“Damn you!” she screamed, her eyes filling with tears that caught in the moonlight. “Damn you for making me want you! For making me think I have a shot at being happy again and then snatching it away because you do the same fucking thing he did!” She pointed at the truck parked fifteen feet away, just outside the boathouse. “You do the same thing that got him killed, and I swore I would never put myself in that position again! Never! Not for you. Not for anyone!” The first tear spilled over and raced down her cheek.

“Don’t cry. God, Kitty, don’t cry.” I moved toward her, but she walked straight past me, headed for the truck.

“Don’t touch me! Stay away from me! How could you do it?” she shouted, not even bothering to look back. “How could you make me want you, make me think we have a chance, and then break me into a million pieces? It’s not fair, and I hate you for it!”

My heart lurched, but there was nothing I could say or do to alleviate her pain. There was an overwhelming chance that the possibility of what we could be might not be enough to outweigh what loving him had cost her.

She grabbed the door handle to the truck and flung it open only a few inches before slamming it shut again.

Holy shit, she did it. She opened the door.

“Why? Why me? Why that fucking helicopter? Why?” she screamed, punctuating each question with another slam of the door.

Watching her breakthrough felt a lot like watching her fall apart, and it was so fucking painful that my hand grabbed at my chest.

Headlights caught my attention as a car drove down Morgan’s driveway, but she didn’t stop yelling at me as she abused the door. The car drove past Morgan and parked next to the Mini. It was Sam.

She got out and shut the door, then stared, drop-jawed, at Morgan before looking at me. Her gaze darted between us, her head swiveling back and forth like we were a tennis match before she approached me.

“You made me want you!” Morgan screamed, slamming the door again.

“What the hell did you do?” Sam asked, arching an eyebrow in clear warning as she folded her arms across her chest.

“I told her I’m a search and rescue pilot for the coast guard. I fly helicopters,” I told her without taking my eyes from Morgan’s rage.

“You have got to be shitting me,” Sam seethed.

“I wish I was.” At that moment, I wanted to be anything else. “I don’t know what to do. Should I go over there?”

She snorted. “Unless you’d like Morgan to put your head in that doorframe between slams, I’d stay right where you are. Fucking flyboys.” She muttered that last part.