The Hawkins estate sat on three acres in Bellevue. White columns. Circular drive. The kind of house that appeared in architectural magazines with captions about old money and good taste.

I pulled up at seven. My knee was healed enough that I only limped when I was tired. The bruises on my ribs had faded to yellow.

I wore navy. Simple. Nothing that could be called a statement.

Dalton's mother met me at the door. Her smile was tight. The kind of smile people use at funerals.

"Everly." She touched my arm. "I'm so glad you could come."

She wasn't glad. She was uncomfortable. She knew what her son had done and she didn't know where to put her eyes.

"Thank you for having me," I said.

Inside, the house smelled like roasted lamb and lilies. Dalton's father stood by the fireplace with a scotch. He nodded at me. Didn't come over.

Dalton was in the living room. Kori was next to him on the sofa, her legs tucked under her, one hand resting on his knee. She wore white. Of course she wore white.

She saw me and smiled. Wiggled her fingers in a little wave.

I looked away.

"Everly!"

Millie appeared in the doorway. She was eight. Dark braids. Gap-toothed smile. She ran across the room and wrapped her arms around my waist.

"You came! I thought you weren't coming!"

I hugged her back. Her head pressed against my ribs and I felt the ache but I didn't let go.

"I wouldn't miss it," I said.

"Come see my dress. I got it for the school play. I'm a tree."

She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the hallway. I glanced back once. Dalton was watching. Kori was whispering something in his ear. He didn't stop me.

Dinner was lamb and roasted vegetables and a tension so thick I could taste it under the rosemary. Dalton's brother Nathan sat across from me. Millie sat next to him. Kori sat next to Dalton at the head of the table. She laughed too loud. Touched his arm too often. Dalton's mother refilled her wine glass and didn't look at anyone.

I ate. I answered when spoken to. I watched the clock on the mantel.

Three days left.

After dinner, the adults moved to the sitting room. Millie tugged on my sleeve.

"Come upstairs. I want to show you the costume."

I followed her into the hallway. The grand staircase curved up to the second floor. Dark wood. Iron railing. Millie was already halfway up, chattering about how her teacher said she had the best tree posture in the whole class.

I stopped at the bottom. My knee was starting to ache.

"Millie, can you bring it down? I'll wait here."

She turned on the landing. "It's in my room. Come on, it's not far."

I heard the click of heels behind me.

Kori's voice was bright. "Need help?"

I turned. She was standing in the hallway. Alone. Her smile was wide and her eyes were flat.

"We're fine," I said.

I turned back to Millie. She was at the top now, disappearing down the hall.

"Millie, wait—"

I heard the movement behind me. Fast. Purposeful.

I turned just as Kori lunged past me and up three stairs. Millie had come back to the top of the staircase, leaning over the railing.

Kori's hands shot out. She shoved Millie. Hard. Both palms flat against the child's chest.

Millie's eyes went wide. Her mouth opened. She didn't even scream.

She fell backward. Her body hit the stairs. Once. Twice. Tumbling. Her head cracked against the railing. She landed at the bottom in a heap. One arm bent wrong. Not moving.

For one second, the house was silent.

Then Kori screamed.

"She pushed her!" Kori's voice was ragged. Hysterical. She pointed at me with a shaking hand. "Everly pushed her! I saw it! Oh my god, she pushed Millie!"

Footsteps thundered. Dalton's mother appeared first. She saw Millie and her hand flew to her mouth.

Nathan shoved past me. Dropped to his knees beside his daughter. "Millie. Millie, baby, can you hear me?"

Dalton came last. He looked at Millie. At Nathan. At Kori, who was sobbing into her hands.

Then he looked at me.

I opened my mouth. No sound came out.

"You." His voice was low. Shaking. "You did this."

"I didn't—"

"She pushed her!" Kori's voice cracked. "I tried to stop her but I was too late. I saw the whole thing."

Dalton's mother was on the phone. Ambulance. Hurry. A child. Not breathing right.

Nathan looked up at me. His face was white. "Get out."

"Nathan, I swear, I didn't touch her—"

"GET OUT!"

Dalton crossed the space between us. His hand closed around my arm. His grip was iron.

"Dalton, please, listen to me—"

He dragged me toward the door. I stumbled. My knee buckled. He didn't slow down.

"You're insane," he said. His voice was quiet. Lethal. "You're fucking insane."

He shoved me out the front door. I caught myself on the railing. Behind him, Kori stood in the hallway. She was still crying. But when Dalton turned back toward the house, I saw her face.

She smiled.

Just for a second. Just for me.

Then the door slammed shut.

Dalton didn't ask.

He turned to the two men in black suits standing by the door. His voice was flat. Final.

"Throw her off the balcony."

I stopped breathing.

The bodyguards moved. They crossed the foyer in three steps. Their hands closed around my arms.

"Dalton." My voice cracked. "Dalton, please."

He didn't look at me. He was looking at Kori. She was crying into her hands. Her shoulders shook. He put his arm around her and turned away.

The men dragged me toward the terrace doors.

I fought.

I twisted. I pulled. I dug my heels into the marble and it didn't matter. They were twice my size. My knee screamed. My ribs screamed. They hauled me through the doors onto the balcony like I weighed nothing.

The night air hit my face. Cold. Clean. The estate grounds spread out below. Three stories down. Grass and stone and garden lights.

"Wait." I looked back. Dalton was still in the doorway. Kori's face was buried in his chest. "Dalton, look at me."

He looked.

I searched his face for something. Doubt. Hesitation. Anything.

There was nothing. Just cold fury. Just Kori's hand on his arm.

"Please," I whispered.

The bodyguards lifted me. My feet left the ground. The railing pressed against my spine.

For one second, I saw everything. The house. The lights. Dalton's face. Kori's smile over his shoulder.

Then they pushed.

I went over.

The air opened up. The ground rushed toward me. My arms reached for nothing. My mouth opened but no sound came out.

I thought: This is how it ends.

I thought: I loved him.

I thought: I don't anymore.

The impact was a sound I felt before I heard. A crack. A crunch. A wet snap somewhere deep inside.

Then nothing.

I woke up to white.

White ceiling. White walls. White sheets. The smell of antiseptic and something metallic under my tongue.

I tried to move. Pain exploded through my left side. I gasped and a machine next to me started beeping.

A nurse appeared. Her face was kind. She touched my shoulder.

"Don't move, honey. You're okay. You're at Overlake Medical."

I tried to speak. My throat was sandpaper.

"What—"

"You fell. Three stories. You're very lucky."

Lucky.

I looked down. My left arm was in a cast from wrist to elbow. My ribs were wrapped tight. I couldn't feel my legs.

"My legs—"

"Fractured pelvis. You'll feel them soon. The doctor will be in shortly."

She adjusted something on the IV. The beeping stopped.

"Is there anyone we can call?"

I closed my eyes.

"My father," I whispered. "Gerald Mills. San Francisco."

She nodded and left.

I lay there and stared at the ceiling. I tried to remember falling. I remembered the air. The cold. Dalton's face.

I remembered the moment before I hit the ground. The moment when everything I'd felt for three years just stopped. Like a light going out. Like a door closing.

No anger. No heartbreak. Just silence.

I didn't love him anymore.

I didn't feel anything at all.

The door opened.

I turned my head. It took effort.

Rome stood in the doorway.

He was still in his travel clothes. Dark jeans. Gray henley. His bag was slung over one shoulder. He looked at me and his jaw tightened.

He crossed the room. Set his bag down. Pulled the chair close to the bed and sat.

He didn't say anything.

I looked at him. At the face I'd known since I was seven. At the eyes that had never once looked at me the way Dalton's had tonight.

"How bad?" I asked.

His voice was quiet. Steady. "Broken arm. Two ribs. Fractured pelvis. Internal bleeding. They got it under control."

I nodded. It hurt.

"Millie?"

"Concussion. Broken wrist. She'll be okay."

I closed my eyes. Thank god. Thank god.

"Rome."

"Yeah."

"I didn't push her."

"I know."

I opened my eyes. He was looking at me. His face was calm. Certain.

"You don't have to—"

"I know," he said again.

My throat closed. I looked away.

"Your dad's making your breakfast," Rome said. "I told him I'd get you home."

Home.

San Francisco. My childhood bedroom. The house that smelled like my mother's paintings and my father's coffee.

Not the apartment in Seattle. Not the estate in Bellevue. Not anywhere Dalton Hawkins existed.

"How long?" I asked.

"Three days. Then you can travel."

Three days.

The ten-day cooling-off period would be over in three days.

I looked at Rome. He was still watching me. Patient. Waiting.

"Okay," I whispered.

He nodded. He didn't move. He just sat there. Solid. Real.

I closed my eyes and let the painkillers pull me under.

When I woke again, he was still there.