“Yeah?” I answer warily.

   “I know that, uh . . .” He clears his throat, takes his cap off, runs his hand through his hair, then puts it on backwards. “I know that you’re wearing your mom’s engagement ring, but, um . . . What if a guy wants to propose?”

   Where is this coming from? “What are you saying, Jake?”

   His eyes go big. “Oh, shit, Kayla! No! I’m not asking you. I was just, um . . . I was just wondering.” He waves his hands frantically, trying to get his point across. I laugh at him, because he’s trying to backtrack, and it’s funny as hell.

   We order Chinese for dinner again and eat on the sofa, watching TV.

   “I would want my own ring,” I say.

   “Huh?”

   “When said guy, hopefully you, proposes, I would want my own ring. Just so you know.” I look down at my food for a second then back up at him. A blush is creeping to his cheeks. “I love these rings, but they belong to them, you know? They represent their story. I would want my own to represent my fairy tale—my prince and my happily-ever-after.”

   He smiles. “I’ll let that guy know,” he says and goes back to his food.

   We’re lying in bed that night after making love. I’ve learned to tone down the noise level, but it’s hard, because Jake’s learned my body inside out. He knows me—like, really knows me.

   “Do you want to go to the hearing, Kayla?”

   “Do you think I should?”

   “Dad says it’s an open-and-shut case. I don’t think you need to be there.”

   “Then I don’t want to.”

   “Are you sure?”

   “I think I’m done with the past, Jake. I think I just want my future.” I look at him, and he gets it. He knows what I mean. I just want him.

FIFTY-ONE

MIKAYLA

   It’s been one year since my life changed—since the people I thought I loved betrayed me, and the people I did love were taken from me.

   And it’s been one year since I stood in front of my forever.

   Jake and I stayed at his parents’ house over the weekend. Now we’re at the cemetery. Jake got red tulips for Mom’s birthday tomorrow. It’s one of the reasons why I love him—so much more-than-a-lot.

   We walk, hand in hand, toward my family’s headstones. There’s a lone figure standing by them, dressed in black with sunglasses on, looking down. I don’t recognize her from this far. I’m not really in the mood to share the space with anyone, so we wait.

   When she finally turns around, I see her. But it’s not really her—it’s like a shadow of who she once was. Her long blond hair, cut to a bob just below her chin, is now a shade of straw. She’s lost weight everywhere but around her belly, which is huge—pregnant, about-to-give-birth huge.

   I squeeze Jake’s hand, and he looks down at me. “It’s Megan,” I say, nodding in her direction.

   He understands. “I’ll be in the truck,” he says. He kisses my temple and walks away.

   As I walk toward Megan, she must sense my coming, because she looks up at me, then straight back down. I think maybe she wants to leave but doesn’t know if she should, so she waits. Either way, I’d know she was here, which has to mean something, right?

   I stand next to her, not looking at her. She doesn’t look at me. We stare at the headstones. “You’re pregnant?” I ask, because I feel like we should talk if we’re going to stand here.

   “Yeah,” she whispers. Her voice is hoarse, like she’s been crying or taken up smoking two packs a day.

   “Where’s the dad?”

   “Don’t know.”

   “He bailed on you, huh?”

   “No, Mick, I mean I don’t know who the dad is.”

   I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?” I still don’t look at her.

   Megan stares straight ahead. “The adoptive parents live in town. I’m here until I have the baby, then I’m gone.”

   It’s silent for a moment.

   “I meant, what are you doing here at the cemetery?”

   “Oh,” she says quietly. “I can go.” She turns to leave.

   “Where were you, Megan?” I say more loudly, because I need to know why my best friend in the whole world never bothered to contact me in the entire year my family’s been dead. “It’s been a year. Where the fuck have you been?”

   “I didn’t think you wanted to see me.”

   “Shit, Megan! What happened here”—I wave at the headstones—“was bigger than you and me. It was bigger than high school drama, and your cheating with James. My family was murdered, and I needed my best friend. Where the fuck were you?” I spit out each word so she knows that I’m so frickin’ mad at her. Tears start to fall down my cheeks, and I don’t bother to wipe them.

   “I couldn’t,” she says, so quietly I almost miss it.

   “You couldn’t? What the hell does that mean?”

   “It means I couldn’t face you, Mick. I just couldn’t.”

   “Why?” I yell. I don’t care about hiding my feelings anymore.

   “Because, Mick . . .” Then she breaks down and falls to her knees, pregnant belly and all. I stay standing . . . and wait. “Because,” she continues, “it’s my fault they’re dead.”

   My eyes dart to hers, and my breathing accelerates. “What does that mean, Megan?” I say through clenched teeth.

   “It means I called him. I told him to do it. I called Chris—Christopher—that night, and I asked him to steal that necklace James gave you for your eighteenth birthday.”

   “What?” I can’t believe this.

   “He wasn’t supposed to kill them! No one was supposed to be home. I told him not to hurt anybody. Mick, you have to believe me. He wasn’t supposed to hurt anybody!”

   I stare straight ahead, tears falling fast. My hands are balled into fists. There are so many questions and emotions running through my mind, I don’t know what to say or ask. I want to kill her.

   “I fooled around with Chris a few times, so I knew he would do it for me. I just . . . When you caught me and James at the restaurant, and he told you he loved you, he then discarded me like a piece of trash. He didn’t even care how I felt. I’m sorry, Mick, for all of it. I was in love with James, and he didn’t even care. I was so fucking angry! I saw him first. You remember that day we met him—I wanted him! You didn’t even want a boyfriend, but you got the best one. You didn’t even want him. I did.”