Four years later, Dillon's white-knuckled grip seized the arms of his seat as the small plane descended into the Jackson, Wyoming airport. His mouth, dry as a desert in summer, made swallowing near impossible. Anxiety made his chest tighten; breath quicken. He recognized the symptoms, as his nerves began to tingle.

He hadn't kept in contact with anyone in the last four years, so he wouldn't be surprised if his friends didn't want to see him. It was his own faulthis own choice. ...