Finally, I see her. Green puffy winter jacket. Glasses perched on her nose. Hair blowing in the wind. She’s pocketing her cell so she can walk faster.

People wave to her like they know her. And I realize…she’s popular here. Has a bunch of friends. Is loved and wanted. She brushes them off with a perfunctory smile, her course on me.

What the fuck am I doing here?

What the fuck am I doing to her?

My chest blazes in pain. I stumble back, almost falling onto my ass, but someone catches me by the arm.

I jolt, the touch pushing me to panic, and I shove at the person on instinct.

“Whoa!” The guy steps back, eyes confused and angry. “Just trying to help, man.”

His voice. His accent is so familiar. And then I really look at him. Windswept hair and wide jaw. White sports coat, white pants and angel wings on his back. You’ve got to be shitting me.

“Salvatore.” Willow jogs over, out of breath as she lands next to her friend. She waves to me. “This is—”

“Her boyfriend,” I say. It doesn’t come out right, though. I feel like a jerk.

Salvatore looks between us and he nods slowly, connecting the dots. I don’t know what she’s told him about me, but the way he’s appraising me like I’m exactly what he pictured has me on edge.

“What are you looking at?” I snap at him.

“Garrison,” Willow says and reaches for my hand, but I pull away. My focus is on Salvatore. All my rage pooling into this one goddamn thing.

Salvatore narrows his eyes at me. “Are you drunk?”

I wave my arms around. “Look around, Salvatore. We’re at a college party. Everyone is drunk.” I hate his name. It’s cooler than mine. It still reminds me of that vampire TV show that Willow and I used to watch together. Gif sets that we’d send to each other.

It’s like the universe is mocking me.

Here he is.

In fucking angel wings.

I mean, come on.

“Garrison,” Willow says, but she doesn’t try to reach for me again. “Let’s just go inside.” She hugs her arms to her chest.

Salvatore shakes his head and under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear, he says, “I don’t think you should be alone with him, Willow.”

“Fuck you, man,” I growl. “I’m her boyfriend. Who are you again?” My voice accidentally grows louder, and people close by stop their conversations to watch us. Willow takes a step back as if she can physically avoid the attention.

My whole body tenses like my brother just slammed a fist into my gut again.

The world around me spins. I touch my pocket, hoping for a cigarette, but I think I ran out in the cab.

“I’m her friend,” Salvatore refutes.

“Salvatore, you don’t understand,” Willow says quickly, sticking up for me.

“I understand that he’s drunk and obviously angry and you shouldn’t be near him right now,” he says. That really rubs me the wrong way. Him dictating who she can even talk to. I don’t care if it comes from a place of concern. Willow and I have been through more together than he’ll ever know.