Zane told himself he wouldn't come back. He told himself last night was a one-time relapse, a temporary collapse of discipline, a flare of grief that would pass if he forced himself to stop feeding it. But dawn came, thin and gray through the hotel curtains, and the only thing he felt was the same suffocating ache he'd carried since the moment he saw her again.
He tried to stay in bed. He tried to eat something. He tried to shower slowly, hoping the steam would cloud the sharp edges of yesterday. But none of it helped. Every second pulsed with one demand beating under his skin like a pulse that wasn't his:
See her.
Just once more.
