For a few hours, Rafe had been alive. In my arms, in my hands, in my mouth. Alive. Warm. Mine. I pulled in a breath, tried to force it deep into my lungs, and panicked when I couldn’t. Tears blurred my vision, grief choked my throat, and the glaring truth flooded my senses. It had all been a drug-induced illusion my psyche had used to trick me. A pitiful sound escaped, part sniffle, part sob.

Zach climbed to his feet, the tangled sheets and bedding coming with him to hang over the side, taunting me with the evidence of our wild night of sex, one in which I’d been a full participant. The observation almost made me retch again, but I swallowed the sour taste of disgust burning my throat.

“Get up,” he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. Once I stood on jittery legs, he herded me into the bathroom and switched on the shower. I clenched my hands into fists, eyes firmly shut as water flowed over me. The sobs wouldn’t subside. They drummed out in soft shudders I couldn’t control. If I didn’t open my eyes, if I blocked out his touch, maybe I wouldn’t totally lose it.

No, I was losing it. Pain was not a new entity, but this type of crushing anguish—the kind that made it nearly impossible to breathe, to think, too see beyond the next second, minute, hour—would make the strongest person crumble. And I wasn’t strong. Not in this moment. My thoughts jumbled, zipping through my mind so fast I couldn’t grasp any of them.

Save for one. Rafe was dead. Last night I’d lived a dream, so vivid I could still feel him against me. But I’d never feel him again. Never hear his voice, his laughter. Never breathe in the musk of his skin, feel the sweat of his brow at my breasts. Never again lose my breath to the vise of his hands around my throat. I’d give anything to get that back, even if giving up control terrified me.

Zach ran a blade up my leg, startling me. “Dry it up, Lex. You’re pissing me off.”

“I-I c-can’t.” A hiccup echoed in the stall, followed by another.

He took his time shaving my legs, and I let him. And he let me cry it out. Every atom of my body was fightless. Worthless. Eventually, he finished grooming me and tugged on my hand, urging me from the shower with a gentleness that penetrated the crazy state of my head. A towel landed around my shoulders, pulled tight in front, and he wrapped another around his waist before threading our fingers together. A hint of tenderness softened his expression as he led me into the bedroom.