Somebody Else's Sky (Something in the Way #2)(92)

"Yes, you can."

"Okay. Maybe I can." He squinted out toward the black horizon. "But would you let me?"

I opened my mouth to say, not only would I let him, but I'd beg if he wanted. Take me as I am, and we'll figure out the rest. But the truth was, I didn't know the rest. I couldn't say with absolute certainty that we'd be okay. In my mind, the two of us were tangled sheets and big love and hours of tracing every part of the bodies we'd fantasized about. Where did school and money and work factor into all that? I realized that whatever guilt I felt when my family turned me out, Manning would blame himself. Whatever problems arose in our relationship, Manning would shoulder them, even though he'd warned me against them. And if we had those blow-out fights, and Manning did anything to say or hurt me, even by accident, he'd convince himself he'd become his dad. Ironically, in the end, it was me who could turn Manning into his father, and Tiffany who'd helped Manning believe he was a good man.



       
         
       
        

I didn't know what to say but the only thing that made any sense to me. "You're what I want."

"But I can't be what you need. Still, after everything I just said, knowing all the ways it could go wrong, knowing the man it would turn me into to love you and to ruin you . . ." He ran his hand over his face, as if forcing the words out. "If you ask me to choose you, I will-even if it could ultimately destroy me."

I remembered the night we'd almost gotten caught in the truck, how childish I'd felt for how I'd acted. He'd asked me not to do it, but I had. He'd been led away in handcuffs, he'd stunted his future, because I'd wanted something and hadn't considered the consequences.

"You don't care how hard it's been for me."

Of course I cared. The only thing I wanted more than my happiness was his. A lump formed in my throat as everything I'd known to be true shifted. These past two years, I thought I'd been brave. Strong. Loved. I'd only been selfish to think Manning wanted me to fight for him, when instead, pushing him only hurt him.

I turned my head and tried in vain to hide the endless stream of tears streaking down my cheeks. My sister stood by the fire, arms curled around her waist, watching us. Tonight, he'd be walking back to her. I covered my face, my world crumbling.

Manning let me stand there and cry into my palms. He didn't comfort me, and I finally understood how it would be unfair of me to ask him to. Through my fingers and the blur of my tears, I noticed my missing anklet. The bracelet I'd made for Manning had fallen off, probably with the licks of the ocean. It was done. We were done. Only my pain persisted.

Manning had once told me you couldn't move the stars. I'd thought that meant our love was predestined, written in the night sky, sure as death. Behind my lids, I pictured the two stars and realized for the first time the permanent distance between them. And I accepted that there was, and always had been, a third star.

You can't move the stars.

I had tried, and I had failed.





24





Lake





Gripping a bouquet of peach and cream garden roses, I peeked around the hotel's archway. Friends and family quietly filtered onto a perfectly manicured lawn, murmuring as they took their seats for the ceremony.

The sun began to set over the Pacific Ocean, fiery orange dipping into cool blue. This morning's cloud cover had given way to an unblemished sky. With everything happening around us, it should've been easy to avoid looking at Manning, but that always had been, and always would be, impossible for me. My gaze lifted above the crowd and down the petal-scattered aisle. Manning stood under the sheer curtains of a gazebo on the edge of a cliff, his back to me as he spoke to the best man. The first time I saw Manning on that construction site, he'd been larger than life. Today, he was so much more. He commanded attention without trying. His shoulders stretched a bespoke suit, and his hands sat loosely in his pockets as if it were any other day. 

He turned his head, giving me the pleasure of his profile. Strong jaw, full mouth, thick, black, recently trimmed hair. Even with the scar on his lip and the new, slight curve of his nose, he looked refined, the sum of all my dreams come to life.

Henry spoke to Manning with the air of a father figure, his hand on Manning's shoulder. Manning just listened and rubbed his sinfully smooth jaw as he stared at the ground. Henry paused, as if waiting for an answer or acknowledgement, and his smile faded. He looked to the back of the decorated lawn, through the arches hiding the bridal party. He looked at me. Maybe Manning wasn't as calm as I thought. Maybe he was having second thoughts.