A chill in the night air pierced my sweater and I hurried inside the apartment, shopping bags balanced in both arms. Bronwyn wasn’t home, which I hoped was a good sign. She seemed to be getting better every day, less depressed, closer to her normal self. When she came home last night and told me I smelled like a frat boy’s bathroom, I knew she was almost there. I wouldn’t worry so much about her when I went home for Christmas in a week.

I dumped my bags on the bed, then perused my Christmas purchases. A planner with a black leather cover for my dad—he wanted a new one every year. A collection of Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers musicals for my mom. For Bronwyn, I found a black and white photograph of the London blitz during World War II. It was of a woman drinking tea and sitting on a pile of rubble. The picture was a little sad, but there was also something hopeful about it. As if ordinary life can go on even when everything gets destroyed. I thought it would go nicely with her collection.

Fraze had been a little harder to buy for, but I’d finally decided on a cheap silver money clip with a note attached that said, “For all your newfound cash.” I would never turn my brother in, but I wanted him to know I knew what he’d done.

I also wanted him to know how much trouble he’d put me in, but that wasn’t something you put in a Christmas card. Not that I had anywhere to send it at this point.

Worry gnawed at my insides. What if Simon found out that I knew Frasier? Would Jay tell him? What would Simon do?

That last question had my stomach roiling. My mind conjured up images of answering a knock at the door and Simon jumping me, or one of his goons I’d seen at the gym with Jay. Or Jay himself.

I’d open the door, and Jay would be standing there. He’d grab me, pull me close, his lips would meet mine, his hands in my hair…

I shoved that image away. What was I thinking? I didn’t want that and neither did he anymore.

My phone rang and I answered. “Hello?”

The voice on the other line was intelligible. My heart began to race.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“Nico… it… It’s Nico.”

I let out a breath. For a second, I’d been worried it was Fraze, that somehow Simon had found him.

“What’s wrong?” I stared at my ankle. It looked swollen after I’d hobbled on it all day.

“Just come,” Nico said in between sobs. “Please.”

I slipped off the bed. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“No. Bronwyn. She…”

I froze. And then I moved into action. “Are you at home?”

He choked out a yes.

“I’ll be right there.” I hung up the phone, threw on my coat and shoes, then limped down to the street, leaving my crutches behind. I didn’t want them getting in my way.

A cab took me to Eastside Boxing and I gnawed on my fingernails the entire way. What had happened? Why hadn’t Bronwyn called? I hoped against hope it was something minor, but Nico’s hysterical sobbing suggested otherwise. I urged the cab driver to hurry.

The gym was surrounded by police cars, lights flashing. A small crowd had gathered, as well as some news cameras. I exited the cab on shaky legs. The entire front glass wall of the gym was gone, jagged edges sticking up around the sills.

I tried to get inside but a policeman held me back. “I’m sorry, ma’am. No one can go inside right now.”

“But my friends… I think they’re inside.”

The look he gave me almost stopped my heart.

I spun away from him, searching for a sign of Nico, or even Jay. Someone I knew who could tell me what happened. All I saw were brown uniforms, strangers, and blinding lights.

A familiar voice penetrated the fog around my brain and I stumbled toward it, ignoring my throbbing ankle.

“Jay?”

He had his arms folded across his chest as he spoke to a policeman. He turned toward me as I came close.

“Maggie? What are you doing here?”

“Nico called. What happened?”

The policeman stepped up before Jay could answer. “Lieutenant Hopkins, ma’am. You should go home. We—”

“Where’s Bronwyn?” I wasn’t interested in going home, or listening to whatever brush-off Hopkins was going to feed me.

The emotionless mask that had been Jay’s face fell away. He shook his head, his eyes full of sorrow.

“I’m sorry, Maggie.”

No. I didn’t want to believe it.

Nico pushed through the crowd of police. He fell on me, clutching me, sobbing into my shoulder. Tears pooled in my eyes—I couldn’t stop them—but I wouldn’t let myself break down. I stood stock still while Nico hung off me, crying and muttering Bronwyn’s name.

The cop said something low to Jay and then walked away. Jay stood there, never taking his eyes off me.

“What happened?” My voice wasn’t very loud but Jay must have heard because he came closer.

“Drive-by.”

Even with Nico holding onto me, his hot tears soaking my coat, I still felt icy all over. Drive-bys weren’t real things, they only happened in the movies, between gangs. Not a boxing gym and my best friend.

“Bronwyn came to see Nico,” Jay said. Nico moaned.

“But why?” Why would someone shoot up a boxing gym? “Have they caught the person who did it?”

Jay shook his head. “They’re working on it.”

Nico let go of me and a cop pulled him aside, probably for questioning.

A cold wind blew open my coat and I shivered. I shifted toward Jay and his body heat. “You were there?”

“Yeah.” He zipped up my coat, his hands lingering. I barely noticed. “So was Simon. They’ve taken him to the hospital.”

My eyes shifted to his. He gripped my coat. “Were they after Simon?”

“Yeah.”

“So Bronwyn—”

“She wasn’t supposed to be there. I tried to get her to leave, before…” His voice trailed off.

My lips trembled, then my whole body. Instead of anchoring me, keeping me still, he let go of me.

“I’m sorry, Maggie.”

It was the second time Jay had apologized. But it wasn’t his fault. It was Ting’s.

Right now, it didn’t matter whose fault it was, because Bronwyn was dead.

Bronwyn was dead.

Later, after Nico had calmed down and Jay disappeared, I went back to the apartment. Bronwyn’s apartment. Everything about the place was her, from the framed vintage photographs on the walls to the rows of popcorn flavorings in the cupboard. I stood in her doorway, staring at the girlie purple comforter. My eyes moved to a small bookshelf full of CDs. I hesitated, as if I wasn’t allowed to go in. As if Bronwyn might come home at any moment and catch me going through her stuff.

But she wasn’t coming home. Ever.

I went to the bookshelf and checked out the CD titles. Metallica, Guns ‘N Roses, Nirvana, Bon Jovi. Some band called The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. This was so Bronwyn. Girlie on one side, total boss on the other. Yet at the same time, I felt like I barely knew her. She had been my best friend here in Vegas, but we’d never spoken of her family. I didn’t know about her other boyfriends or if she’d gone to college. I thought I had time.

Time was a cruel trick. I’d had weeks of nothing but time—sitting on my butt and letting my ankle heal so I could get a new job and resume dancing. Now time had been yanked away from me, from Nico, but mostly from Bronwyn. It was gone and she was gone and I could never get either back.

Time took my tears.