“I still don’t know why he died, Kane,” I mutter. “And I know you’ve been lying to me. Hiding things from me.”

“Why do you think? You’d just come out of an institution, Hailey. You were fragile. Did I want you reliving the fact that your boyfriend and your best friend did that to you? No. Did I want you to think that you took the picture that contributed to his suicide? No.” His voice rises steadily. Finally, he stops and looks out the passenger window. “Why can’t you see that everything I’ve done is for your own good?”

I bury my chin in my ski jacket and stare up at my house. Maybe I am due for a nervous breakdown. But I can’t help feeling that not knowing will get me there faster than knowing.

“Look, Hailey,” Kane says, his voice quieter. “Luisa and I had a talk last night. And we decided to start over. To wipe all away all the history. Again. Okay? But three strikes, and I’m out. So I’m making this one worth it. I wanted you to know that while I’ve appreciated the ride, I’m going to get one with someone else from now on.”

I look back at him. Five days. That’s all it took. That’s all it ever takes, right? Five days from pledging his undying love to me to blowing me off. He wasn’t only leading Luisa on. He was leading me on too, and I was too stupid to realize it. It’s such a fucking fine line between love and madness, and both Weeks boys have had me straddling it for far too long. I square my jaw and glare out the windshield. “Fine,” I snap. “Then get out.”

“Look, Hail. I—”

“GET OUT!” I shout, so loudly that it rattles the car.

He doesn’t say a word. He pushes open the door. I throw the car in reverse and gun it out of the driveway before he’s managed to clear the door. It smashes against him as I screech to a stop. He grips his sore arm and stares at me as I reach across and pull the passenger door closed. Then I floor the accelerator and pull out of the court, tires screeching, without another look in his direction.

25 Days Before

I’d slipped going down the trellis, falling back onto a prickly evergreen bush by the porch. It scraped my hands and face something awful, but I didn’t feel it. I only realized it when I saw the dried blood on my sheets the following day. My reflection in the mirror was that of someone who’d gotten into a fight with a cat—and lost.

Over the night, I’d cried myself dry of tears. I blamed only myself. I’d started this.

And I knew I needed to finish it.