My fingers are already undoing each and every button on his shirt, attempting to throw it all away on the path like morsels for Hansel and Gretel. I cup his neck and bring him in for a harder kiss than before, trying to lay reminders of me all over Joe, from his neck to his lips to his torso. "Fuck you for winding me up, Joe, Jesus," I nearly hiss against his lips.

He didn't see it. He never saw the worst of it, when everything unleashed just before Landsberg, just after. "I have anger issues, Joe," I say, though he doesn't know, couldn't know. "You might have been the one who wanted that trigger pulled, but I was the one who nearly did it in Buchloe, happily so, too."