“There are people out there living real lives, Lydia. And when they have fights, they’re real fights. And when they get hurt, they get really, really hurt. And the things you lose are enormous things, but you don’t spend your whole life looking for them! You leave the dead things behind, Lydia. That’s how it’s supposed to go. But you couldn’t have been more thrilled to have me be your dead baby brother. You practically laid out the welcome mat for me. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Here I am. And now I’m not going anywhere.”

His face was flushed, his hairline damp. For once the heat from his body did little to warm me. The cold had seeped deep into my bones, as I sat there shivering in my wet clothes, watching the dark water be swallowed up by the slow-moving boat.

“How could I possibly start to like you?” Cole said. “But I did, Lydia. I really liked you. You thought it was a trick, but that was real. And what happens next? You fuck me and then literally skip town.”

“That’s not how it happened,” I said.

“That’s exactly how it happened. I don’t go around feeling sorry for myself like you do, Lydia. But if we were going to have a pity party, I would win that party. From the very beginning, I’ve lost everything that mattered. You know what I’m talking about. My wife is the living dead. My girlfriend fucks me over.”

“I wasn’t your girlfriend,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, that never even occurred to you,” he said. “You never thought about me, not for a minute.”

“I just want to go home,” I said.

“I do, too,” he roared. “But I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Then he looked down at me, and his face changed in an instant. His expression grew soft and melancholy. Even his grip on my shoulder softened.

“Let’s go back home together,” I said quickly. “I’ll make coffee. And we’ll find Lucas and just sit and talk. We’ll talk all night. Just the three of us. Like you wanted.” He shook his head, looking disappointed.

“Let’s go to the house,” I said. “Let’s—I mean, you can’t do this. You can’t steal a boat.”

“Steal it?” he said. “I’m not stealing. It’s mine.”

I glanced at his face to try to understand—and just like that I did understand.

“Oh,” I said. “Oh no.”

Because I knew who he was. I couldn’t believe it hadn’t been clear to me before. I’d spent all this time trying to learn his identity, when I already knew. I knew all along.