I exhale, breathing through an overwhelming pressure mounting around me, as if the air in my room is starting to solidify. “We’ve heard all week long how Clifford failed both Lullaby Doe and her mother. I just said that to Sophia the other day. I told her that someone should have known. Someone should have seen what was going on. It turns out I’m that someone. I left Landry on her own when she was the most vulnerable, right after my dad died, and this is what happened.” I shrug miserably. “After that, I just kept not noticing. Not seeing what she was going through. Not asking the right questions. Not listening—not really listening—to the answers she did give.” I swallow past the raw, swollen feeling in my throat. “I had so many opportunities to help her, and I failed every single time.”

“No, Beck, this isn’t your fault. Landry also has a mother and a brother, and friends, and teachers, and—”

“And my mother should have been there. I know. But I was there, once things got back to ‘normal’ around here. I was usually the one picking her up from school and hanging out with her while she made dinner. I had every opportunity in the world to see what was going on. To help her. And I didn’t do it.” Tears burn the backs of my eyes. “And it’s not the first time.”

Jake frowns. “What are you talking about?”

I swipe at my eyes and look up at him. “Do you ever wish you could have a real-world do-over? That you could just, like, press rewind on life?”

If I could choose one superpower, that’s what it would be: the ability to undo a mistake. Screw flight or invisibility. I wish I could fix the things I’ve messed up. I wish I could just take it all ba—

Pain fires through my chest, and I pop up from the bed, rubbing at my sternum.

Whiskey on the end table.

Pill bottle wedged between the couch cushions.

“Beckett?”

“Something’s wrong,” I gasp, fighting to make my lungs expand. “I can’t get a deep breath.” And the harder I try, the more difficult breathing becomes. The more desperate I get to just make my lungs relax. To talk my rib cage out of this brutal lockdown.

“You’re okay.” Jake stands and pulls me into a hug as I gasp, sucking in short, sharp little breaths. “You are breathing. Just slow down and—”

Childproof cap on the carpet.

Dad, lying still on the floor.

“Something’s wrong!” My head is spinning, and the edges of my vision look dark and smudgy.