Embarrassed didn’t even start to cover how I felt about that night—about what Jackson had seen before Sam forced him to go home. I’d been completely unhinged in my anger, and yet it had been the freest I’d been with my emotions since…forever.

I approached the truck like it was a wild animal ready to devour me if I turned my back. Ten seconds, I told myself. You just open the door wide and look inside the truck for ten seconds, then close it.

Dr. Circe had given me the assignment yesterday, calling it my next step in situational avoidance. Somehow, this seemed easier than disparaging Will on a piece of paper.

The handle was warm from the sun as my fingers wrapped around it. I took a deep breath and tugged. The door clicked open, and I swung it wide, stepping back so it didn’t hit me.

One. The scent of warm leather reached me just long enough for Will to flood my mind. His voice filled my head, laughing as he put his baseball hat on over my hair.

Two. The breeze gusted, whipping past me, clearing that scent.

Three. His wings were still pinned to the visor on the driver’s side.

Four. The sunlight caught on his dog tags, and I couldn’t look away.

Five.

Six.

Seven. Those weren’t the ones he was wearing when it happened.

Eight. His mother had that set.

Nine. She had the flag, too, when she was sober enough to remember where she put it.

Ten. I grabbed the edge of the door and slammed it home, not in anger this time but in pure desperation to shut the metaphorical door.

My chest heaved. I did it. There was no anxiety attack looming or anything. The memories stopped with the closing of the door. Oddly enough, I felt in control for the first time, as if I’d gained the power to open or shut the door to Will himself when I chose to.

I turned around to head back into the house and found Jackson staring at me from the middle of our yards.

My heart did a somersault.

He looked mouthwateringly good, but that was nothing different. I bet the man even looked delicious when he was hungover or sick, which was just unfair. He tucked his hands in his pockets and tilted his head to the side slightly as his mouth tightened and his eyes begged me to come closer. He was trying to give me the space I’d forced between us, and it only made me like him even more for it.

My pulse spiked, and the half of my heart that had lobbied for self-preservation turned traitor at the yearning in his expression. Oh God, how could I walk away from him? What if I never felt this way again?