was because of choices he had made. “You spent all those years planning never to be with me. Well, as hard as I tried to move on, to forget you, I never did. I never planned a life without you.”

“I didn’t forget you, Lake. You think I’d be here if I had?”

“How can your mind change so completely in a few days?”

“It didn’t change, and it didn’t take a few days. I always wanted you, but I had to live through not having you for things to become clear. To come here after four years and see that what I feel for you hasn’t fucking lessened at all, to see that maybe I can actually be good for you, I can now admit the truth. You and I should be together, and we can, but you have to face the truth about the situation before I get on that plane tomorrow.”

The truth was that Manning had wholeheartedly believed he would spend his life with Tiffany. And that hurt more than any of this. “You never would’ve married her if you’d had any hope for us.”

“I had no hope,” he confirmed.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. I’d never given up on us. I’d held on to my virginity for him. I’d accepted my diploma with pride, hoping he’d feel the same when he heard. I’d kept the jewelry box he’d made me even though the corners cut into my skin when I clutched it. But the opposite was true for him. He’d given up hope—or maybe he’d never had it at all. “You told me you don’t love her,” I said. “What else do I need to know? Isn’t that enough?”

“Your sister and me—we’ve had our ups and downs, but I don’t think she’ll see the divorce coming. She’s a pro at turning a blind eye. I’m working overtime to cover the remodel on top of a mortgage, which is fucking ridiculous because I could’ve done it myself if I’d had the time, but someone has to pay for it. And even though Tiffany constantly asks me to, I refused to take any more money from your dad after the wedding.”

I forced myself to listen, not because I wanted to know, but because it was clearly important to Manning that I understand what his life was like. “Doesn’t she work?”

“She’s a buyer for Nordstrom, and she’s really great at her job.” He stepped under the stream of water to rinse. “She moved up quickly once she got on the right track.”

For some reason, that took me right back to being in her shadow. She’d always loved to shop, and now she got paid to do it. Well, after all the ways she’d complained about my relationship with Dad, it sounded like a great life she’d built for herself despite me. “Good for her.”

He put the soap down. “She wants a family, though.”

“Tiffany wants a family?” I asked. “I thought she hated kids.”

“People change. She’s twenty-six now. Has it in her head she’s going to have a little girl she can dress up and pose with for Nordstrom’s kids’ catalogue.”

“So she doesn’t actually want a kid. She just wants a way to get more attention.”

He massaged his jaw, watching me. “She started talking about it after the honeymoon. So last year, before I knew I was coming on this trip, I told Tiffany once the remodel was paid off in spring of 2000, we’d start trying for a baby.”

“That’s in a few months.” During my darkest moments over the years, I’d imagined the call from my mom that Tiffany was pregnant, but even then, I hadn’t been able to picture them having a family in anything more than a vague, abstract sense. I could, and had, vividly imagined getting that call, though. Tears built deep in my throat. “You wanted a family with her?” I asked.

“I wanted a family, Lake. When I told her that over a year ago, I knew I’d come to New York when my parole ended. But back then, it never occurred to me that I’d give myself permission to do anything other than check on you.”

We stared at each other. In my mind, Tiffany was still the cavalier teen girl I’d grown up with, giving our parents trouble, talking casually about sex, concerned with only one thing—herself. How was I supposed to reconcile that with the woman Manning described? How was I supposed to face that fact that Tiffany wanted to be a mother, and Manning had wanted that, too—and that they’d been planning to start so soon? I was taking that from them. “I get it,” I said. “What we’re doing is wrong.” In the privacy of our shower, where nobody else heard us, knew us, understood what we’d been through, I said, “But it’s not enough to change my mind. Have you changed yours?”

“I’ve stayed away so long,” he said. “I need you more than anything. Don’t you see how I need you?”

I had eyes; I saw his need plain as day. We were naked in the shower and he’d been hard since he’d stripped down, but I didn’t think that was what he meant. I wanted to be angry for the things I couldn’t fix, to retreat, for a little bit, into the life I’d had before he’d come to New York. The life where I had permission to resent him and bitterly hope he was unhappy. More than that, though, I wanted his hands on me. I couldn’t remember anything ever feeling as good as being touched by him. So I went to him, and as soon as he enveloped me, I cried against his chest. I cried for Tiffany, and for what I was taking from her, and for the fact that even though she and I hadn’t been close in a long time, once Manning told her, I’d lose my sister. For good.

“I’m sorry, Birdy,” he said. “You don’t know how sorry I am. I was blinded by fear, and I made mistakes.”

I looked up at his face, blurred by my tears. It was the second time I’d heard him admit it, and by the way it looked painful for him to swallow, I thought maybe it was the hardest thing of all for him to say—that this was his fault. Stripped down to nothing, with nowhere for either of us to hide, we had to admit the terrible things we’d done, and those we were about to do.

“Do you regret marrying her?” I whispered.

“I regret hurting both of you.” He smoothed his hand over my hairline. “When you asked me what I was thinking about earlier and I said marriage, I was thinking about you, not her. What do you want, Lake?”

Speechless, I stared up at him, the way I had many times since the day I’d met him. He’d towered over me on the street, blocking out everything else, consuming me, captivating me. Tonight was maybe the first time I began to feel like he and I were in this together, like I wasn’t a girl trying to keep up with a man.

Manning sat on the bench of the shower, pulling me to him by my hips. “What do you want?” he repeated, his eyes on mine. “What life do you dream about?”

I dreamed only of him. When the one thing I’d ever wanted hadn’t been within grasp, the details hadn’t mattered. Once I’d left California, I hadn’t really fantasized about marrying him or long walks on the beach or candlelight dinners. I’d just missed him and wanted one more touch, one more look, one more of the shared, private moments we’d done so well. I put my hand on his inky wet hair. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

I wanted him, at any cost. I wanted to make his wish come true and turn him into a father. That was the truth, but I couldn’t force it out of myself, even though he probably needed to know it with what lay ahead of him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not here in this hotel. Not while you’re still with her.”

I thought he’d argue, but instead he said, “I understand.”

“Will you tell her about us?” I asked. “Or just that you want a divorce?”

“She has to know. They all do. But I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to do it. Not only do I have to think about her and your mom and dad, but there’s the legal side of things, getting a lawyer when I won’t have a job . . .”

He kept talking, but all I needed to hear was “dad” for my blood to boil. Much of the situation we were in was his fault. The more time that went by, the more convinced I was that Dad had pushed Manning and Tiffany together to keep me focused on school and away from Manning. “He’ll try to get you to stay,” I said, cutting him off. “He’ll do something.”

“Nothing can keep me away, Birdy. I’m coming back to you.”

“When?”

“If I could tell you, I would. I have no way of knowing that.”

I thought about how it would feel when he was back with Tiffany while I waited here for him. It would be impossibly hard. He’d be with her. He’d be hurting her for me. “Maybe I should come with you.”

“I don’t think you should.”

The soothing steam of the shower, the rhythmic beat of water drops against the tub floor, the utter pleasure just from being held by Manning—none of it could dislodge the pit in my stomach. Could I ask Manning to do this alone? Did Tiffany deserve the chance to look me in the face when I upended her life?

“But she’s my sister.”

“If you’re there, it’s a memory that will haunt you, Lake. I can give you the gift of bearing that memory for you.”

Manning was always shouldering the burden of us. I hadn’t forgotten his words that night on the beach, how he bore things I didn’t even know about so they wouldn’t fall on me. I touched his cheek. “You shouldn’t have to shield me all the time. I’m older now. I don’t need to be protected.”

“You know I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pulled me closer, kissing the space between my breasts. He brushed his lips over my hardened nipples, down my waist. His hands wandered everywhere he could reach, from my lower back down to my ankles. His mouth became hungrier. Redness bloomed wherever his lips touched.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he said hoarsely. “What’ll get me through every night without you is knowing I won’t have to hold back when I return. I’ll be able to have you over and over until I’m forced to stop because another round can only kill you.”

“You can never kill me,” I panted. “Not this way.”

He kissed my stomach, then flattened both his palms over it. “Lake,” he murmured.

I stared at his hands on me as they softened. “Manning.”

“You know you could be pregnant already.”

I shivered, steadying myself on his shoulders. One time, we’d lost ourselves to the moment—was that enough to change the course of our future? It would be hard. I had no money; he’d have no job. There was a lot of pain ahead of us, and that was no environment for a child. But as all the things that could go wrong filtered through my mind, I realized Manning didn’t sound scared, or even surprised. “What if I am?”

“Then a baby will come out in nine months.”

“Manning, stop.” I tried to push away from him, but he had his hands on my waist now, his scruff scratching the sensitive skin of my tummy. “We can’t,” I said. “What would we do? I should take the morning-after pill.”

“I want the chance to make things right with the universe,” he said. “To be the opposite of my father.”

“You can have all that, but not now. We can’t have a baby, Manning.” The statement was so ridiculous, I had to laugh. “There are so many reasons we can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“Have a baby.”

Manning stood suddenly, forcing me to step back. He shut off the shower and got out. His movements were abrupt, his mood darkening. I stepped onto the bathmat, soaking it as he leaned his hands against the bathroom counter and looked at himself in the mirror.

“Are you mad?” I asked.

His jet-black hair dripped water into the sink. He was as aroused as I’d ever seen him, his eyes hot, his knuckles whitened from his grip, his penis purple at the head. He opened an arm to me, and I went to stand in front of the mirror with my back to him, letting him cage me in. He raised to his full height. Barefoot, I barely came up to his chin.

He put his hands on my stomach again. “I know it isn’t the right time, but I can’t help that I want to put a baby in you. You’re the only one who’s brought out that primal side of me—protect, provide, mate.”

My stomach tightened so painfully, I sucked in a breath. I’d had no idea, until that moment, a sentiment like that could be erotic. “Manning.”

He bent his knees and slid himself between my wet thighs without entering me. “It’s just my instinct. Fuck you. Own you in all ways possible. Claim you in a way nobody can ever take from us.” His voice grated. “Close your legs around me.”

Breathing through my nose, I braced myself on the lip of the counter as he held my stomach and pushed back and forth between my thighs. “It’s too soon,” I murmured, but I couldn’t deny the truth. Pregnancy was already a possibility, however small.

He rose up a little, running his shaft through my ass cheeks. I tensed as he passed over my most intimate area, a spot it’d never even occurred to me to let him touch. He looked darkly at me in the mirror as he whispered in my ear, “Another time.”

Hair sprung alive on the back of my neck, his words slithering right down my spine. He spread my lips from behind and began to enter me. “I won’t come in you,” he said. “But I want you on birth control when I get back, at least until we’re ready for more.”

More. Manning and I would have and be more. My grip tightened on the edge as he entered me. I was certain I’d never get used to that initial penetration. It turned me on as much as any other part of sex, maybe more, but for now at least, it also felt like being impaled. “Don’t stop,” I said.

We watched each other as he worked himself inside me, all the way to the base. Then he took me against the counter, unbridled, without hesitation, like it was the first time again, like we hadn’t been doing this over and over since Monday. Manning took great care to make sure I climaxed first, slowing down his thrusts as he worked my clit, all while I watched in the reflection.

He’d unleashed in me a latent desire to be owned and claimed in all the irrevocable ways he’d described. For us to be, as he’d said, irreversible. Maybe it was the fact that he was leaving or that I was overcome by this new unfamiliar instinct to give him a baby, but I held his gaze in the mirror and said, “Come inside me.”

“I can’t,” he said, but he pulled my elbows behind my back, getting leverage to take me even harder. His mouth was hot in my ear. “How can I do that to you?”

“Because I’m begging for it.”

“God, Lake. Fuck.” He released my arms to grab my hips and hold me in place as he came, growling from his chest. This time I was ready for it, and I felt his heat fill me. I’d never experienced anything like it, and I was owned—his through and through, just like I’d always wanted.

Bent over the sink, I watched as he came down. He held my head, his eyes closed as he whispered things I couldn’t understand into the back of my hair, as if in prayer. I knew I should feel guilty about the fact that we hadn’t used a condom, but Manning looked about as content as I felt. For the first time, it didn’t feel like the end of the week, but the beginning of our lives.

We got back in the shower. He washed my hair and between my legs. I soaped his body, gliding my hands over the planes of his chest, the hard lines of his muscled stomach and the curves of his biceps. I trailed my fingers down the ripple of his veiny forearms until I had him hard and eager in my hand.

“You’re ready to go again?” he asked.

I blushed, embarrassed by my hunger. “Aren’t you?”

He thrust a little into my fist. “Do you need more evidence?”

“I brought something to show you,” I said.

“What’s that, Birdy?”

“We have to get out of the shower.”

We dried off, and I toweled my hair dry as best I could. We’d had all the difficult conversations, and we were still doing this. Finally, it felt real, like Manning was coming home to me—like Manning was mine. I was so excited to show him my surprise that I pushed him out of the bathroom while he was still wrapping a towel around his waist. “Don’t look yet,” I said, dumping my overnight bag all over the floor, too impatient to rifle through it. When I found the pajamas I hadn’t worn in five years, I ran into the bathroom, changed, and came out to find Manning smoking through a small sliver of window.

I stood across the room from him, waiting for his reaction. I wasn’t sure if he’d remember. He looked me over, his eyes lingering on the thin straps, the lacy edge of my pajama shorts. He took a drag and blew it right into the room.

“Manning.”

“Huh.”

“The smoke.”

Absentmindedly, he waved his hands, his eyes still on me. When he didn’t speak, I glanced down at the pink gingham pajama set I’d bought to wear on prom night. It was the same thin camisole and matching shorts I’d been wearing when Manning had set me on his kitchen counter and almost kissed me while Tiffany had slept in the next room. “It’s—”

“I know what it is.”

“I sewed the strap.”

“What was wrong with the strap?”

“You tore it that night,” I said.

A low grumble from his throat. I’d gotten the sense during our time together that Manning liked to be reminded of my younger self. Our gentle interactions from that time in our lives could be changed into the most forbidden kind of sex we could have. I would think of all the times I’d had to restrain myself and imagine acting on them. If we had access to that truck we’d gone out in the night on the lake, I’d fuck him in it.

But, even if it were true that our unspoken roleplay did it for both of us, perhaps there was a line. Now that I knew about Manning’s father, and what had driven Manning to such extremes in the past, it was possible he could use this as an opportunity to beat himself up. “Did I go too far?” I asked.

Skyscrapers rose behind him, lit windows dotting the darkness. He didn’t make a move, but the look in his eyes said come. Barefoot, I crossed the room. “Is it okay?” I asked. “I’ll change back.”

He took another hit of nicotine, adjusting his towel with one hand.

“Manning?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to say anything?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He put out his cigarette on the exterior windowsill and stood. With his hands on my shoulders, he walked me backward until the backs of my legs touched the bed.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He untied the string of my shorts. “I’m making love to you in your sweet pink pajamas, Birdy, that’s what I’m doing.”