I awoke the next morning with the cloudy sense that even though sleep had overtaken me, I hadn’t rested. Groggy, still wearing my clothes from yesterday, my makeup long-since cried off, I was way out of whack, even though I’d checked out for the night.

Red-eyed, dehydrated, and restless, with rat’s nest hair, I surveyed my room.

Empty.

But there was a warm, solid man curled up around me, his pretty head on a spare pillow. The villain himself.

Heat flushed through my body, the heat of anger. I bit at my cheek.

I knew one thing.

There was no way my brother would have joined the army and been killed if it weren’t for Trent Milner.

Fucker.

I cracked my knuckles and yanked off the blanket he’d used as a cover.

“What are you still doing here?”

He sat up with a bolt and rubbed his eyes. “What?”

“Get. Out.” I hissed.

“Dani,” he said sleepily. “It’s not what you think. I’m sorry, I fell asleep. Jet lag. I just didn’t think you should be by yourself.”

God, he looked sexy with bedhead. God, I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him holding me. But no, he was the cause of all of my problems. “Leave,” I said, and pointed to the door.

“Dani,” he said, soothingly, standing up and leaning against the edge of the bed. “I know you’re going through a lot right now—”

“And that’s why I want you gone.”

Dammit, I always liked you.

Something behind his eye constricted, and his voice came out calm and patient. “Babe. Wait a minute.”

Absolutely not.

I bared my teeth, my nostrils flared, and I curled my lips. “No, Trent Milner, you wait a minute. I saw your name on the roster, and I thought no way. I was so excited to see you. And you come to Spain and have the balls to show up in my classroom on the first day of class and tell me my brother died. How do you think I can take that?”

He shut his eyes and opened them with a deep breath. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, but will you listen?”

The anguish behind them was palpable. I felt it. And I had to push that aside.

“No. This is my place, and I want you out. I want you out of my classroom, too.” It shot an arrow in my gut to say that, but if he stayed around I wouldn’t survive. One day was enough. I wasn’t doing this for the next two months.

He’d taken off his belt to sleep, and his jeans slung low on his narrow hips.

If I just yanked, I could push them down and get to the—

No.

I hate you because you killed my brother.

To be fair, he didn’t really kill Degan, but close enough. Still his fault.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I’ll let you be for today, but I’m taking your class. I’ll be back in there on Wednesday. And I’m going to check up on you, too. Make sure you’re safe.”

“Like hell you are!”

I shouldn’t have said that.

“Dani,” he said in a seductive voice that made me clench my thighs. I remembered how he felt in the pizza parlor years ago. That wiry body was now big and strong. I could almost feel his breath. In a flash, he turned, went into the kitchen, and poured a drink of water, bringing it over to me. “Drink this.”

No. Fuck, no. I wasn’t getting under his spell. I stared at his hand offering the drink, not moving.

“You need to drink something. You cried out all the water in your body.”

I really had. I was parched.

“Fine,” I huffed, and took a grateful sip. There was the man I knew, always watching me. Always taking care of others.

Standing over me, inches from me, so close that I could reach up, grab the back of his neck, and kiss his pouty lips if I wanted, he launched a counter-attack. “I’m allowed to be in your class. I have the freedom to get my education wherever I want. The G.I. Bill pays for international studies. I want to learn another language.”

Why had I never noticed how beautiful his mouth was? How his lips were so inviting? How his teeth were perfect?

With a huff, I got off the bed and grabbed his boots and belt, handing them to him. Damn, fucking hot as hell boots and belt. “Leave. Now.”

Raising his hands in surrender, he said, “I’ll do as you say. For now. But we need to talk this over.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. The only thing we need to talk about is whether you leave the country, or I do.”

An involuntary laugh broke out of him, starting from his diaphragm and escaping out as a snort. His T-shirt stuck to the outline of his muscles and the rippling movement made my breath stop, his huge torso utterly mesmerizing. But his red, desperate eyes contradicted his laughter. “The whole fucking country of Spain isn’t big enough for the both of us?”

My eyes narrowed. “Not when you find your way into my classroom on the first day of school.”

“Please. Will you listen?” He tugged at his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.

“No.”

His brows narrowed, and he stared at the ceiling then returned his eyes to me. “I’m not going anywhere. Deal with it.”

I set down the glass of water—his gift—and threw up my hands, exasperated. “I have absolutely nothing else to say. Maybe I can’t stop you from being in my classroom, but I sure as hell don’t have to talk to you.”

“Dani—”

“No.”

“Tomorrow?”

“No.”

The muscles corded in his neck. His handsome neck. He let out an annoyed breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You can take that as a no. Don’t come back to class.” He had to go. I had no use for soldiers who brought nothing but war and destruction, fighting and power plays. I’d started to tremble. I hated conflict like this. Where was my yoga when I needed it? My nonconfrontation? My acceptance?

Nowhere near him.

He took a step toward me. “I’m fairly sure if I get the administration involved, they won’t like it that a teacher is banning a student from class. But what I really want to know, is why you’re banning me from your life when we have so much history together, and I’m the only reminder of home and family you’ve got.”

“I’ll never forgive you. You came back the hero from Afghanistan while my brother did not.”

He flinched and gave me a slow, disbelieving head shake. “I’m no hero,” he said fiercely. With a finger, he stroked my cheek, which made my throat thicken so I could say no more. Then, taking his belt, boots, wallet, phone, and keys, he closed the door behind him and was gone.

I’d thought I hadn’t any more tears left, but apparently I was wrong. Oh, so wrong.

Through them, I glanced at the scented candles on the table, batik spread on the couch, and earth mama clothes scattered on the floor. Floorganization. I didn’t own much, but what I did own was meaningful and mostly picked up from my travels—a blanket from Peru, sweater from Ecuador, skirt from Bali, notebooks from Japan. I was especially fond of trying different toothpastes from different countries. My current tube came from Italy. Divine.

I couldn’t stay here.

My two large bags were shoved in the bottom of the freestanding wardrobe, ready to be filled, zipped up, and hoisted in a cab. It wouldn’t take me long to pack up. I could be gone within the hour. No one would know I was ever in Spain. I could fold up like a pop-up shop and never be seen again. I didn’t have to deal with Trent, after all. It was my life. He brought that suffering to me. I didn’t have to suffer.

I could just leave.

But where would I go?

Nowhere.

I curled up on my couch and rocked, my arms wrapped around my knees. This room felt too small, too empty. Pointless. Like there was no reason for any of this—this living thing. Not if it was gonna hurt this bad.

Degan. I miss you.

I’d better just pack up and get out of here. I got off the couch and headed over to my wardrobe when my phone lit up with a text from Louise.

You still in Spain?

I picked it up and called her on speaker phone, sniffling. “Of course I’m still here.” While technically it was the truth, a leaden lump formed in my belly, and I wrung my hands. “Okay, I was getting ready to pack up.”

Her voice came over the phone, satisfied. “I knew it.” Then her voice softened. “Trent still there?”

“No. I kicked that fucker out.”

The line went silent. “Dani. What happened?”

A sob welled up, and I couldn’t talk.

“What do you need?” she continued. But still I couldn’t answer. After a pause, she made a decision. “No class today. I’ll be over in a few, and we can get some breakfast.”

“Do what you want,” I said listlessly.

“Open the door for me when I get there,” she ordered.

Twenty minutes later, Louise hustled in my kitchen, making coffee on a percolator designed by Sputnik engineers, and cutting up fruit for a salad. She set out a container of yogurt and honey.

“You’re gonna eat something, pipsqueak. Otherwise you’ll fade away.”

I didn’t care if I ever ate again. All morning I’d alternated between a deadening numbness and exploding over every little thing, mixed with the burning desire to just get the fuck out of Spain.

Taking my current nonresponse with aplomb, she scooped out some yogurt, piled on cut-up strawberries and other fruit, and drizzled honey on top.

“Take a bite.” I did. It tasted delicious, but I didn’t feel like eating anything. With her eyes, she urged me to eat some more, so, mechanically, I took two more bites for her. She made a bowl for herself and sat across from me at my kitchen table, pouring each of us a cup of coffee. My savage hair and bloodshot eyes must have been a sight for her, all serene in matching royal blue from head to toe. But she never minded my free spirit.

As I took another bite, I asked, “Have you ever had someone do something that just fucked you over?”

Lulu’s raised eyebrow said, you have got to be kidding me. Out loud, she said, “Of course.”

“And no matter what good points they have, you can’t get over that?”

“Tell me about it,” she muttered so emphatically I wondered what she was thinking about.

“What happened to you?”

“Don’t change the subject. What are you talking about?”

“Trent is the reason Degan went in the army. And since Degan went in the army and didn’t come back…”

I didn’t need to say anymore, because Lulu’s eyes shone. Talking about my brother made me want to punch something.

My chest seized up, and tears went to my eyes. Lulu got up and reached over to hug me, but I pushed down her arms. “Don’t.” I crossed my hands over my chest. She sat back down.

“Lots of people join the military.”

A flash of indignation shot up my spine. “Not my brother. He wouldn’t have done it except for Trent. He wouldn’t have gone. I just know it.”

“How do you know it?”

Louise was my best friend for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that she didn’t put up with my crap. That didn’t mean I wanted to hear it, though.

“I know my brother. I know he wouldn’t have gone.”

She shook her head. “He was a big boy and made his own decision. He wanted to be a soldier.”

“Influenced by Trent his entire life.”

“There’s no shame in wanting to be a soldier. It’s honorable. A lot of people enlist and receive training, learn skills—”

“But it killed him,” I said. Lulu sighed and reached over, holding my hand in hers.

Her gracious eyes gave me comfort as she spoke quietly. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you found out your brother died. Give yourself a break.”

Hope bloomed in my heart. Yes. I was suffering from shock. I needed to process.

I looked at my friend, who consoled me like no other. She knew my crazy, didn’t put up with it, and made me better. I reached over and touched her fingertips. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

She pressed hers against mine. “I know. And that’s partly because I always tell it like it is. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘Never underestimate the inclination to bolt’?”

At those words, I froze.

Was I bolting? What did that mean?

I said quickly, without thinking, “No. I’m not bolting.”

“Denial is more than a river in Egypt, sugar. Your denial is so deep you’d go a mile down deep into it and not ever see the bottom. You run away from everything. Now’s the chance to face what you’ve been running from.”

My thoughts, my movements halted.

Was I in denial? About Degan? About my life?

No.

Wait, was that denial?

Shit.

I whispered, “I’m scared, Louise.”

“That’s because you’re feeling things you don’t want to feel, and it hurts. You’re blaming Trent, but he’s just the messenger. Be brave. You already are. You got this.” She took a bite of the yogurt parfait and swallowed. “But you still have a lot of grieving to do.”

I shrugged. “I don’t believe in grief. Degan’s still here. He’s just moved into another form. A universal one.”

She rolled her eyes. “Girlfriend, you’re a nutcase.”

“Why?”

“You won’t grieve, you won’t forgive. And yet you are all,” she waved her hands, “spiritual.”

Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t have to like everyone. The Universe was made with contrast. It’s the law of polarity. For every dark, there is a light. For every negative, there is a positive—”

Lifting an eyebrow, she shook her head slowly. “I’m not gonna tell you what to do.”

“Good.”

“But blaming him for Degan’s death might hurt worse than facing the truth.”

“I thought you weren’t gonna tell me what to do.”

“I lied.” Her generous smile belied her words. “Dani, you’ve always been like this. You fly off the handle—or fly to a different country, unafraid to leave but afraid to stay.”

I stared at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Guess maybe I lied sometimes too. As usual, she called me on it. “You do too.”

There was no way that I was ready to deal with any of this. Trent. Degan. Suffering. My body hurt, and my stomach muscles ached from crying. I crossed my arms. “How am I supposed to deal with him in my class all summer? I just got this job. I don’t want to leave already.”

She sipped her water and waved at me with a fork. “If you need some motivation, I threw down to get you this job. You can’t leave because it would make me look bad.”

“This is true. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” I munched on a strawberry. “I’m trapped when I’m around him. He pulls me in, and I can only see him. He distracts me from being a teacher. He distracts me from being myself. I can’t handle it.”

“That’s because he triggers you.”

“He does. It’s embarrassing, but he turns me on. That kid who used to hang out with my brother belongs in a calendar now.”

“I saw. He does. That banging body makes him delish.”

“No it doesn’t. It makes him a soldier. Someone into the establishment. Into fighting. Not my type.”

“What is your type?”

“Not him.”

Lulu searched my face with skeptical eyes. “You’re the one who always says that the opposite of love is not hate, but conformity, my little nonconformist friend. I think you’re hating him with some pretty strong passion. Maybe you really like him. Maybe you just need to get laid.”

I spit-laughed. “Are you serious?”

She nodded. “You know it’s true. I wish he wasn’t a student, but these circumstances are different. Maybe no one has to know.” She bit into the melon and hummed. “This is so good.”

“I know.”

Pausing with a cup of coffee in her hand, she looked me up and down. “You need a break. Think about something other than him.”

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“I always am. Come on. Let’s finish this up, get you showered, and we’ll go see a movie. Get your mind off of this.”

Seeing movies was our thing, ever since college. Back then, she and I singlehandedly kept the local theater that played foreign films in business, trying to understand them without reading the subtitles. It was our book club. Now that we were back in the same country, we saw two a week together.

As we cleaned up the dishes, I asked, “What are we seeing?”

“A love story.” She handed me a cup to put away.

I set it in the cupboard. “I hate love stories.”

She handed me another one. “You love them.”

“Not after Brian.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave me two plates. “This is true. If Trent hadn’t delivered the news about Degan, would you like him?”

I stared at her. The truth was, I didn’t know if I could ever get past the violent reaction he provoked in me. But if that wasn’t there?

I could fall in love with him.

Setting the silverware in the drawer, I admitted, “I was a total bitch to Trent today. I let him know what I thought about him, and now I feel guilty.”

She drained the sink. “What does that have to do with whether or not you like him?”

“Because in the past he was always kind and honest to me.” Taking the dish towel from her, I hung it on the rack to dry, then wiped off the table and counter.

“He’s been kind to you?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

She shook her head. “I told you.”

“Told me what?”

“Told you that you need to face what you’ve been running from.”

I pursed my lips and threw the sponge in the sink. “You know, Lulu?”

“What?”

“You’re kind of annoying.”

Her dark brown eyes held humor in them. “Why is that?”

“Because you’re always right.”

Her soothing chuckle washed over me. “I’m the logical one. You’re the dreamer.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think I can do this?”

“Stay? Yes.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Lulu analyzed me with her gaze. “Uh-huh,” she said, not convinced. “Go get cleaned up and dressed. I’ll wait.”

That afternoon, in the darkened theater, I watched a cheesy Hollywood love story dubbed into Spanish.

While I ate stale, salty popcorn and watched the couple who so obviously should have been together from the beginning finally kiss, I remembered the way Trent’s arms felt around me last night as I sobbed.

Stupid movie.

I didn’t really want that, did I?

No. I wasn’t cut out for relationships. I valued my liberty too much. I’d better stay away.