“He, uh, he’s gonna plead not guilty.”

My eyes fall closed and I release a shaky breath, fisting the comforter to steady myself.

“He seems so fucking sincere. I don’t know what to believe.”

“Luca…” I whisper, opening my eyes. Grayson’s curtains are open, and his bedroom is empty.

The branches sway on the tree between our houses as Luca whispers, “What if he didn’t do it? What if the killer is still out there?”

“Her blood was discovered in his bedroom,” I reply.

“It was such a small fucking amount. Why would he swear to me that he didn’t kill her if he did? It seems so fucking cruel.”

I tentatively meet his gaze. It’s hard to look at him when his eyes are so intense, full of grief and regret.

“Do you think he did it?” he asks me, and I swallow thickly. I’ve been dreading the question from the moment he set foot in my house. There’s no straightforward answer.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I reply, swiping at my wet cheeks. “He was the last one seen with Chloe; her blood was in his bedroom.”

Luca nods slowly, his jaw clenching before he looks away and rests his elbows on his knees. Dragging his fingers though his hair, he blows out a tired breath. “He was my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were five, or at least I thought we did. This has me questioning everything I thought I knew about him. Because if he’s lying to me… If he really did kill her…” His eyes find mine and he looks at me for a long moment. “They’ve offered him a plea deal.”

My breath catches. “They have?”

“A life sentence in turn for a guilty plea.”

“But you said…”

“He’s gonna plead not guilty, yes.”

My hand flies up to my mouth. “The prosecution will pursue the death penalty.”

Grinding his teeth, he looks away, staring unseeingly at my window. “It’s all my fucking fault! You said you wanted to stay, but I convinced you to leave.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Luca.” I’m a hypocrite. I lie awake at night, wracked with guilt, too.

“I do blame myself because it is my fault. They’ll sentence him to death because of me.”

“He killed her, Luca! He sentenced himself to death.”

“He swears he’s innocent!”

“Do you hear yourself? Don’t you think I’ve asked myself the same questions? It’s futile. The evidence says otherwise, Luca. He killed her.”

“He’s innocent!”

“CHLOE’S BLOOD WAS IN HIS ROOM!” I scream, surprising us both with the sheer power of emotion in my voice. We’re glaring at each other, chests panting. Neither of us wants to back down.

In one swift motion, he grabs the back of my head and slams his lips to mine, making me gasp into his mouth. He takes the opportunity to brush his soft tongue against mine; it’s the only gentle thing about him. His touch is rough, suffused with anger and guilt. The grief I taste on his hungry lips draws a moan from my throat. I clutch him tighter before shoving his jacket off his shoulders when he guides me onto my back. Climbing on top of me, he shrugs it off, tossing it to the floor, then pulls the back of his T-shirt over his head and discards it too. My hands instinctively find his warm chest, exploring the hard muscles as his lips descend on mine, kissing me until all thoughts leave my head. We’re using each other to dull the ache, our shared grief and guilt. If not for us and the decisions we made, we wouldn’t be here today.