The door squeaked open again, the head of Dr. Abel popping through the opening. I tensed, every muscle in my body going to attention at his appearance.

"Ian," he said, "do you have a minute?"

I nodded. I had plenty of minutes. Too many of them really.

The door closed behind him with a soft click, and he readjusted his gla.s.ses as he pulled over a chair on the opposite side of the bed. "This may be a conversation you'd like to have in private," he said, with a meaningful glance in Ben's direction.

Ben went to stand, but I put a hand on his shoulder. "If it's alright, I'd like him to stay."

"Of course, of course," he mumbled, shuffling through the paperwork in his hands. His eyes lifted until they found mine. "I'm afraid the news isn't good, Ian. Maggie's injuries were very extensive, and although we were able to stabilize her condition, she's continued to decline. Her kidney function isn't improving; her organs are starting to fail. We're not able to remove her from the ventilator."

When he stopped speaking, the only sounds in the room were Maggie's machines-the beep of her heart on the monitor, the mechanical breath of the ventilator. I knew what he was trying to say, but I had to hear him say it. Had to hear the words to really believe them. "What are you saying?"

Dr. Abel plucked his gla.s.ses from his nose so he could rub a hand across his face. "Your wife is dying, Ian. Her organs are shutting down. And these machines"-he waved a hand around the room-"they'll prolong it for a time. But leaving her this way will drag out her suffering."

"She's in pain?" I choked the words out, even though it felt like each word was flecked with gla.s.s shards.

"We're doing everything we can to keep her comfortable. But you have to understand, regardless of what we do, she'll never be able to breathe on her own. She won't be able to swallow." He stopped to take a breath. "The decision is yours, but I'm recommending that you withdraw life support."

"When . . . when do I need to let you know?" My voice shook, and I pinched my fingers tighter around Maggie's wrist. The ever present badum-badum of her heart beating out against my skin. Every pulse screamed out against Dr. Abel. Every beat shouted, "I'm alive!"

"Take your time. Think it over. I'll come by to see you tomorrow." Tucking the clipboard underneath his arm, he stood. "I'm very sorry."

After he left, Ben turned to me. His fingers twisted in the fabric of the blanket. "We can get a second opinion."

"Yeah." That one word cost me, but it fought its way to the surface.

My eyes searched over her, drinking her in, looking for something, anything, that would refute Dr. Abel's claims. I dropped my gaze down to my hand on her arm. Twisting my wrist just slightly, the edge of a hummingbird's wing peeked into view. Tiny, delicate, exquisitely detailed. I'd planned it for months, worked on it endlessly until it was absolutely perfect. I'd promised her the next one would be for her, swore it. But she'd never get to see it. I'd never get to find out if she remembered that little doodle on the side of her sneaker from the first day we met.

I let my fingers slide down the underside of her wrist, folding her hand into mine. Giving it a squeeze, I felt the hard edges of her bones dig into the palm of my hand. Give me something, Maggie. If you can hear me, or feel me, if you're still there, just give me a sign. A twitch, a blink, a squeeze. Anything. Anything and I'll wait for you. As long as it takes.

I stared at her until my eyes blurred from my refusal to blink, terrified that I'd miss the tiny signal that would tell me Maggie was still with me. Her eyelids didn't flutter, her fingers didn't flex. Nothing happened. Not a single f.u.c.king thing.

I felt it then-hope draining from my bones, the inevitability that the life I'd spent wrapped up in Maggie's love was gone and I'd never get it back. I might've just prayed to the universe to give me a sign, but I wasn't stupid. I knew that finding someone once in this lifetime who I could love with everything I had, who loved me back just as fiercely, was rare. The road ahead of me was bleak and barren. And that's what I'd be-alone. Because I knew that I'd never love someone again like I did Maggie. It wasn't possible.

The day dawned clear and bright, the wind gusting over mounds of powdered snow so that it whirled in the air, like tiny flake-encrusted tornadoes. The weather, it seemed, didn't care that I was dying inside, and that on the day I lost Maggie it should be dark and storming. As bleak outside as I felt inside. The sun glared adamantly down through the hospital window, streaking the white expanse of snow until it looked like it was covered in piles of glitter.

The room was crowded. Too full-of pain, of tears, of everything. There were too many emotions clouding the air, more than I'd be able to name given a dictionary and an entire lifetime to search it.

I couldn't sit. So I stood, at the side of the bed, my hand tucked neatly into hers. A small slash of ink stained the tip of my middle finger. Ink from the pen Dr. Abel gave me. The pen I used to sign the forms that gave them permission to turn off the machines. Each swipe of the pen stole a little sliver of my soul. Every swirl felt like a wicked paper cut, until everything was stinging and aching.

Maggie's parents stood somewhere off to my right. Her mom's eyes locked onto mine, still pleading with me. I couldn't hold her gaze and immediately wrenched it away. They'd argued with me, begged me not to do it, but I couldn't leave her like this. I couldn't leave her to die in slow motion. Losing her would be the worst pain I ever felt, but I'd gladly welcome it rather than let her suffer a minute more.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her father lay one broad hand across Maggie's forehead, his other arm tucked tightly around his wife. They pulled closer and closer together, like they could somehow shield themselves from what was to come by hiding inside each other. To the left, with hands holding tight to the footboard of the bed, were Rachel and Ben, Gavin and Felix standing behind them. Each of them kept to themselves, curling into their own little ball of grief.

Dr. Abel shifted across from me, drawing my attention to him. "Are you ready?"

Ready? How could anyone ever be ready for this?

I managed a nod. The muscles in my throat worked as I tried to swallow, but it felt like something was caught there. It wasn't my heart. That was already lying on the bed next to Maggie, dying right along with her.

Dr. Abel reached up to the machines, turning them off one by one. With gentle hands, he peeled back the tape that stretched out from her mouth, slowly removing the tube from her throat. The heart monitor was the last machine left on. The thin white line kept spiking, but it slowed as the seconds pa.s.sed, the deafening beep sounding out less and less. I held my breath between beats, begging for just one more, until the pauses drew out too long and I had to breathe without her.

I didn't notice the first tear. Or the second. Or the twelfth. They ran down my cheeks and dripped off my chin, soaking into the blanket or splattering onto our joined hands. Each one drained a little bit of life out of me, dragging me down into a pit where the stubborn rays of the sun couldn't bother me.

When her heart rate flatlined, Dr. Abel reached up to switch off the machine, killing the sound in the room. We were left with sniffles and sobs, whimpers and not-so-silent tears.

Dr. Abel whispered time of death to the nurse standing at his side, and then left us with an, "I'll give you some time."

His exit was a cue, and one by one they left. Rachel with a soft pat on Maggie's arm, the guys with a brief touch to her blanket-covered legs and feet. Maggie's mom trailed a finger across her cheek and then came toward me, just two steps.

With a quick, decisive movement, she drew back her hand and slapped me across the face. I felt every single one of her fingers touch my skin, burning, and no doubt leaving a red print behind. Her eyes welled with tears, her voice jagged and rasping. "You never deserved her. And this?" Her nostrils flared. "This is all your fault."

Arms snaked around her from behind, squeezing her tightly, locking her hands to her sides. Maggie's dad walked her toward the door, never saying one word to me. Never even lifting his eyes to meet mine. I was too shocked to say anything, too stunned to move.

If I'd been able to, I would have told her, "I know."

Chapter 35: Bianca.

Google mocked me. The blank white screen stared up at me, the cursor with its endless blink-blink-blink. So far, the most I'd managed to type had been "Ia" before promptly deleting it. I wasn't ready to break another one of my rules for Ian. I'd already broken too many, and look where it'd gotten me.

I'd been back in Texas for almost a week and everything was all wrong. The house was the same, my bedroom forever unchanging with its lavender walls and stark white trim. Everything was familiar, but not comfortable. Identical, yet different. It'd taken me awhile to realize that it wasn't anything else that was the problem, it was me.

I didn't fit anymore.

Pushing a hand through my hair, I flopped down onto the bed, and the clean scent of laundry detergent wafted up to greet me. The experience of stepping back into my old life was almost surreal. Here, I was sleeping in the same bed, walking the same halls. I remembered the girl who used to do those things. The one who knew the fourth step down squeaked if you stepped on the right side, and that the light switch in the living room wasn't actually connected to anything. I was still her, but I wasn't. It was like I was trying to fit into clothes that were a half-size too small-it almost worked, but not quite.

I reached out a hand, my fingers fumbling over the comforter until they connected with my phone. Holding it up in front of my face, I swiped through the screens until the phone was dialing.

"Well, it's about d.a.m.n time," Harper snapped. "Do you know how annoying it's been trying to give you s.p.a.ce? To be clear, you had about another day or two before I broke radio silence myself."

"I did text you."

"Right. 'Made it home safely. Will call soon.' Thanks for that."

I took a deep breath. "I need a favor."

"Does it involve me booking you a flight back to New York?" On her end, I heard a fingernail tapping against something hard, a table maybe.

I picked at the edge of my pillowcase with a fingernail. "I want you to look up Ian for me."

"Don't you have the internet in Texas?"

"I just . . . can't."

"Seriously?"

"Harper."

"Bianca." Her words snapped back at me like a rubber band. She groaned. "Fine, fine, I'll do it. Although, for the record, I don't really understand why you're too chickens.h.i.t to do it yourself. Now what, in particular, am I trying to dig up on Mr. Mathis?"

"Everything. I'm not even sure how much of the real him I know anymore. I know something happened in the past that was bad, but I never asked and he never said. And . . . I want to know about the woman he was with at the wedding."

Harper sighed. "He hasn't called?"

"No."

"Texted?"

"Nope." I rubbed a hand across my forehead, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. I hadn't honestly expected to hear from him, so I don't know why I was so surprised that my phone had been abysmally silent. I guess a small part of me hoped that the girl who'd gone and fallen in love, that's right I said love, with Ian hadn't been so pathetically naive to imagine the whole thing was reciprocated. That she wasn't about to rearrange her entire future for a guy who'd been lying to her for months and playing her as skillfully as he played his guitar. "I just need to satisfy my curiosity, find out the truth, and then I can move on."

Harper snorted. "You think so? You think you can just search out the answers and then put it behind you?"

"I have to. That's the way it has to be."

"I'm gonna call bulls.h.i.t on you one more time." She let out something that sounded like a cross between a growl and a sigh. "That isn't the only option and you know it. Things fell through with Ian. So what? Just because he turned out to be the epic a.s.s of the century rather than the love of your life doesn't mean you need to go full steam ahead with your parents' plan. You still have me, and you still have you. Bianca, the person that I'm talking to on the phone right now isn't the same person I met at the beginning of the summer. If you want stay in Texas and whatever, and that's what's going to make you happy, then fine. But don't use Ian as an excuse to take the easy way out."

In the silence that stretched out, I could hear someone running a vacuum downstairs, and harsh, heeled footsteps down the hall. "You'll look?"

"Yes." The words came out on an exhale. "Give me an hour or two. I'll see what I can find and I'll call you back."

"Thank you."

"And I just want you to know that I deleted all of the Downfall's songs off my iPod. I realize it's more of a symbolic gesture since I technically already bought the alb.u.m, but it was the closest I could get to smashing a CD."

A smile crept across my face. "Have I mentioned lately that you're the best?"

"It wouldn't hurt to hear you say it again."

The house was awake with the clamor of people-chairs sc.r.a.ping against the floor, mutterings drifting up the staircase, and the vacuum, still tirelessly running. By the end of the day, not a single dust mote would have survived.

I swept a clear coat of gloss across my lips, blotting them against a tissue to dull the shine. Smoothing a hand down my red dress, I poked through my jewelry box until I unearthed my pearl studs. There. Once again I was the perfectly respectable senator's daughter, ready for our holiday photo. I gave myself a practiced smile in the mirror, pleased that my face gave away none of my inner turmoil.

When my phone rang from the other end of my dresser, I nearly threw myself across the room to get it. "h.e.l.lo?"

Harper jumped right in without any small talk. "There's a metric s.h.i.t-ton of stuff about Ian plastered all over the internet, so it took me longer than I expected to sift through it all."

"I've got about ten minutes before I need to be downstairs. Can you squeeze it in, or do I need to call you back later?" I crossed my fingers. I wasn't sure I could stand any more waiting.

"All right, the quick and dirty version. I can do that. Fair warning-you're not going to like any of this, but just remember, when I get to the part that makes you feel absolutely wretched, give me another minute and you'll change your mind." Papers rustled across the line, and Harper cleared her throat. "I'm gonna a.s.sume you already know the basic details, so I'll skim there. Ian Xavier Mathis, younger brother to Alaric Benjamin Mathis. Went to Syracuse University, where he joined up with his brother's band as the lead guitarist and occasional songwriter. In the middle of his freshman year, the band got serious interest. They signed with a label, and blasted onto the charts shortly thereafter."

"All right." I paced the room from one end to the other, making a track from my door to where my gauzy curtains hung limply around my window. "That's nothing bad."

"Here's where it goes downhill. Right around the same time his band hit it big, he also married his high school sweetheart."

My feet rooted themselves to the floor. "He's married?" I blurted.

"Hold up. You're gonna have to let me get through this without interrupting."

"Fine."

"Fine. So, as I was saying, Ian married his high school sweetheart, Maggie Wright. They were the real deal from what I can tell. No whispers about him cheating on her, nothing about him being seen with other women. Nothing. Some of these pictures of the two of them . . . well, I'm glad I was the one seeing them and not you." Harper heaved out a sigh. "Bianca, Ian's not married. Maggie died."

When Harper dropped that bombsh.e.l.l, I swear the floor shook. Realistically, it probably wasn't the floor but my legs that were shaking. "How?"

"She was at the mall doing some Christmas shopping, but when she was crossing the parking lot, she and a friend were struck by a car. The friend made it out with sc.r.a.pes and bruises, the driver was in diabetic shock and didn't even make it to the hospital. From the articles I found, Maggie was in bad shape and ended up in critical condition, but stabilized. Things were pretty quiet for the next couple of weeks, and then s.h.i.t really hit the fan."

My mind tried to conjure up ways that situation could've possible gotten worse, but it couldn't do justice to the reality of what happened. "Details get a little scarce here, privacy and all that, but whatever happened, he ended up having to remove her from life support. And if that's not bad enough, shortly after that, there was this really awful, scathing interview that came out from her parents. They practically accused him of killing their daughter, and, well, just promise me you'll never go looking for that fantastic piece of journalism."

"Trust me, I have no desire to ever read that." I inhaled a deep breath through my nose and furiously blinked my eyes. I didn't have time to fix my makeup, and I was seconds away from bawling. "All right, Harper, I've reached that point you were talking about. Are you going to make this better, or do I need to find some tissues?"

"Right, moving on." Harper made some weird clicking noise with her tongue, and I could picture her skimming over haphazard notes written in a messy hand. "After that, he dropped off the grid for a little, and so did the band. Understandable, really. Pretty much during the whole year after that, the only two you heard anything from were Ben and Gavin, and the other two were MIA. Until this summer when word got around that they were recording again, working on a new alb.u.m. Now, how true that is, I don't know, but right around the same time, rumor has it that Ian started dating Brie Lancaster. Obviously, I know that you have no idea who she is, but to sum up, she's famous, an actress, and one of the few people in the spotlight who is actually a decent human being."

Leave it to Ian to be dating someone I couldn't hate just on principle. The sympathy I'd been feeling for him, that'd been misting my eyes and tightening like a noose around my throat, began to lessen. "He dated her all summer?"

"Still is, as far as I can tell. There's tons of pictures of them together-out to dinner, at that wedding, out and about on the town." Harper paused and blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, B. I wish there was something I could do to make this better."

I managed to swallow down my tears-the ones that grieved for Ian, the ones who hated him for all the lies, and even the ones for the death of new dreams. "You're already doing it." I sniffed, hardening my voice. "I've got the truth and now I can move forward. Ian is messed up, I always knew that, but now I finally get why. And as much as my heart is bleeding for him, as much as I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like for him, none of that is an excuse for what he did. I can't believe that he spent months lying to me, and for what? To get laid twice? To have a little fun? I don't get it."

"I dunno. Men are strange creatures. But he's just a guy, B."

"I know, you're right." Someone rapped out a harsh knock on my door. "Listen, I've gotta run. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"You got it."

Hanging up the phone, I placed it on my dresser and took five seconds to collect myself. That's all it took to slip the mask back on and hide everything I was feeling. It was almost scary how easy it was to fall back into my old role.

I crossed to the door and opened it. A young woman in a long black cardigan and slim black pants smiled up at me and said, "Miss Easton? They're ready for you downstairs."

"Thank you." I gave her a quick smile and slipped by her. In the last couple hours, our living room had been transformed. Studio lights lined one side, with camera equipment strewn across the ground. The mantel was decked with garland and ribbon, candles and bows. Nothing too specific to suggest any specific wintertime holiday-no Christmas tree, no menorah, or anything like that.

Mom snapped closed a compact mirror, her gaze flitting to me as I made my way across the room. "That hair, Bianca. Whatever possessed you to cut it?"

Self-consciously, my hand drifted up to smooth over it. "I like it."

She did that thing where she almost smiled, her lips stretched over her teeth without parting, her eyebrows lifting and nostrils pinching. What that look really meant was, I'm tolerating you but certainly don't agree with you.

Dad finally managed to pry his eyes away from his cell phone, shoving it in his pocket. "Are we just about ready to get this done? We've got a dinner reservation in forty-five." He twitched his arm to peek down at the thick silver watch ringing his wrist.

For a brief moment, his gaze coasted over me, skimming down me like I was a piece of furniture he was examining to ensure it was up to specification. My jaw clenched, and I stepped carefully over cords and wires to stand on his left side.