Every night, he picked Lexi up from work and drove them out to “their” beach. There, they lay on a blue plaid woolen blanket, talking. Lexi told him about her early years, what it had been like with her mother, how it felt to be forgotten and abandoned; Zach listened and held her hand and told her she was the strongest person he knew. He told her about his dreams for medical school and the expectations of success that sometimes crushed his spirit.
The stars overhead became their private universe. Zach pointed out the constellations and told her the stories that went along with each one: tales of gods and monsters, love and tragedy. His voice in the cold darkness became the home port she’d never known; in his arms, she discovered peace. She saw a side of him she’d never imagined. He felt things so deeply that sometimes he was afraid of his own emotions, and he worried that he would disappoint his parents. His surprising insecurities only made her love him more.
Tonight, they lay together, looking up at the giant universe. He took her in his arms and rolled over, covering her body with his own. She kissed him deeply, pouring every piece of her heart into the kiss, as if she could somehow meld their souls with the sheer force of her love. When his hand slid inside her shirt, up her bare back, she let him go. It felt so good to be touched like that by him.
He unhooked her bra. She felt the soft cups slip away from her breasts, and then he was touching her there.
She dragged herself sideways, slipped out from underneath him. Breathing hard, aching for his touch, she lay there.
“Lex? Did I do something wrong?”
She refastened her bra and then rolled over to face him. In the moonlight, he was so handsome she could hardly breathe for wanting him. But she’d seen her mother give her body away too many times to be reckless with her own. She sat up, back on her heels, and bowed her head. Was this what love did to a person, twisted them up and emptied them out until there was nothing left but need? If so, how would she survive it? “What are you doing with me, Zach?”
“What do you mean?”
Lexi steeled herself. If she’d learned anything from her mother, it was that nothing good grows in the dark. “I’m not going to be your secret, Zach. If you’re ashamed of me—”
“Ashamed? Is that what you think?”
“You don’t want to tell Mia about us … or your family.”
He shook his head. “Ah, Lex … I love you. Don’t you know that?”
“You do?”
He sighed, and something in the sound reminded her how damaged she was, how certain she was that no one could love her. “You don’t know what it’s like being a twin. I love Mia, but I want you to be mine. And my mom jumps into my life like it’s a swimming pool. She’ll have an opinion on this, believe me.”
“I love you, too, Zach. So much I can’t believe it. But I can’t be just yours. Mia’s my best friend. We have to tell her. And your parents are important to me, too. I need them to like me.”
“I know. But I don’t want to hurt Mia. If she thinks I stole you…”
“I can belong to both of you,” Lexi said solemnly. “I already do.”
He kissed her one more time and took her by the hand, pulling her to her feet. In a silence that suddenly felt ominous, they gathered up the blanket and stood beneath the stars, facing each other. The burden of their decision felt unbearably heavy, and Lexi almost wanted to take it back, to say, let’s keep it secret a little longer. What if she lost him because of it? She didn’t fool herself. It was possible. If Zach had to choose between Lexi and his family, it would be no contest. He would always choose Mia, who was as much a part of him as the green of his eyes. The bond that connected the twins ran deep. Last year, Zach had been hurt on the football field, and Mia had known instantly; she’d felt her brother’s pain.
“Tomorrow,” he said.
“What if—”
“Don’t say it. She’ll understand. She has to.”
*
The next day, as Lexi sat in one class after another, supposedly listening to her teachers drone on about this or that, all she could think about was telling Mia the truth. She imagined the conversation over and over, polishing each remorseful word like an agate. And still, when the last bell rang, she had the urge to just run away.