I'm going to kill him. I don't care who this guy is or where he's gone, I'm going to track him down and murder him.

In between helping Willow with the police, I've been on my phone trying to find out as much information as I can with the license plate number that the store caught on camera. This guy better hope that the police find him before I do.

Willow seems to have a photographic memory. She gives the cops every minute detail about her assailant and the vehicle he was driving. Everything from the color of his eyes to what his visible tattoos were and a detailed description of his van and all of its cosmetic flaws. No wonder she remembers everything about our childhood.

We're at the station for a good hour before she's finally free to go. Her expression is dead—definitely that of someone who has just suffered a major trauma. I can only imagine the what ifs going through her head. She was lucky to escape.

“What were you thinking going to a place like that by yourself this late at night? You should have had Peter with you,” I lay into her.

“I wanted to surprise him,” she tells me meekly.

“Well, this is definitely going to surprise him.”

She clutches onto my arm, looking small and defenseless. “Follow me home.”

I soften instantly. “Are you alright to drive?”

“I'll be fine. I just...don't want to be alone tonight.”

We go back to my place. The whole way there, I wonder why she called me instead of Peter. It doesn't really matter as long as she's safe.

“Do you have any alcohol?” she asks as soon as we're inside.

“Are you sure that drinking is a good idea? You have work in the morning.” I quirk an eyebrow at her.

“I'm not going in. I need a day to recover. Need to forget.”

The glassiness of her eyes is concerning, but I honestly don't know the best way to help her cope with this, so I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make her feel better. “What do you want me to make you?”

“Do you have tequila?” She leans against the kitchen island, absentmindedly petting Max. He's being unusually relaxed, which must mean he senses that something is wrong.

I nod.

“Shots. I want shots.”

I inhale deeply, thinking that drinking straight liquor is probably a horrible idea, but I don't argue. Instead, I take out two shot glasses and the bottle and pour us each a shot. She throws hers back, hisses, and then slams her glass down onto the table, pushing it towards me to fill it again.

“Do you think that's such a good idea?” I ask.

“Another.” She ignores me.

I refill her glass. She downs the second shot, this time with me in sync. Then she grabs both of our glasses and the bottle and heads to the sofa, using my coffee table to fill the glasses again before sitting down. As soon as my ass hits the sofa, she curls against my side.

“Hold me for a while. Please.” Willow rests her head on my shoulder.

I already feel warm from the alcohol. Everything that's going on is so...not ordinary. I just go with it, wrapping my arm around her.

She presses her face against my chest, moaning softly, and I wonder if she can hear how rapidly my heart is beating. “This is the safest I've felt all night.”

“You're safe with me.” I mean it. I would destroy the world if it would keep her from harm.

Fuck, I hate what I'm feeling right now. This strong need to protect her, yet at the same time I'm helpless. It's not my job to protect her—to be here for her like this. It's Peter's job. So why am I here? Why am I the one she ran to?

As if to help break my focus, Willow pushes away from me to grab the shot glasses from the table. She hands me one, looking morose before she raises her glass to me. “To relationships.”

“To relationships,” I parrot, because what the fuck else am I supposed to say to that.

We drink again, and the liquor seers a path down the back of my throat. At this pace, we're both going to get wasted pretty quickly. It looks like I'm not going to be working tomorrow either, I think with an inward sigh.

“Tell me about your girlfriend.” Willow refills our glasses. I want to tell her to stop, but I can't force myself to do it.

“What do you want to know?”

“What's she like?”

Thankfully, she leaves the glasses on the coffee table.

I don't really know what to say, but I know I have to lie. And since I can't think of something off the top of my head, I pretend. I pretend that Willow is my girlfriend—that I'm talking about her.

“She's pretty great.” I nod to myself, wanting to be brief so that I don't put too much thought into it.

“What makes her so great?” Willow sits back against the sofa. It seems like she's done wanting to cuddle with me, perhaps because she realizes it's not good for either of our 'relationships.'

“She's not just my girlfriend. She's like...my best friend. I enjoy hanging out with her. Every moment we're together, I'm happy.”

“You're so lucky,” she breaths out.

Lucky?

“Isn't that how it is with you and Peter? He makes you happy, too.” I quirk an eyebrow at her.

She snorts. “It's not like I thought it would be, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?”

Willow hesitates, gathering her thoughts. “When I'm with him I'm happy. But I'm not happy at the same time. Does that make sense?”

“Not really.” I chuckle.

“I think I fell in love with the idea of him,” she confesses. “He was—he is—everything I thought I wanted. He's wealthy and attractive and athletic. But I can't keep up with him.” Willow tears her fingers through her hair, mussing it up.

“What do you mean you can't keep up with him?” I turn to face her.

“I just mean...” Her gaze falls to the floor. “It's just so many little things. He's perfect at everything he does. When we play tennis he smokes me. And he buys me things that I can't repay him for and takes me to fancy dinners that I would never be able to afford. I'm so fucking far out of my league, I don't even know how to cope with it anymore.”

“Do you really need to cope with it?” I ask, not really seeing the problem. This is what she had wanted, after all.

“It just all makes me feel so inadequate. So unworthy.” The stress is plain in her voice.

“Listen.” I take her hands to grab her attention. “You are not unworthy. Do you hear me. Not unworthy.

“You are a great catch. He's lucky to have you.”

“He is?” She stares at me. There's a different glassiness to her eyes now, and I'm not sure if it's because of the alcohol or something else.

“Of course he is. How many women would try to change their entire life just to be with someone? How many women would go out of their way to make sure that someone they weren't even dating was going to be okay when they got ill?

“You learned to play sports for this guy. You changed your appearance. You altered your life. You do so many things that make you uncomfortable just so that he'll be happy. If you ask me, you've done more for him than he could ever do for you.”

She continues to stare at me. “When you put it that way, I suppose I have.”

I can't stand the way she's fucking looking at me. It makes me want to touch her. Makes me want to kiss her and show her what she means to me. I'm not sure what she means to Peter. But right now, she's everything to me—my entire fucking world sitting only a few inches away.

I take her face in my hands and move closer. She gasps, but she doesn't pull away.

“You're worthy, Willow Stroop. You're funny and passionate and beautiful. And you deserve to be loved by a man who appreciates the real you.”

I'm fighting the hardest internal debate of my life. Kiss her. Don't kiss. The moment is right. I want to go for it, but I also don't want to betray my friend again.

A tear rolls down Willow's cheek. Her bottom lip trembles.

Fuck it. I just can't fucking stop myself.

The second I tilt my head to kiss her, she leans back, pulling out of my grasp. Thankfully, everything happened in sync, so I can pretend it didn't happen.

“I'm drunk,” she tells me, patting Max on the head before standing. “I should go home.”

My chest feels hollow from her words. It's not a rejection. She didn't see my intentions to reject me. But it still feels like one.

The night has taken a strange turn. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I walk Willow to the door and make sure she gets home safely, staring at her longingly as she disappears inside her apartment.