"What are you doing here?" I blurted out. Even in my fit of surprise, I took the time to look at his crisp white button-down shirt and the way his messy dark hair and cheekbones always drew me into his eyes, a pop of bright blue color. His outfit looked like something his dad had made him wear for him to be fancy, and the thought of it almost made me smile.

Almost.

Griffin scowled at me. "What am I doing here? Natasha was my ex-girlfriend. What are you doing here?"

"Well... she was my ex-best friend," I retorted back.

"Yeah, like forever ago," he said, scoffing.

"A week ago, you were practically begging me to help you find her, so I guess forever wasn't that long ago." I crossed my arms across my chest triumphantly and then dropped them, wondering why I was even fighting with him.

He glared at me, probably selecting his next insult, when Mrs. Ryan came toward us.

I took a step back, grateful she hadn't heard us.

"For you," Griffin said, handing her the bouquet. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Ryan. I know what it's like losing someone close to you." From Griffin, it didn't sound forced or formal, as if he struggled with the thought of how to address the loss of a loved one or as if he didn't mean it. It just sounded like a boy who meant everything from his heart.

Because that's just how he was.

"Thank you, Griffin," she said. As usual, her tone remained commanding, and she showed no sign of falling apart. Still, the way she briefly nodded was the closest I had ever seen her to showing emotion. We followed her to the dining table and sat down, serving ourselves the maple-glazed salmon and asparagus she had made. At first, it was quiet, and then Mrs. Ryan spoke.

"Whatever happened to Natasha," she said, her blood-red nails wrapping around the stem of her glass, "It wasn't an accident. I know what people are saying."

I froze, suddenly aware of every movement of my body, worried that one wrong move would make Mrs. Ryan stop talking.

"I knew one day her anger would cause her to suffer." I wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but I didn't know how; if I even attempted to open my mouth, I felt my voice would betray me. She shook her head, her cold eyes staring straight into my own, and chills ran down my spine. "She would sit right where you're sitting, Haven." I uncomfortably placed a hand on my knee, wondering if I reminded her of Natasha.

I held my breath, anticipating what she would say next but not expecting her actual words.

"She was fond of you both. You were the two people who truly got her. Thank you for trying to save her from herself."

I didn't deserve that. I wasn't there for her, and I didn't even know if I missed her; if I could separate the betrayal from the friendship. I was sitting in her mother's home, playing the role of a best friend, when I felt guilty for her death.

I had let Natasha become a stranger and proved everything she thought about me.

Maybe the real reason Natasha and I had become friends wasn't that I was vulnerable.

It was because we were both cowards.

I felt my eyes stinging, and I looked up to see Griffin watching my face. He knew exactly what was on my mind, unraveling the crevices as if he saw the darkness. His gaze calmed me down, and without using words, he could talk me through it.

Despite my inner turmoil, I had come here for a reason, and I couldn't let emotions get in the way.

"Mrs. Ryan?" I cleared my throat. "Can I take something from Natasha's room to remember her by?"

Mrs. Ryan looked up. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but she didn't look like she suspected anything.

"Of course." She gave a tight-lipped smile. "You both should. It's probably better, anyway. I want to clear things out before the move."

"You're moving?"

"There's nothing left for me here." Her voice was hollow, but she managed a smile.

I didn't know how to respond. Griffin touched my arm, signaling for me to follow him. Once we were at the stairs, he mumbled, "Are you okay?" He said it gruffly and didn't look at me as he asked. I think if I had ignored him, he wouldn't have asked again.

"Yeah. Thanks."

When we entered Natasha's room, it looked put-together — like it was still her bedroom, but untouched because no one stayed there anymore. A few stuffed animals were on her comforter set, and soft pillows propped up against the headboard.

"So a keepsake, huh?" Griffin said. "To remember the girl who ruined your life. Why do I feel like Detective Haven Grey is lying?" His eyes had an amused tint behind them.

I shot him a look. "I'm not playing Detective."

"Whatever you say, Detective."

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him. Something told me real detectives wouldn't do that. "Why did you guys break up?" I asked. I rummaged through the papers on her desk, pretending I didn't care about the answer. If he wanted to ask me questions, he could answer some of his own.

"There were more lies than honesty with her," he said. "We broke up only a month after dating."

My breath hitched. I hadn't known that.

"She didn't want anyone to know, and I let her have that. I think I stayed with her longer than I should have because I didn't want her to hurt herself if I left." He shook his head. "It was wrong of me to do."

It was wrong, but I knew how he felt. It was the same reason I stayed for so long.

He looked at me, and I noticed the dark circles under his eyes, which I had missed at first glance. "I lied when I said I didn't know where Natasha went. She had called me the night before she went missing, just like she had called you."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

"I didn't tell the cops because I know how bad that sounds. I didn't pick up at first because I had decided I was done with her craziness and all the lies. When she called again, she left a message that she was leaving town for a few days. Her parents' beach house. She told me not to tell anyone and said it was the only way to ensure no one got hurt." He clasped his hands together. "I thought she'd come back. I'm such an idiot. If I had gotten to her in time — "

"It's not your fault," I said. "Griffin. Look at me. It's not, okay?" He finally looked at me, his dark eyes dull. He was so angry at himself that I wanted to do anything to take his pain away.

Griffin nodded as if he believed me. "We don't know what happened to Natasha, but we're doing what we can to find out. That has to count for something."

I nodded before standing up and shifting through the papers on the desk. In the mess, I found a gift I had gotten for her on a prior Valentine's Day. My stomach squeezed.

"What's that?" Griffin said, peeking over my shoulder.

"Nothing," I said, pocketing it before he could see.

He raised his eyebrows. "I thought we were past the secret-keeping stage."

"It's stupid," I said. "A Valentine's Day gift I caught her. A stuffed bear. She hated Valentine's Day, so I didn't know she would keep it."

"There are many things we didn't know about her," he replied. He took a bookmark from her desk, placing it in his pocket.

I realized the truth behind his words, how much Natasha had kept hidden from us. Even when she was being honest, there was a mystery to her and the wall she put up.

"I have regrets, too," I whispered. "Sometimes, I don't know if Natasha and I were ever friends." It was the first time I had ever admitted that to anyone. "I thought she was, at first. My friend, I mean. But then I just wondered if any of it was real." I bit my lip, shaking my head. "We fought the last time we spoke and said some messed up things to each other."

"Hey. You're doing that thing where you get caught up in your head. You can't do that because sometimes it just makes you feel worse," Griffin said softly.

I blinked, surprised he even remembered that about me.

"I just want to find out who killed Natasha. It'll tie loose ends, and we deserve answers." I glanced at him. "It doesn't help everyone thinks we're murderers now, though."

"For what it counts," Griffin said after a pause, "I hear what some people are saying about you at school, and I don't believe any of them. You shouldn't either. I always liked how you did your own thing and didn't care about what people would think. If that means anything."

Griffin Keely, that means more than you would ever know.

I managed a small smile, rummaging through the rest of the papers on the desk. It was when I noticed the folder. I opened it, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Little index cards were inside.

It wasn't until I looked closer that I saw they were identity cards with facts written underneath.

Haven Grey

- popular, nice girl persona

- broken but hiding it easiest to befriend

- dating Justin but likes Griffin

"What the hell?" I muttered.

Griffin stood up, following my gaze. I wrapped my fingers around my card before he could read it. His hand reached past me as if he was going to touch me, but he picked up another card.

Griffin Keely

- drug dealer

- always getting into trouble

- harbors a dark side

"She was keeping tabs on us," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. There were cards like this for a bunch of us... Taylor, Justin, etc.

Griffin's eyes were wide with surprise. "Holy shit."

In sophomore year, Kai had told me that Natasha was obsessed with us. I had brushed it off, thinking she was drunk. But everything here showed otherwise.

What if our meeting wasn't coincidental?

"Remember when you asked what if Killer Cupid wasn't a stalker but a friend?" I licked my lips, suddenly dry. "What if you're right? What if someone killed Natasha, and now they're after... us?"

Griffin wasn't listening, though. His eyes were on a photo.

It was a picture of a boy with short chestnut brown hair and deep brown eyes. He wore a navy-blue blazer over a white shirt, which looked like a private school uniform. His name tag read Darian Langton.

"Who is that?"

He took a second to analyze it. "I don't think I've ever seen him before," he said. "He looks younger than us, though. Maybe a junior?"

"Where did you get that?" Mrs. Ryan snapped. She was at the door's frame, glaring at the picture in our hand. I immediately retracted my hand, whipping around to face her.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't know — "

"Give me that," she said, yanking the photo from my hand. Her stony eyes stared at the picture in her hand before she said in a low voice, "I think it's time for you two to go home." Before we could say anything, she turned around and left, gripping the photo tightly.

I turned to Griffin with a wide-eyed look, and he looked just as confused.

"Let's go," he whispered. "I'll give you a ride back."

"I can walk —"

"Haven." His voice was deep and low, as if he was saying not to argue with him about this. I adjusted my headband and nodded. "Okay."

At the last second, I grabbed the folder, sliding it inside my jacket.

We went downstairs, and I awkwardly hovered at the end of the stairs, wondering if we should say goodbye to Mrs. Ryan.

"I'll be back," I told him. I walked to the dining room area to find her and stopped suddenly, hearing the muffled sound.

Mrs. Ryan was crying.

The same Mrs. Ryan that was so strong that I hadn't seen her shed a tear once, not even when her husband divorced her or when she had fallen and broken her leg and had to call the hospital herself. It felt wrong to approach her then; something told me she didn't want anyone to see her in this state.

I backed away, finding Griffin at the door. We walked to his car, a rundown black car, a big difference from his home. I wondered if it was his backup car for drug deals and then dismissed the thought as soon as it came. As soon as we were inside his car, he was quick to drive away, and I realized he was probably just as freaked out.

"Why did Mrs. Ryan go psycho on us because of a picture?" Griffin said. "And who the hell is Darian?"

"An ex-boyfriend? An old friend?" I didn't know, but seeing Mrs. Ryan's reaction had shaken me.

"This is all so fucked up." He gripped the steering wheel.

I cocked my head, thinking about our earlier conversation. "Griffin, where was Natasha's beach house?"

"Eastwood," he said.

"Eastwood," I repeated. "I know where that is. Justin's parents have a cabin just south of that."

At the sound of Justin's name, Griffin's gaze darkened. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead. "What about it?"

"We should go," I said. "I mean, there's a reason she told you the address, right? And you said she called me before she disappeared, too. Maybe this was the plan all along. Maybe she knew she wasn't safe, and we were the only way for her to escape. Think about it... why would the two of us be the two people she called?" I turned to Griffin.

"Because we were the two people who truly got her," he said, repeating Mrs. Ryan's words.

"Exactly. If we couldn't help her then, we can end this now, before Killer Cupid strikes again. For Natasha." I hesitated before holding out my hand. "Are you in?"

He nodded. "No backing out." He put his hand on mine and shook it. I was the first to pull away, trying not to think about the warmth and how right it felt to be touching him.

"Just one problem."

"What?" I said, deflating. Maybe I had gone into detective mode, and he didn't want to figure things out with me.

"Uh, if we did, we'd have to spend the night. It's a pretty long trip."

I almost laughed. "There are two beds, right?"

He glared at me. "I'm not rushing to sleep with you, Grey."

This time, despite myself, I did laugh.

We pulled up in front of my house, and I couldn't help but think there was no one else I could've gotten through today with.

"Thank you for the ride," I told him.

"Just a ride," he said, waving it off as if it was nothing. "See you around Haven, I guess. Unwillingly." He wasn't smiling, but I saw the glimmer in his eyes, and I knew he was joking—a glimpse of the old Griffin.

"Unfortunately," I added.

And for the first time in a while, I saw the real smile of the boy I had unwillingly and unfortunately fallen for two years ago.