Chapter 1

My sister's condition had one remarkably specific symptom: she needed my boyfriends.

Not a weighted blanket. Not a hug from our mother. My boyfriends.

She called it touch starvation. Whenever I brought a man home, Sloane found a reason to climb into his bed or walk in on his shower. Afterward, she cried that she couldn't help herself.

Our family always took her side.

“It's a guy, Willa. You can find another one.”

In my first life, I finally stopped introducing anyone until I was ready to get engaged. I thought one dinner would be safe.

Sloane broke a dish, cut me with it, and fell into my fiancé's arms. While I bled on the kitchen floor, Mom told me to stop making things worse.

“We'll take you to the ER when your sister calms down.”

I died waiting.

Then I opened my eyes with Theo Hale's hand in mine.

My first boyfriend. My first chance to get this right.

We were twenty-two again, standing at the bottom of my parents' stairs on the Friday before Labor Day.

“Why does your sister keep looking at me?” Theo murmured.

Sloane stood in the living-room doorway, studying him as though she'd found something in a store window that she intended to buy.

The first time, I had laughed at his question.

That night she had walked into the bathroom while he was showering. Theo was autistic; unexpected touch, shouting, and bright lights could overwhelm him. She ignored every request to leave. By the time our parents reached him, he could barely speak.

His family took him home the next morning. Our relationship never recovered from what my sister and my parents did afterward.

This time, I squeezed his hand.

“You don't have to be alone with her. Ever.”

Upstairs, I stayed while he started the shower.

Within minutes, the bathroom doorknob began to turn.