I dropped down into a squat, fisting my hands in my hair. Why the f.u.c.k didn't I answer my phone? How did I not hear an ambulance that was at my house when I was only a little more than a football field away? Could I have done anything? Could I have gotten him in my car and raced him to the hospital faster than the ambulance that got to our house and took him?

I stood back up, but left my stomach on the floor. I traded a look with Ben but wasn't quite sure if I imagined the blame that shot through his gaze. His eyes softened, and he did something completely uncharacteristic: he hugged me. Squeezing me so tight that my ribs protested and I had a hard time drawing in a breath. It felt like I swallowed a rock, and it'd gotten lodged right at the base of my throat.

Ben resumed his pacing, and I sat. My legs bounced up and down because I couldn't keep still. I leaned back, sat forward, got up, sat back down, switched chairs, crossed my legs, and finally got back up again. Ben laid tracks down between one row of chairs, and I took the other. Rachel, Mom, and Maggie stayed in exactly the same spot, not moving.

The gla.s.s door squealed as it opened, and a man with small, round gla.s.ses and a white coat walked through. "Mrs. Mathis?"

The dynamics in the room switched. The women scrambled toward the doctor, but I couldn't even take a step. My feet cemented themselves to the ground the moment he walked through the door. He hadn't said a word, but I knew. I knew.

"Mrs. Mathis, when your husband was brought into the emergency room, he had lost consciousness and we were unable to find a pulse. We did everything we could, but despite our best efforts, we were unable to revive him. I'm very sorry, ma'am."

The room swam in front of me and a ringing pierced through my ears, so loud and insistent that it drowned out nearly everything else in the room. Ben stood less than three feet away, his grief-stricken expression carved in stone. His steps were faltering, stumbling, like it was the very first time he was trying to walk. Reaching an arm around Mom's shoulders, his face blanked of expression as he questioned the doctor. The only words I caught were "sudden cardiac death," before the ringing roared back to life with such a vengeance I thought my ears would start bleeding.

I crumpled to the ground when my legs wouldn't hold me up any longer. The linoleum was cold underneath my hands, and the smell of lemon air freshener was suddenly overpowering. I couldn't tell how long I sat there, caved in on myself on the dirty floor of the hospital waiting room. My head throbbed and my stomach heaved, and finally, finally, the ringing stopped.

Someone was sobbing. Sobbing so hard that their breaths sounded painful, and any words they were trying to utter were only a horrific, pathetic moaning. My eyes searched through the blurred scenery in front of me trying to find Mom, so sure that it was her who was coming apart at the seams. But it wasn't her.

It was me.

Chapter 21: Bianca.

I slapped a wet rag on the scarred surface of the table, scrubbing until the dried-on patch of ketchup flaked off. There was something wonderful about the things here at Blackrose, all of them had dents and dings that spoke of being well-used and well-loved.

"You ready to head out?" Harper called from the other side of the restaurant, stuffing her tips in her wallet. The next shift had wandered in fifteen or so minutes ago and was already setting about taking orders.

I nodded and tossed the washcloth behind the bar, stooping to grab my purse. I double-checked the time to make sure I was still on schedule. So far, so good. There wasn't any way I was going to be late for tonight's Yankees game after how much money I spent on these tickets.

The autumn breeze whispered over my face, tickling the damp strands of hair at the base of my neck as I pushed open the front door. There's nothing quite like fall in the Northeast. The trees burned with leaves of red and gold, littering the sidewalk with such vibrant colors it was like walking through fire. Shorts and flip-flops had been traded for scarves and boots as summer wardrobes were packed away. Barring everyone's obsession with pumpkin-flavored everything, fall was by far my favorite season.

When I turned left and still heard Harper's footsteps beside me, I frowned in her direction. "Where are you going?"

She shrugged, batting down her scarf as it flew up on a gust of wind into her face. "Your place?"

"Don't you have a date tonight with tattoo guy?"

"His name is Brand, geez." She gave me an exaggerated eye roll.

"You see the irony in the fact that his name is Brand and he's a tattoo artist, right?" I lifted an eyebrow at her. "So, what happened? You cancel?"

"Not cancelled, just rescheduled." We hurried across the street while the light was red, picking up our conversation when we reached the safety of the sidewalk. "He forgot he had his niece's dance recital tonight."

I laughed at the thought of big, burly Brand, covered in ink, surrounded by tutus and glitter. I'd been to more than my fair share of dance recitals, experiencing firsthand their craziness. It spoke volumes about his character that he was not only willing to go to the recital but that he took a rain check on Harper to do so.

Unlocking my front door, I flicked my gaze to the clock on the microwave. The game started at seven-fifteen, and Ian insisted that we had to be there an hour ahead of time for batting practice. Calculating in travel time and possible subway delays, that left me with exactly fifty-seven minutes to get ready.

Harper's voice drifted in as I rifled through my dresser drawers. "Are these the tickets?"

Tucking the pile of clothes under my arm, I strode out of my bedroom and toward the bathroom. I caught her holding my phone, a guilty smile sitting on her face.

"What'd you do?"

"Nothing. I may have just sent Ian a quick text showing him how freaking fantastic these tickets are."

At a price that more than covered a month's worth of rent, the things needed to be plated in gold. I leveled a finger in her direction. "No more texts."

"Yes, Mom."

I kicked the bathroom door shut behind me, and it rebounded off the broken latch and hovered open a few inches. Shedding my clothes, I hopped in the shower and pulled the curtain closed with a metallic screech.

"So, am I ever gonna get to meet Ian?" Harper's voice echoed around the bathroom.

Whipping the shower curtain, I squinted through shampoo suds.

"Relax," she said with a laugh. "I'm on the other side of the door."

I craned my neck a little more and just managed to make out her fingers as she wiggled them at me through the crack in the door.

"Seriously though, are you hiding him from me?"

"Yup. I'm seriously convinced he's going to fall head over heels in love with you the minute he sees you, so I'm making sure the two of you never cross paths."

"That's harsh, B, keeping me from my soul mate like that."

The great thing about Harper was that she always made me laugh. She chased away all the insecurities and depressing memories that twisted around me like cobwebs. Even something as little as calling me B, rather than Bianca, was huge. Never, ever, ever were nicknames permitted. My name was Bianca, no abbreviations, no alternate p.r.o.nunciations, nothing.

I dipped my head under the water to rinse, letting the water run into my ears and drown out the sounds around me. As I reached for the loofah, Harper snapped her fingers.

"I've got it. He's ugly. Or old. He's old and ugly. He's a seventy-three-year-old with a mullet and dentures. I'm right, right?"

"You got me."

"Wait, I know!" Harper's feet slapped against the floor, fading out and then racing back toward me. "I can't believe I didn't think of this before-Facebook. What's his last name again? I can just look him up and . . . oh d.a.m.n."

Shutting off the water, I wrung out my hair and wrapped myself in a scratchy, green towel. "Harper?"

"Do you have clothes on in there?"

"Umm . . . no?"

The door swung open, and I clutched the towel tighter underneath my armpits. Harper walked cautiously forward, one hand clamped tightly over her eyes, the other holding out my phone in front of her. I took it from her and glanced down.

Ian: I am so, so sorry. I've got a stomach virus or food poisoning or the plague. My face hasn't left the toilet all day. I'm not gonna make it tonight. I'll make it up to you, I swear.

In the time I'd gotten to know Ian, I'd discovered that he was many things-moody, confusing, sincere, distant, genuine-but never unreliable. At least not that I'd seen. So while my first instinct was to be suspicious, Ian deserved the benefit of the doubt.

Over the past month we'd gone to a drive-in movie and fooled around in the backseat of his car, played a spectacularly terrible round of miniature golf, and had a wine and cheese picnic in Central Park. Ian's lips had become familiar terrain, and slowly but surely I was discovering all the secret spots and little quirks that drove him crazy. Like the fact that he loved it when I ran my fingers through his hair, or that I could get him to s.e.xy moan when I bit his lower lip and sucked it into my mouth.

Bianca: So sorry to hear that. Can I bring you anything? Soup? Gatorade?

Ian: Appreciate it, but would feel even worse if I got you sick too. While I'm praying to the porcelain G.o.ds over here, how about you remind me what's next on the list. Let me start planning.

I actually had to stop and think about. It's not that I'd stopped thinking about the list, but with every thing I crossed off it, my life seemed to grow. In the beginning, there'd been nothing but silence and emptiness, now there was my job and yoga, Ian and Harper. My days had gotten unexpectedly full when I wasn't paying attention. Somehow I thought Renee would be pretty pleased about that.

Bianca: Let's see, next up we've got karaoke and camping.

Ian: Alright, got it. F04A It was sad that an electronic smiley face could make my stomach do backflips.

"h.e.l.lo, Bianca? What's going on? You've been quiet for a really long time, and my hand is starting to make my face sweat."

I pressed the cell phone back into her hand. "Well, it looks like I've got an extra ticket for tonight. Any chance you wanna come watch a game with me?"

"Are you serious? You better not be joking." Harper grinned, nearly vibrating with excitement. "Oh man, I need to run home and get a change of clothes and take a shower. I smell like"-she sniffed-"deep-fried dog c.r.a.p." Spinning on a heel, Harper hurried forward and walked smack into the edge of the door. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h! Motherf.u.c.king wh.o.r.e!" Her hand finally dropped from her eyes and she grabbed her knee, hopping up and down on one foot. Through it all, she kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

I held on to the edge of the bathroom counter, bending in half in silent laughter. Thank G.o.d she couldn't see me. Clearing my throat, I tried to suppress every ounce of laughter from my voice. "Hey, Harper?"

"Yes?" she bit out.

"You wanna just shower here and borrow some clothes?"

She sighed, finally holding still. "That might be best."

Chapter 22: Ian.

7 Years Earlier I shifted in my seat, the legs of the metal chair sinking lower into the gra.s.s. The sun beat down on me like a laser beam without a cloud in the sky to deflect its wrath. I was baking. By the time we made it through all the speeches, everyone getting their diplomas, and G.o.d knew what else, not only would I be burnt to a crisp, but my cap and gown would look like I'd jumped in a pool.

Rachel was wilting next to me, her makeup practically melting off her face and her hair turning into a limp mess. A bead of sweat careened down the side of my face, slid down my neck, and finally soaked into the collar of my shirt. Another five minutes, and I'd be dehydrated for sure.

A foot kicked the back leg of my chair, and a second later a chin appeared on my shoulder. "How's the arm?"

I shifted it beneath the layers of gown, b.u.t.ton-down, T-shirt, and bandage. "It feels like it's on fire, but I could say the same about the rest of me."

"Your mom see it yet?"

I shook my head, glancing at Maggie out of the corner of my eye. Her hair frizzed like crazy in the heat, like she'd accidentally taken a bath with a blow-dryer for company. "Nope."

I wasn't sure how Mom was going to take the sight of my first tattoo. On one hand, I'd gotten it for my father-his gold pocket watch surrounded by a cl.u.s.ter of red poppies, the time set to the exact minute we lost him and the world became a lesser place. On the other hand, she hated the d.a.m.n things and I'd kept it a secret from her. So really, it was a toss-up.

All around me, people started clapping, the sound snapping me out of my thoughts. Rachel stood next to me and kicked me in the ankle on the way past, giving me a dirty look. Hastily, I whipped my hands up and joined in the applause. I couldn't be prouder of her-graduating at the top of our cla.s.s and getting into a top-ranked computer science program. Not that I ever doubted her, but I kinda always a.s.sumed where I went, she'd go too. Besides, Ben was already at Syracuse, and all three of us applied there as well. So, when Rachel dropped the bombsh.e.l.l that she was going to UC Berkeley, on the other side of the frickin' country? Yeah, I would have been just as surprised if it started snowing at that very moment.

Maggie drummed her fingernails against the metal chair. Nail polish clung to a few of them, but mostly they were just stained with charcoal. She lowered her voice to something lower than a whisper. "Have you given any thought to what Ben said?"

This once, I ignored her, trying to concentrate on Rachel's speech. She was nervous, I could tell. With the weather, no one would know she was sweating from nervousness and her other tells were so minor, I was sure to everyone else she looked like the perfect picture of cool and collected.

My chair shook as Maggie kicked it for the second time today. "Don't think I'm gonna stop asking just because you're ignoring me."

"I've thought about it, okay? I still don't think it's a good idea."

"C'mon." She drew that one word out like a piece of bubblegum, pulling and pulling until it drooped. "You've gotta give him a chance."

I tried to tune her out, but she was like an insect buzzing in my ear.

"I get it, he's been a complete and total a.s.shole. Flaked on you more times than you can count, and we're not even going get into how s.h.i.tty he's been to Rachel. But he's so different now. After . . ." Her voice stumbled, my heart right with it. She decided to skip the words entirely. "He's really pulled it together. He's been there for your mom, pulled his grades up. He even cut his hair. His lovely, lovely hair."

"We have the same hair," I replied drily.

She kissed me on the side of the head underneath the elastic edge of my graduation cap. "Oh G.o.d, that was so gross." Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stuck her tongue out at me. "I know I've said it before, but I think this is a great opportunity for you. Besides, what's the worst that can happen?"

My reply got cut off by another smattering of applause. This time, I managed to get my hands up to clap for Rachel right away. Maggie stuck her fingers in her mouth and gave an earsplitting whistle that temporarily deafened me.

Rachel slipped back into our row, her face glowing and her grin nearly splitting her face in half. The next part of the ceremony went fast, and in no time at all the princ.i.p.al was pa.s.sing out diplomas as he called out our names. Our row was next, so I stood with the rest of them, fidgeting with the sleeves of my long, blue gown.

Maggie scrunched up her nose and blew me a kiss. I caught sight of Mom, sitting near the front with Ben at her side. When she saw me, up went the camera and out came the tissues. My eyes strayed to the seat on Mom's left. A seat that was filled by an elderly Asian woman with streaks of gray running through her jet black hair, and not by my father. My chest tightened, like someone was squeezing it in a vice, and I had to blink really fast to keep myself from crying. Aren't we done with this crying s.h.i.t yet?

Over the past month I'd heard it all-I'm so sorry for your loss, he would've been so proud of you, I'm sure he's looking down on you, he'll always be with you. None if it made me feel any better. None of it changed the fact that he was gone or that I'd been a f.u.c.king mess ever since.

I climbed up the metal steps, made quick work walking across the stage, and shook the princ.i.p.al's hand. Tucking the empty folio underneath my arm, I hurried back to my seat. Apparently, they don't actually give out diplomas at graduation ceremonies anymore. Something about past-due library fees.

One more speech, some music, and our caps were tossed in the air. I hesitated, clutching the cardboard brim of my hat between my fingers. Everything was happening too fast, changing faster than I could get a grip on it. I knew that carelessly throwing my cap into the air would mean another door was closing. Dad was gone, Rachel was leaving, high school was over, Ben had grown up overnight, and Mom . . . G.o.d, she tried so hard to put on a brave face, but I could hear her crying at night, her m.u.f.fled sobs leaking through the thin walls. I saw her puffy eyes in the morning, and the trash was filled with box after box of Kleenexes.

The world was spinning frantically and I was so dizzy, I couldn't get my bearings. There was only one thing that held me steady, one constant-Maggie. I glanced over my shoulder at her, and she flashed me a quick smile. Her mom and dad sandwiched her between them, squeezing, and laughing, and grinning.

I didn't realize I was standing in a sea of empty folding chairs until Ben popped up at my side. We exchanged a quick hug, a manly pat on the back. I was still trying to get used to his new look, all clean-shaven and short, close-cropped hair. It's like he aged overnight, the carefree sparkle in his eyes replaced by a seriousness that edged lines around his eyes and mouth.

"Congrats, man. You, uh, did good."

"Thanks."

"Listen." He held up his hands, palms out. "No pressure or anything, but I wanted to see if you'd given any thought to my proposition." He rushed on before I could interrupt him. "I've been holding off auditions, and there has been some interest. But I want it to be you, Ian. It should be you."

"Yeah, why's that? Because dad would've wanted it that way?" The words were out before I could stop them, soaked in all the anger and frustration I'd been stewing in since he died.

Ben flinched like I slapped him across the face. "No. No, because I want it to be that way. I get it; I've dropped the ball, majorly. But I'm trying to . . . I want to be a better person. h.e.l.l, I kicked Craig out of the band because he wouldn't lay off the drugs."