By the time Quaid returned, I'd lost the edge of my anger and the need to tear things apart and was further along the road to bawling my eyes out.

He took it all in stride, his chest the perfect place for me to pour it out.

When I was done, he looked down into my face, fingers swiping at my tears. "You cry a lot," he said.

Jerk. I whacked his chest with my fist, feeling the solid muscle beneath my hand. "Thanks a whole lot," I said, pulling away even as he ...