“Oakley,” my father hisses, his face turning red with anger. “What the hell are you doing?”

The judge slams the gavel down. “Order in the court.”

My father once told me there were three times when it was okay for a man to cry.

When the love of your life walks down the aisle to meet you at the altar.

When your child takes their first breath.

And when you bury your parents.

But he never mentioned the fourth…

Taking a life that wasn’t yours to take.

And feeling so fucking guilty about it there’s no amount of drugs or alcohol in the world that will ever numb the pain.

“Please,” I plead, my insides churning with shame. “Give me the year. Hell, give me a hundred years.”

He slams his gavel down again. “Young man, I’ve repeatedly asked you to settle down. This courtroom is mine, not yours.” He pins me with a look. “I’m hereby sentencing you to three hundred and sixty-five days at the Blackford Correctional Center.” He turns to a man wearing a police uniform. “Take him away.”

I lock eyes with Hayley’s parents as they slam cuffs on my wrists. “I’m sorry.”

So fucking sorry.

Chapter 1

Bianca

Past…

“Did Mom come out of her room?”

Jace blows out a heavy breath. “No. She—” He hesitates. “She’s still sick.”

We both know it’s a lie. Our mom isn’t sick.

Not physically anyway.

No, what she has robs her of happiness, her husband a wife, and her children a mother.

What she has is pure evil.

Her sickness is something I don’t understand, but I wish I did so I knew how to help her.

The only thing I know how to do is love her.

Throwing my bookbag down, I race up the staircase.

“Bianca—” Jace starts to scold, but I brush him off.

She’s been in her bedroom for four whole days now.

Enough is enough.

I knock on the door, not bothering to wait for a response before entering.

As usual, she’s curled up in a ball under the covers.

Only, she isn’t sleeping…she’s clutching her phone.

No doubt waiting for my father, who is still away on a business trip, to call.

Whenever it rang, she perked up like the sun.

As if his voice was the cure for all her pain.

Removing my shoes, I crawl into bed with her.

We have an unbreakable bond that no one can destroy, and when she’s hurting…so am I.

“I miss you,” I whisper, draping my arm around her.

Lifting her head slightly, she gives me a small smile. “I didn’t know you were home from school already.”

It doesn’t surprise me. Whenever this sickness happens, she seems to lose all concept of time.

I trace my finger over the curve of her nose.

My mom is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

And the saddest.

“Bianca.” She laughs, pushing my hand away. “That tickles.”

It doesn’t. She just hates me drawing attention to the bump on her nose.

However, the imperfection is my favorite feature of hers. It makes her real.

“Do you want me to bring you up some food?”

“No, baby girl. I’m good.”

My heart sinks. “Oh.”

She hardly ever eats when she’s sick.

I trace the arch of her eyebrow with my finger and kiss the bump on her nose, trying not to let my disappointment show.

It will only make her feel worse.

Rolling over, I get off the bed. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

I’m about to walk away, but she wraps her arms around my waist, tugging me back to her. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” I lie.

“Come on,” she urges. “Tell me the truth.”

Somehow the woman always knows when I’m full of baloney. “During recess, Julianna said I was too ugly to be a ballerina, and everyone laughed.”

Julianna is popular…and mean.

And unfortunately for me, I’m her target.

My mother swears my awkward phase—a horrible one that includes teeth that are growing in crooked and a mass of frizzy hair—won’t last, but I’m not so sure.

She cups my face in her hands. “Don’t listen to her. You’re beautiful.”

“I don’t feel beautiful.”

A wrinkle forms between her brows. “I already told you. What you’re going through won’t last forever. I went through an awkward phase too. But then—”

“But then you turned out beautiful and everyone loved you and you became a famous actress.” Annoyed, I look down at the carpet. “What if that doesn’t happen to me? What if I’m ugly forever and—”

“Baby girl, you aren’t ugly. Julianna is just a little bit—” she catches herself before she finishes that sentence. “Unfortunately, there are tons of Juliannas in the world. But the best way to deal with someone like that is to show her it doesn’t bother you.”

My eyes prickle with tears. The girl is ruining my life. “I’ve already tried, Mom.”

Tried and failed.

And every day that passes, it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Visibly frustrated, she rubs her temples. “Okay, fine. You want to know a secret?”

I give her a nod. I’ll take any advice she’s willing to give me.

“Julianna won’t stop picking on you because she’s a bully who likes to pick on those she perceives as weak.”

Ouch. “I’m not weak. How do I get her to stop?”

Sighing, she closes her eyes. “I’m officially getting the worst mother of the year award for this.”

“Come on, Mom,” I press. “Tell me.”

Another long sigh. “If you want to make a bully back down you have to beat them at their own game. If she makes fun of you, then you make fun of her right back and expose her insecurities in front of everyone.”

“How?”

“Everyone has insecurities, baby girl. Study someone long enough and you’ll figure out what theirs are.”

I think about this for a moment and realize there may be something to this after all. “She likes it when everyone tells her how pretty she is and how good she is at ballet…even though she’s not.” Pursing my lips, I cross my arms. “I’m a way better dancer than she is.”

I might not be in ballet, but I have more rhythm in my pinky finger than Juliana has in her entire body.

Grabbing the comb off the nightstand, she motions for me to sit in front of her so she can brush my hair. “Then I guess we’ll have to sign you up for ballet classes, buy you the cutest costumes, and make that brat eat her words.”

Hope surges through my chest. “Really?”

She parts my hair in three sections and proceeds to French braid it. “I can sign you up for classes while you’re at school tomorrow and we can go shopping for shoes and leotards this Saturday.”

“You promise?” I ask skeptically as I pass her the hair tie from around my wrist.