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 My early release had been revoked, and I’d seen and done things I didn’t know what to do with.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?”

Charles Kaplan might’ve been a jerk, but I had a feeling he truly did want Tiffany close. She was his daughter, and he was a protective asshole, kind of like me. If she stayed in Newport, he could continue to watch her, control her. Not perfect, but it was a start. “No. It’s a step in the right direction.”

She looked over my head, maybe at the clock, or maybe just a nervous habit. “So I was thinking . . . when you get out . . .”

I waited. “Yeah?”

She took a deep breath. “You should stay with me.”

“Stay with you?”

“Until you find your own place.”

I glanced around the crowded room. A place to go when I got out? I hadn’t expected it, but if I was honest, relief hit me first. I’d known a few guys who’d been released since I’d arrived here. They’d all had places to go. Girlfriends, wives, parents. I had my aunt and Henry in Los Angeles, but L.A. wasn’t an option. Not only could parole prevent me from living outside county lines, but L.A. felt too much like a home I wanted to forget. It was lying in the grass with Maddy, pulling her out of the pool a minute too late, my mom’s betrayal, and my dad’s abuse. If I could burn my childhood house to the ground without consequences, I’d do it. “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe. It’s not a bad idea.”

“Or you could just move in.”

“You mean, like . . . I wouldn’t look for my own place?”

“Yes, like, move in. And stay.” She smiled a little. “Pick out furniture. Have a key.”

What she was describing was a home, not a place to stay. Since I was fifteen, I’d been kind of floating through life. I’d stayed with my aunt to finish high school, then I’d gotten the hell out of Los Angeles, landing wherever there was work. After the pain of losing Maddy, I’d thought that was the best way. The only way. It could’ve been a result of my current circumstances, but it surprised me that staying in one place and making it my own sounded better than returning to a transient life. Next year would be the tenth anniversary of Madison’s death. Ten years of staying detached from anything meaningful—at least until Lake and Tiffany came along. Maybe I was getting to a place where I could accept a life in which Maddy didn’t exist.

I was getting ahead of myself. Tiffany probably didn’t understand what she was suggesting, but I knew moving in wouldn’t be as simple as unpacking my things in her apartment. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” I said. “For one, the rent’s an issue.”

“My dad’s covering it, though.”

“Your dad’s not paying my rent.”

“But you don’t have a job or anything. Is there anything left of the money I got you for the truck?”

I flexed my hands on the table. After legal fees and fines, and breaking my lease, I only had a few hundred dollars saved. Then some bitch who’d wrongly fingered me in a line-up, who lived in an upper-class Big Bear neighborhood, was getting twenty-five of my cents every hour I killed myself outdoors. “Not much,” I said. “And I can’t imagine your dad ever wants to see my face again.”

“Don’t worry about him,” she said. “I have time to work on him until you get out. He’ll accept you once he knows we’re serious.”

We were serious. She’d told me she loved me. And Tiffany wasn’t going to let her dad get in the way of that. I shouldn’t have doubted that Tiffany would show up for me today. She hadn’t missed a visit yet, and she was probably getting shit from her dad about it all the time.

Did I love her back? Over the last year, I’d come to care about her more than I would’ve guessed. There still was, and always would be, a cavity in my chest. Lake’s goodness had been the only thing so far to lessen the ache of that wound. Coming here, I’d had to numb myself even more—for survival. Dropping my guard, even for a second, had landed me in the SHU and fuck if I was ever going back there. But it occurred to me that somehow, Tiffany had gotten through to me.

“All these guys in here,” I said, “most of them have someone on the outside holding them up. You’ve been that for me.” I didn’t have the brain power to mince words. I needed a cigarette. “I appreciate you. I think about you when we’re apart, and I miss you. But I’m not going to tell you I love you just to say it.”

She frowned. It was as good as admitting I didn’t love her. Part of me worried she’d take that and leave, and the other part worried she wouldn’t. At this point, trying to get love from the most important man in her life was part of her identity.

“I didn’t tell you so you’d say it back,” she said. “I never planned to say it. I’m not even sure how I feel about it. Love is weird. Like, I know my dad loves me, but sometimes I think to myself, ‘my dad hates me.’”

Jesus Christ. I wasn’t even sure where to start with that. “He doesn’t—”

“I know he doesn’t hate me,” she said, waving her hand. “But he is disappointed in me, and I feel like I can’t do anything right. When I try, I mess it up, or it isn’t good enough.”

It frustrated me to hear her talk that way—and that she was right. The truth was, Tiffany had everything going for her. She had the potential to succeed if she’d let go of this thing with her dad. “You need to see yourself outside your dad’s eyes,” I told her. “You’ve said to me before that you don’t have the skills to do anything other than model, but that’s just plain bullshit. You’re smart and crafty and you’re goddamn tenacious. That’s a rare quality, Tiff. That’ll get you far.”

Tiffany looked taken aback, and I realized I’d raised my voice. Good. I hoped she’d heard me. She did have some qualities I hadn’t come across too much in my life. For one, I’d just told her I didn’t love her, and she’d barely batted an eyelash. For a sheltered Newport Beach girl, she was tougher than she looked.

“And let’s get one thing straight,” I added. “I’m not going to pretend I love you because I care too much about you to lie, but that doesn’t mean I’m withholding it to punish you like your dad. Got it?”

She nodded, slowly at first, and then a little harder. “I understand. It’s like I do things to get him to notice, and . . . that’s wrong. Once I move out, and he’s not around all the time, I can start focusing on what I want.”

“Yeah.” I felt a strange sense of pride, like I’d gotten through to her a little bit. “You still want me to move in? Or you want to be on your own a while?”

“I want you there. I mean, geez. Can’t you see how good you are for me?”

For some reason, that dislodged something in my chest. Good. I wasn’t good, but I wanted to be better. Better than the man who’d attacked a guard. Better than one who repeated his dad’s mistakes.

“You were in that place for over two months,” Tiffany continued, “but that counted toward your sentence. Grimes told me if you have no more incidents, you might still be eligible for early release.”

I rubbed my jaw. I knew that, but I’d been so concerned about the fact that I was no longer getting out early, I hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that I could get it back—but only if I stayed on track. “It’s not as simple as just going home with you, though. I’ll be on parole when I get out. They’ll want to interview you. I’ll be subjected to random searches. I could have a PO who’s a dick and makes my life hell. You didn’t sign up for all that.”

“You think I would’ve visited just anyone every month for a year?” She opened her hands in front of her and counted off her fingers. “I went to your landlord, broke your lease, sold your stuff to help pay your fees. I got a job, and I’ve been working hard. You don’t know since I haven’t seen you, but I’m up for a promotion to assistant manager. For you. To show you I can be better.”

Better. It was what both of us wanted. We had work to do, and somehow, lifting her up had forced me to up my game as well. I knew Tiffany had been trying, but she’d be twenty-one soon. I’d assumed that was part of it, getting older, maturing. I hadn’t considered it might all be for me. “Why?” I asked.

“Why what?” She sounded exasperated.

“Why me?” As soon as I said it, I realized I’d been wanting to know since her first visit, but pointing it out to her would’ve only driven her away, and I’d needed someone then. “Why’d you go sort things with my landlord and take care of my shit and why do you still come around?”

She swallowed audibly, pulling her hands into her lap. “Because it’s nice to feel needed.”

The question was, who needed whom? “I didn’t mean that the way it came out,” I said. “I’m not sure who would’ve done it if you hadn’t. I’m glad you did. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I know.” Her expression eased. She did know. It was one of the things I’d always liked about her. Sometimes, her confidence wavered, but I liked that she faked it anyway.

“I’m just not sure I understand why.”

“I don’t think I know.”

“And I think you do.” I could see the wheels in her brain turning, but I let her off that hook to put her on another. “Have you fucked around?”

Right on cue, the CO got on his bullhorn. “Start wrapping up.”

I’d heard the same question asked in here before by other inmates. There were stories, lots of them, about men accusing their girls of awful things.

Tiffany didn’t react, which wasn’t typical from what I’d seen or been told. “No,” she said simply.

I wanted to believe her, but it seemed unlikely. I looked her in the eye. “I’d understand if you had, just tell me the truth. If I come out of here with you, it’s a clean slate for us.”

“I don’t want a clean slate,” she said. “You were good to me. I don’t want to wipe that away. I haven’t been with anyone else.”

“But you could’ve been.”

“Of course.” She adjusted the sleeve of her dress. “I thought about it lots of times. I’ve had opportunities.”

“I know you have.”

“I guess you won’t believe me, but I’m not a cheater. I think it’s really low.”

“Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“Maybe you think I’m, you know, slutty.” She said it without flinching, straight up. “And, okay, I’ve been with some guys before you, but that doesn’t make me a liar.”

Well, she’d put me in my place, and she was right. “Okay, then tell me what you were thinking about just before this. Why me?”

Again, her eyes shifted, went a little distant. She was avoiding answering, like it was hard for her to say. “Look,” she said. “I’m not proud of it, but at the courthouse, when Dexter gave me that bag of your things, the keys to your place and your truck, I was pissed. I didn’t understand why, of all people, you thought I would know what to do with it. But the real reason I got mad was because I was scared. Nobody had ever just . . . trusted me that much. Your life was in that bag. I didn’t know where to start. I was sure I’d fuck it up.”

I could’ve hugged her right then. It might’ve been the most honest thing I’d ever heard her say. She was scared. Did she think she was alone in that? All of us were just doing our best. “You didn’t,” I said. “You came through.”

“I wanted to give it all to my dad to take care of. He’s good at that kind of stuff. He probably would’ve gotten you out of the lease altogether.” She spread her hands on the table as if she were inspecting her nail polish. I could see her thinking, though. “But then I remembered how good you’d been to me that night we had spaghetti at camp. You’d arranged that nice dinner for me, and you made me feel, I don’t know . . . like I mattered to you. So even though I wanted to walk away, I decided to figure it out.”

That night at camp felt like a lifetime ago. It made me think of Bucky, and how I’d wanted to wring that bastard’s throat, even back then. Tiffany put on a good show, but I’d pretty much had her number from day one. If I’d been the first man to make her feel special for who she really was, then maybe it wasn’t so farfetched that she was still sitting here.

That didn’t mean she didn’t deserve to be warned about what she’d be getting into with me. If anything, I owed her that.

The family at the table next to us stood and hugged. Time was up. “I’m not the same person I was back then.”

“Yes, you are.”

I wasn’t. I’d seen more. I knew more. None of it good. Moving in with Tiffany would mean relying on her. Trusting her. I hadn’t done that since I’d left my aunt’s at eighteen. I had to know Tiffany wasn’t going to scare easily. “You know what I thought about when I was alone too long?”

“What?” she asked.

“Fucking. Not in a nice way.” I paused to check her reaction. She went a little pink but didn’t back down. “I come out of here, I’m not going to be able play Country Club Man like your dad. I’m not going to golf, and brunch, and go sailing or whatever the fuck it is your friends do. It’s going to be hard. I’m doing what I have to do for the basics—shelter, food, work.”

She nodded. “I can help.”

“I’m giving you an out.” I’d had nothing before this, but at least I’d had a future. Now all I had was a past and a record. “You should take it.”

“The more you tell me to, the less I want to.”

Sounded about right. Tiffany looked hopeful. Maybe even happy. She was sitting here because of how I’d made her feel one night thirteen months ago. She’d done all right for herself since then, too, so she could be the girl I expected her to be. I hadn’t done much right lately, but this—this felt good. Tiffany had been pretty lost when I’d met her, and now, she was making an effort. I’d helped someone, and after feeling as though my presence had made things worse for a lot of people, it made me want to keep trying. To get out of here. I could no longer join the police force and improve people’s lives like I’d wanted to, but Tiffany, at least, I could help.

It was the first time I could remember feeling like I had any real power over my situation. She’d asked if I was disappointed in her, and I wasn’t.

“Will you let Gary know I’m out of solitary?” I asked, getting up. “I gotta talk to him about something.”

Her eyebrows scrunched. “What?”

“Work.” It was partly true. If I didn’t have to worry about a place to live, it meant I could focus on the next most important thing—money. On my old crew, a few of the guys I’d worked with had had been ex-cons. Gary might know people in construction. But since I’d gone into isolation, some questions had grown bigger in my mind. How had I gotten here at all? Was there more to my arrest than bad timing? Had anyone else been involved? As the director at camp, Gary would know more than most.

“I already called him. He’s coming next week.” She cocked her head. “You’re not going to try and move in with him, are you?”

“I barely know him,” I said. Gary had been to see me several times, and I considered him a good friend, but that was easy to do when you didn’t have much else. I wasn’t about to ask him to go through all the shit that came with housing a criminal. “He didn’t offer anyway.”

“Oh. Good,” she said. “Because my place, it won’t be much, but I know we can make it our own. We can make it a home.”

Home. I hadn’t had a home since Maddy’d died. I didn’t even know the meaning of the word anymore.

But I still needed a place to live, and I could live with Tiffany for a while.