He forced his eyes shut. The moment he did, the tide of memories came rushing back.

Syria. Leaving the relative safety of their fortified compound.

The shock and force of the initial explosion. Searing heat and pain when he’d stepped out of the vehicle to take up a defensive position. Barking orders over the radio.

A barrage of automatic gunfire. Screams of his men falling around him.

And as always, there was Peyton’s voice in their final radio transmission. Weak. Resolute despite the pain and fear he must have felt.

Roger that. If I don’t make it back—tell my family I love them and that I didn’t suffer.

His eyes shot open. He sat up, struggling to get his choppy breathing under control, his racing heart to slow down.

Fuck. Fuck.

He dragged a hand through his hair, using the grounding technique his therapist had taught him. Focus on five things he could see. Four things he could feel. Three things he could hear.

He heard someone moving around downstairs.

It was late. Willow should be fast asleep.

Pushing the covers back, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got up. Cracked open his door. The kitchen light was on downstairs.

He stepped out into the hall just as the light switched off. Stopped as Rufus’s toenails clicked on the wood floor then muted as he reached the carpeted stairs. The dog froze when he saw Tripp standing in the darkness near the landing.

Willow was right behind him, looking unbearably sexy in her pajamas, the points of her nipples showing through the thin material of her top.

“Oh. You scared me,” she said, putting a hand to her chest.

“Sorry. You okay?”

“I’m…yeah.” She wiped a hand over her cheeks, and he felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.

She’d been crying. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” She drew in a shaky breath.

He was in front of her in an instant, cupping her face in his hands. “Tell me.” He wiped away the last traces of wetness from her cheekbones with his thumbs.

“It’s after midnight. Which means it’s the anniversary of…”

Yeah, he knew exactly what fucking day it was. Seeing her grief shredded him. He would do anything to make it go away. Trade places with Peyton in an instant to bring him back and spare her and her family all this pain.

But he couldn’t. So he tugged her close, wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. “I know.” His voice was raspy, his throat clogged with emotion.

Willow sucked in a hitching breath, a tiny shudder ripping through her as she pressed hard against him, her face nestled into the base of his throat. The feel of her was almost too much.

He swallowed at the riptide of desire that roared through him. Need, longing, guilt, grief all blending together in a roiling mass that threatened to snap the chain tethering his vow not to cross the line with her again.

He couldn’t tell her the truth right now. But he also couldn’t keep his distance.

God help him, he didn’t have the strength to turn her away tonight.

So when she lifted her head and tipped her face up to search his eyes, he’d already lost the battle before their lips touched.