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“You are Maple’s cousin,” he clips through his teeth, his nori eyes narrowing as he watches me with an intensity that causes me to squirm.

“I guess I am.” I lean back against the headboard. “You killed your dad.” I level back.

Today has changed a lot. Brought light to more.

Does my bad luck even exist?

It no longer feels like it does.

I’m just an idiot. One who shouldn’t be allowed on the internet. Who needs to learn to drive.

“I did. Everyone thought he had a heart attack, but it was the poison Kale made. Before he added the green blood side effect.”

I shift, the blanket falling down from my shoulders.

His attention zeroes in on my chest, and he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing. “They want us to marry. To join the families.”

Cocking my head, I appraise him.

I have taken in so much information in stride, and this is no different. “Do you want that?”

“More than anything.” He closes his eyes, rubbing his temple. “But I shouldn’t—this isn’t right. I can’t replace her—I can’t—”

Silently and carefully I get out of the bed, padding across the carpet to him.

My hands raise, cupping his jaw. He jolts under my touch but doesn’t push me away.

His eyes flash open, and he stares directly into my soul.

“I want you each equally,” I tell him.

His larger hands cover mine, squeezing them to him. Sandwiching them into place. “Don’t,” he whispers.

My pulse jumps. “Don’t what?”

His jaw tightens, and I can hear his teeth grinding. “Don’t stand there like that.”

“I’m not doing anything.” I shift my weight, suddenly unsure.

“You are.” His voice is strained, almost angry—but not at me.

At himself.

I recognize it, because it’s how I feel. How I have always felt. Blaming myself for every single bad part of the world and forgetting that’s just how life works.

“She’s dead.” He tests the words. “She’s been dead for sixteen years.”

My cousin.

His wife.

“I know,” I whisper. “And six months ago, I was the reason my boyfriend died. I blamed my bad luck. But what if… What if none of this is our fault? We can’t live in this guilt, it’s not sustainable.”

His gaze hardens, and something in his expression unravels a spool of thread in my gut. Tangling it. “It’s not the same. He was a bad man. He hurt you.”

Except he’s wrong. Maybe my boyfriend was a bad guy, but I felt the same shame twisting inside me.

The same grief.