Blood pulsed through my veins like a bullet train to Seville. I didn’t know where the kid who used to hang out with my brother went, but the guy here now was so hot I forgot my lesson plans.

I was so turned on by Trent I thought of nothing else.

It didn’t help that the classroom was sweltering. He made it worse. At least a dozen students cooled themselves with traditional Spanish fans. I needed one fast before I passed out. Using a syllabus to fan myself, I managed to stay upright.

Somehow, on autopilot, drawing on the muscle memory of past lessons, words came out of my mouth in an order that made sense. “Your grade is based primarily on class participation. I want active conversation from each and every one of you in class.” I leaned on the teacher’s desk for support, ignoring the two dozen pairs of eyes on me and mindlessly recited my spiel to an empty desk in the back. “And I encourage each of you to pair up, meet after class, and practice your translation.”

I couldn’t help but want to pair up with him after class.

Goddammit, no, Danika. He’s officially a student.

“This is not the study of nuance,” I continued, not knowing how much the students were paying attention to me, just wanting to survive the class. “Not yet, at least. You will get the nuance, but it takes time. Right now, with this introductory-level class, we are learning the basics. Subtlety will come later.”

I hoped I’d come later.

Fuck, no. Keep it together, Dani.

Trent hadn’t changed in any subtle way. He’d transformed drastically.

The last time I saw him, years ago, his shaggy hair had framed features too big for his face. Too-big eyes. A too-big smile.

He’d grown into them. His light brown hair flopped into his eyes, long on top and shaved on the sides, soft and touchable. Wrinkles around his eyes made him rugged and weather-beaten. But his eyes stayed the same—the most gorgeous blue I’d ever seen, like the Mediterranean Sea near Cádiz or the sky over the Indian Ocean right after sunset, when it was dark but not yet night.

And his body?

He’d hulked out and looked all the better for it. While I liked him before, I loved the way he looked now. Same height, but before where he was lanky and lean, now he’d developed muscles. Shoulders that were so broad they overshadowed the width of the wooden seatback of his desk. Thighs that filled out his tight jeans. Arms like they had softballs implanted in his biceps—and a new “Army of One” tattoo inked down the inside, along with a bunch of other designs I wanted to inspect.

My God, he was beautiful. So much so that he utterly distracted me. I saw nothing but him, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. Because, soldier. Because, fighter.

Because his world tore apart the peaceful, harmonious utopia I wanted to live in.

Having taught this class before saved me. Otherwise I would’ve stood up there mute—or just left the room—unable to be in the same place as him. Relying on those reserve lessons stored in my brain, I kept talking, dividing up the class into partners and handing them an article to translate from Spanish into English.

“The point of this class is to be able to understand each other. We may come from different worlds, and we speak different languages. But we can learn where the other person is coming from. And we can learn how to write their language from their point of view.”

As I darted between the students, who were working on translating a simple article I copied off the El País website about a current event in Madrid, a transportation strike, I kept glancing at him. I tried not to. With every time our eyes met, I felt like I was gonna burn up like a falla de encendio—a Spanish papier-mâché caricature. I’d seen them burned in Valencia during a festival earlier this year.

His fire.

The heat of the classroom.

My searing thoughts about all the parts of his body I wanted to see.

Combustible.

For two hours, I taught, delivering my lesson, walking among the students to check their work, listening to them read sentences they translated, gently correcting them, and feeling absolutely uncomfortable.

Mostly because of the sergeant in the back row, who drew my attention no matter what he did—slouch, stick a pencil behind his ear, tilt his head to listen to his partner. Give me the raciest stare back, like he was imagining what I looked like with my clothes off.

All the while lounging in a desk chair with his legs spread like he ruled the place.

He’d pick up a paper and his arm muscles would flex, straining his T-shirt. He’d turn to listen to his partner and a vein would rise in his sinewy neck. He’d speak to his partner, and while I didn’t hover over him, I could imagine the provocative timbre of his voice.

Yum.

He kept his distance, though, not talking to anyone except his partner, and seeming a bit…off. My memories of Trent were those of a happy-go-lucky guy, cheerful and laidback. Now, he seemed impassioned, like something was consuming him from the inside.

I wondered what that could be.

After the first day blur of introductions and activity, in no time at all class ended and the students filed out. Trent lingered in the back, waiting to talk to me.

Goddammit, that was what I asked for.

When the room had emptied, he started walking up the aisle. “Dani,” he said in a low, sexy voice. The one I wanted to hear. My throat grew thick, and I could feel my pulse in it. “I got a lot to tell you—”

“How are you? How’s Degan? It’s been so long! Tell me everything!” My voice came out breathless.

As he strode up, I leapt from behind my desk, ran up to him, and gave him the welcome hug he deserved. He groaned, reached under my armpits, and lifted me so my arms closed around his neck, my feet off the ground. Cradling me tight in his arms, he held me easily while I clung to him, stroking his hair, his strong shoulders.

He felt so safe, so secure. Like home.

Nuzzling his face against my cheek, he gripped me firmly, but his chest shook.

“What’s wrong?” I asked against his scratchy stubble.

“It’s so good to see you,” he whispered, trembling, taking a step back and leaning against a desk for support. “You don’t know how many times I Googled you. How long I’ve looked for you.”

“You have? Just ask Degan, he’d tell you,” I said, as I snuggled into this big, fine, hunk of man, not wanting to let him go.

He held me closer, burying his nose in my hair. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

And with the way he said it, I got chills. A sense of trepidation washed over me. I didn’t know what he was going to say, but whatever it was, I knew I wasn’t gonna like it. Intuition made me pull back from him, and he set me back down on the ground in front of him. “Did my loopy brother stay at the hotel to sleep over his jet lag?”

He shook his head. And I knew, I just knew, that something had happened.

“Where is he?”

My phone buzzed with a text from Lulu asking how my first day went. I pulled it out of my skirt pocket and set it upside down on a desk.

Letting out his breath, he said, “I’d like to talk to you, but not in public. Can we go to your place?” The way he said it, while the words were a question, it was a command. There wasn’t any arguing with him.

“Sure,” I said warily, drawing out the word, making it have more than one syllable. “Let me pack up my things.”

Like at the beginning of class, he helped me gather my papers, but this time he was silent. He had his own papers shoved in his back pocket. Once I had my belongings, I said, “This way. I’m only a few blocks from the school.”

He nodded.

Oh no. Now he’s gone mute. This can’t be good.

Following me down the hall of the school and out the door, we exited into the bright, sunny street and continued to my apartment. In the heat of midday, store owners rolled down metal doors to close up their shops for the three hour break the Spanish take for lunch beginning at two o’clock.

We came to my building. Lulu had secured the place for me to rent for summer—a professor at the school routinely let it out. As we trudged up the four sets of stairs, Trent still said nothing. When we stepped into my room that served as a living room, bedroom, and kitchen, he said nothing. He wasn’t even breathing hard from the walk up.

This garret studio apartment came with potted plants hung at intervals from the sloping rafters, and I’d strung fairy lights across the room. Afternoon sunshine poured in through the windows. Floor-to-ceiling doors opened to a tiny patio balcony outside where you could see a tower from the cathedral.

I set my things down, texted Lulu to come over as soon as she was able to chat, and sat down on the sofa. After inspecting every window, almost casing the joint, he sat next to me.

“Want a drink of water?” I asked.

He shook his head and gazed at me with a pained expression, making me even more apprehensive about what he was going to say. Finally, I couldn’t wait any more and turned to him.

“Is Degan hurt? Is he mad at me about the last time we talked, so he didn’t want to see me? Did he, oh no, did he reenlist again? I’d hate that. I have no use for the military. I told him that. Maybe he got transferred somewhere.” Fully aware that I was babbling and not letting Trent get a word in edgewise, nevertheless I couldn’t seem to stop talking. Finally, I just asked, “Please, Trent. Just tell me. Where’s Degan?”

He opened his mouth to speak, and he made sounds. Those sounds formed words in the English language that I knew had meaning, but as he said them, I found that even though I taught language, I didn’t understand them.

Time slowed down so much that I could probably have watched the rate of my fingernails grow.

Holding my hands, and looking straight into my eyes, sitting on my couch in my apartment in Granada, Spain, on Earth, in this Universe, Trent said unflinchingly, “Less than two weeks ago, Degan died while our unit was on patrol in the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan.”

No, I screamed inside, but Trent continued on, determined and merciless.

“A roadside bomb detonated as we passed by. He threw himself on me and also saved another soldier in our company by shoving him out of the way. Degan shielded us from the bomb, and received the full force of the trauma. He died almost immediately from his injuries. It was three days before we were due to fly back to the United States to be discharged.”

“No,” I said out loud, shaking my head. “No. You’re wrong. You’re lying to me. Degan’s not dead. He’s…He’s on his way to Spain to visit, I’m sure. Or maybe he’s going back to California. But he didn’t die by some fucking roadside bomb in the Middle East.”

“Dani,” Trent said, scooting closer, “he did. The military funeral was days ago.” Agonizing tears pooled in his eyes. Those huge, blue eyes, rimmed with long, curly lashes, seemed twice as big as normal. “I loved him, you know? He was my best friend. For life. And now he’s gone.”

I threw his hands down, stood up, and paced in front of him.

“My brother did not disappear from this earth, okay. He’s here.” I pointed to the ground, then around with a swirling motion.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his well-built hands, Trent murmured, “I wish there was a way of telling you where I could’ve numbed the pain. But there isn’t. You just had to know the truth.”

I shook my head and wrapped my arms around myself, not saying anything.

“I’m gonna let you process this, but know I’m gonna give you anything you need. Anything.”

“I don’t need anything. I’m fine.”

“You aren’t fine, babe, and neither am I. You’re in shock from the news. So am I, frankly. I’m gonna let you ride it out.”

“I’m not in shock,” I said. “It’s fine.”

His eyes first registered disbelief, and then sympathy. “He wanted me to give you this letter.” Trent pulled out a dirty, rumpled envelope from his back pocket.

Scrawled on the front, in Degan’s recognizable all-caps lettering, was my name. He reached over and tried to hand it to me.

I recoiled from it.

“What is this?” I asked.

“When we were in boot camp, we each wrote a letter that we would give people if we died. I carried his letter, and he carried mine. Since he died, I’m giving you his letter that he wrote to you. I don’t know what it says. He never showed me.” He held it out to me again.

I took the letter and set it down on the table by the T.V. “I can’t open that right now,” I whispered.

“I know. It’s okay. What do you need? You can see why we needed to leave school to talk.”

I nodded, distracted, not processing. “Yeah, thanks.”

And then it hit me.

My baby brother. The one who followed me around my entire life. The tan kid with blue eyes and stocky legs and pokey-outie hair. The one who’d call room service and order cold cereal when we went traveling with our parents.

That guy.

That kid.

Was gone.

No more emails forwarding me articles about things the cat literally dragged in. No more Christmases where we went to the beach and did handstands, then ran so fast into the cold, cold Pacific that our feet almost burned with the frigid salt water. No more hiking in Muir Woods and stopping for pizza afterward. No more sitting together watching The Simpsons.

No more boxes and boxes of Cocoa Puffs.

The army had stolen him from me. The kid who wanted everyone to get along. Who was a little shy, but who wouldn’t let new kids eat by themselves at lunchtime.

That kid.

Dead.

I burst into tears. Heaving, sobbing, ugly, wailing, banshee tears. Tears that they could hear next door. Tears that sounded like something was rent from the Universe.

Something was rent. My heart.

My tears were the only language I could use to express my sorrow.

My mother had died. My father had died. And now my brother, my only living family member, had died.

I had no one. I’d lost everything. Everyone that mattered to me. All gone.

Without saying a word, Trent stood, picked me up like I was a child, and sat down with me in his lap on the couch, holding me in his broad arms. And I cried.

I missed him. I missed my baby brother. I missed his jokes and his gentle snark.

“He promised me he’d come back,” I whispered.

“That isn’t a promise anyone can keep,” Trent muttered back.

My tears soaked through Trent’s white T-shirt. He didn’t seem to care. He just held me while I lay limply in his arms as waves of sorrow crashed over me.

Eventually I fell asleep on the couch.

Until I was awakened by a knock on the door.

Trent got up and opened the door. I saw through my crying-jag haze that Louise stood at the door, but I was too spent to get up. My hair covered my eyes, and it took too much effort to move it.

Her familiar, cozy voice suffused the room. “Is Dani here?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight on one leg so his ass leaned to the side. “Yeah.”

“You’re Trent?”

“Yes.”

Who else would it be? Tall, good-looking god taking over my apartment.

“I’ve heard of you,” she said, her eyes going up and down him, clearly conveying her thoughts—he’s a tall drink of yummy, ain’t he? Resting her gaze on his face, she seemed to size him up.

He passed.

She stuck out her hand to shake his. “I’m Louise. Known her since college. I’m a teacher at the college, too.” Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Should I come back? I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

“You’re not,” he said. “She’s not doing well.”

“Why? Is she sick?” Louise peered around him at me, her initial tentativeness at interrupting something turning to concern. “You okay, sugar?”

“She’s not,” he said. “She may need you. Listen.” And he whispered something.

I heard Lulu’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh, that poor child.” She ran in and gathered me in her arms, holding me tight. I let out a fresh batch of tears, sobbing yet again.

“I had to tell her myself,” Trent murmured. “I couldn’t leave it to someone else.”

“I understand,” she said, patting my hair.

She sat with me for a while, until I calmed down. Then she turned to Trent. “How can I help?”

“I’ve got it from here, but she’s gonna need a lot of support.”

“Right. Do you need me here, Dani?”

I shook my head, tear-drunk and foggy. I wanted to be alone.

“I’ll come check on you tomorrow, then,” she said.

“Thanks,” I whispered, and Lulu left.

Trent picked me up like a doll, and gently laid me on my unmade bed. A cushion of air brushed my skin when he shook out the bed sheet to straighten it. Light, soft fabric skimmed my skin as it settled over my body like a parachute from a childhood game.

Then he paused for a moment at the side of the bed, as if debating. I shoved the pillow over my face, my entire body hurting and my head disjointed.

The clink of his belt. The soft thud of his shoes.

The dip of the bed.

His masculine arms covered mine as he settled in behind me, holding me.

I slipped into a fitful sleep.