Until this year, I didn't know it was possible to exist in a state of heaven and hell at the same time, but, damn, this strange, conflicting position was exactly where I was standing at the moment.

This year was one of the best years of my life.

This year was also one of the worst.

At work, I was happy with my new position at Dalton. I was pretty damn good at building something from nothing, and the satisfaction that came from overseeing a project from start to finish felt priceless. On breaks, I enjoyed chatting and joking around with the guys on my team. We even started going out for happy hour every Friday.

At home, I loved my baby girl more and more each day. I cherished every second I got to spend with Gracie and Stevie. They gave me something worth coming home to—a feeling I'd never experienced in all my years growing up and serving in the Corp.

Over the weekends, renovations on my parents' house were coming along little by little. Remodeling this shithole represented my fresh start. I wanted to transform the dark memories from my childhood into a place of warmth and hope and comfort for Stevie.

With every piece of tile I replaced and every wall I refinished in a fresh coat of paint, I felt as though I was mending pieces of my broken past. The process soothed me even while it triggered the fuck out of me.

On one hand, Stevie was showing me that I could be a good dad, that I wasn't going to turn into Stephan Jones, that I had a say in the kind of man I wanted to become.

On the other hand, the entire renovation represented letting go of my dad's ghost. That shit wasn't easy. Everything inside the house seemed to remind me of something ugly and violent about him. Like the baseball bat under his bed. Like his leather belt hanging on the closet door. Like all the crooks and crannies in each room where I used to hide whenever shit hit the fan. Like the exact spot in the kitchen where he had beaten my mom unconscious.

Where I had almost killed him.

There were days when every step forward seemed to bring me two steps back. Panic attacks came and went. Night terrors continued as well.

Gracie suggested that I go to a shrink. I admit, I was a bit resistant at first. Doubtful, even, that some stranger would be able to fix all the messed up fuckery inside me. We found a therapist named Dr. Suter. He specialized in something called Cognitive Processing Therapy. He had worked with plenty of vets and happened to be a vet as well. He served in the army. It helped to know that my therapist kind of understood where I was coming from because he had lived through that shit himself.

Dr. Suter was trying to teach me how to reframe my trauma by evaluating and changing the pattern of negative thoughts and emotions associated with my upsetting experiences. Easier said than done. I didn't want to think about Matty, let alone talk about him. I didn't want to revisit any of the death and destruction I saw overseas. But I pushed myself to do it. For Stevie. For Gracie. For my own sanity. I even opened up a little about my dad. Therapy was fucking hard, but I had already completed four sessions. Only eight more to go.

Every session drained me, but, believe it or not, therapy wasn't the worst part of my year.

Not by far.

In fact, the truly hellish part of my year had nothing to do with me and everything to do with Gracie. Because I had to stand by and let the love of my life talk to other men, go on dates with other men, stay overnight with other men.

Jealousy alone nearly drove me insane.

But, in front of Gracie, I always strove to keep my cool. To be supportive. I tried to act as though everything was fine. It wasn't my place to bar Gracie from living her life, after all, or from seeing other people. She seemed happy. Content. That was all I wanted for her. All I wanted for me—was to stay in her life in whatever capacity she would allow.

At least, that was the lie I told myself to keep my heart from imploding.

Just when I thought my own personal hell couldn't get any worse, Gracie came over one Saturday morning to pick up Stevie.

Immediately, I could tell something was different about her.

All bright-eyed and smiley, my girl was practically gushing as she strolled through the front door, "Good morning!"

A grin tugged at my lips at the sight of her. "Morning, Gracie. You seem to be in a good mood."

"I am in a good mood! You'll never believe what happened last night at my poetry reading..."

Wryly, I asked, "What happened?"

"I met someone!"

With some effort, I forced the smile to stay on my face. "Oh, yeah?"

"His name is Andrew. Andrew Marciano."

Andrew Marciano?

Sounds like a douchebag.

"Tell me more about him," I prompt through narrowed eyes.

Gracie coughed sheepishly. "Well, he's divorced..."

Knew it.

Red flag.

Douchebag.

"But he's also an English professor. At Arizona State."

Oh, shit.

He's an educated, cultured douchebag.

As Gracie proceeded to ramble on about her professor's many upstanding qualities, I struggled not to get too stressed out.

A while back, I had been worried about this guy named Tyler that Gracie started dating exclusively, but, fortunately, nothing came of it. Guys tended to come and go every month. None of them stuck. None of them made a lasting impression on Gracie, which meant none of them were real threats.

I was still the only constant in her life, and a small, selfish part of me liked it that way.

But something about this guy set me on edge.

The way Gracie was talking about him right now, with her eyes all dreamy-soft and her voice all excited reminded me of the way she used to look—

When she talked about me.

And she had only met the douchebag last night.

Fuck.

At that moment, something possessive and panicked inside me switched on full force.

I knew Gracie had always resented me for walking away, for not staying to fight for her. For us. Back then, I hadn't believed that I was good enough to be her man. I still didn't think that I deserved Gracie's forgiveness after all was said and done, but, now, at least, I was trying to become a better person, and I wanted to show her that I was no longer the scared shitless kid I used to be.

Gracie needed to know that I was more than willing to fight for her if push came to shove with this divorced douchebag professor.

For now, I was willing to stand back and give Gracie two months to decide whether or not she liked him. Maybe she would lose interest. Like she did with Tyler. I hoped so. In fact, I was banking on it.

However, if this Andrew Marciano somehow managed to win Gracie over within two months' time, then I planned on throwing my hat in the ring.

Go balls to the wall.

Fight for the woman I loved with everything I could give her.

And let Gracie choose, for once, whether or not she wanted me instead.