He’s gaping at me, astonished. “What the hell did they do to you in that place? Shock treatments?”

“A lot of medication.” I close my eyes, trying to remember the last time I saw Declan, but the most I can get out is the way he looked at me—the way he always looked at me, as if I was his whole world. Suddenly, though, something comes to me. “He was at home, right? Your parents were away in the Poconos.”

Kane nods. He’s biting his lip, which means he isn’t sure he should tell me something. He says, “So you’re not pretending. You really don’t remember the weeks before he died? Seriously?”

I nod.

“How many times have we done this?”

“What? You mean…” I point at the condom in the soda bottle. “That?”

We’re looking at each other as though we each think the other is crazy. I say, “Twice. Why?”

He smacks his head with the back of his hand. “Holy shit. You seriously don’t remember anything.”

I swallow. “What are you saying? Care to enlighten me?”

He shakes his head. “Forget it.”

How can I forget that? I sit up on his bed, get to kneeling. “Are you saying we had sex before Declan died? That I cheated on him?”

Kane’s mouth is a straight line. “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

What? He has to be lying. I cover my mouth with my hands. “But why? Do you think… Is that why…”

“No. No, Hail,” he says, sitting on the bed next to me and taking my wrist, prying my hand from my mouth. “It wasn’t. He didn’t know about it. But seriously. That’s why you need to move forward. Knowing what happened isn’t going to help you at all.”

Nothing he says penetrates the wall around me. I cheated on Declan. I’m a liar, and a cheater, and…I’m just like Kane.

Kane’s somehow managed to get completely dressed, and I’m still sitting in my bra and nothing else. I find my thong inside my jeans and put it on, then stand and shimmy into my jeans. My shirt’s still downstairs. I cross my arms in front of my chest. Goose bumps pop out everywhere on my arms. I’m starting to open the door when he grabs me and kisses me. “Just because it wasn’t wrong with him doesn’t mean it’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” I mutter. Stupid boy, he’s always been glowingly perfect, which has never been clearer to me than now, with him only a hairbreadth away from me, our noses nearly touching. I can’t meet his eyes. I make my voice extra tough. “So what does this mean? Are we dating?”

I expect him to say no, but instead his fingers entwine with mine. “Is that what you want?”