“Can I see this picture?”

“No.” I flash back to Kane ripping it up and sigh. “That’s another thing. Kane tore it up, and I got the feeling he isn’t being totally honest with me, either. I think maybe he got Declan in the middle of something. Declan was probably trying to help him sort it out, and…”

I trail off when I realize I’m babbling. Juliet is staring at me as though I’ve gone off the rails again.

“If he was trying to help out Kane, that doesn’t offer an explanation as to why he killed himself, does it?”

The words sit there, on the tip of my tongue, waiting to come out. In my mind, I see Juliet’s finger hovering over a red “commit” button, ready to press it.

He didn’t kill himself.

He didn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t.

“No,” I mumble. “But I still think there’s something wrong with this picture.”

She studies me for a long moment. Then she says, “Let me ask you something. If you want to remember, why did you hide the box under your bed? Go through it. It won’t be easy, but maybe your heart is strong enough to withstand the memories. It might be therapeutic and give you the answers you’re looking for.”

I stare at my hands, fingers laced together on my lap. Usually I toss her suggestions out the window before they finish leaving her mouth, but this time, I play the recommendation over and over again in my head.

Maybe.

Maybe that’s what I need to do.

256 Days Before

I had it in my head. Me, coming downstairs on prom night, my parents and my adoring boyfriend gazing up at me, thinking they’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

That didn’t exactly happen.

After painting my toenails, I’d accidentally lost my balance while hobbling to the bathroom and twisted my ankle in the hallway. I collapsed like a house of cards, the pain shooting its way up my calf. I also smudged the heck out of my pedicure; there were rug fibers stuck to my red toenails. The zipper on the side of my dress got stuck and wouldn’t go up no matter how much I pulled, so with one final yank, I ended up ripping it from hip to underarm. And I hadn’t gotten any better at applying eye makeup.

So there I was, raccoon girl, hobbling down the staircase with a safety-pin-closed dress, a flubbed pedicure, feeling all hot and sweaty and like the night I’d dreamed of was ruined.

Then I saw Declan in his tuxedo. He was always a hottie, but that night, he looked debonair, the bow tie accentuating his warm brown eyes and luscious full lips. Even though it was a rental, he owned that tux. James Bond couldn’t have worn it better.

And you know what he said?